Poem: "Beatdown"
Mar. 5th, 2018 08:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ysabetwordsmithThis poem is spillover from the June 6, 2017 Poetry Fishbowl. It was inspired by prompts from redsixwing and wyld_dandelyon. It also fills the "dysfunctional" square in my 5-29-17 card for the Pride Bingo fest. This poem has been sponsored by a pool from ng_moonmoth including janetmiles, technoshaman, Hal, fred_mouse, dialecticdreamer, and EdorFaus. It belongs to the Shiv thread of the Polychrome Heroics series.
Warning: This poem contains some touchy topics. Highlight to read the warnings, some of which are spoilers. It includes mischief, picking pockets, gang life, graffiti, racist language, vandalism of art, references to past abuse, poor care of gang members, issues with keeping clean, Shiv facing Boss Batir, canon-typical violence, creative use of superpowers in combat, assorted injuries and street-typical medical details, and other mayhem. If these are sensitive issues for you, please consider your tastes and headspace before reading onward. This is a major plot point, so skipping it would leave a big gap.
"Beatdown"
Shiv relished his newfound freedom,
but he tried to resist the temptation
to go out and make trouble from scratch.
Boss White frowned on that kind of thing,
and besides, just because Shiv had
made it six months didn't mean that
he wanted to get arrested again.
So he went looking for little bits
of mischief that he could get into.
Shiv picked a few pockets,
most of those belonging to
rich shitheads who dissed him.
When he had enough cash,
he stashed the extra in the pocket
of a frazzled young mother while she
was distracted by the squalling brat
who didn't want to let go of her cornrows.
The other thing Shiv loved was
making graffiti. Not all of that
was even illegal, because he had
permission to tag some of the buildings.
Then there was the Freight Depot
where the cargo trains came through,
another spot ripe for graffiti.
Not everyone took as much care
as Shiv did, but Lieutenant Brown
kept a sharp eye on their gang, and
few others dared to cross them.
Shiv liked visiting the depot since
new cars arrived on Saturdays,
and the railroad gave local artists
a few hours on Sundays to come
paint all that fresh sidewall.
This time they already had
a good crowd, calling out
praise and critique of the tags.
"Hey! Someone get
that crap off the boilerplate!"
Lieutenant Brown barked,
pointing at the offending tag.
The boilerplate was the top line
of text and logos painted on by
the railroad companies, that
you didn't mess with or they'd
come run everyone off the lot.
Shiv grabbed some gasoline and
a rag from the ever-present supplies,
then swarmed up the ladder to wipe
the scribbles away from the ID number.
It wasn't even very good graffiti,
so he went on wiping the rest of the car,
and pretty soon other guys joined in.
Then Shiv found the transit stamp
with the Omaha logo on it, and used
a wet-wipe marker to jot the date and
the hobo symbols for food and work,
both being plentiful at present.
Next time the car came into town,
someone would wipe off the old marks
with alcohol and add fresh ones.
Chores done, Shiv picked up
several cans of spray paint and
quickly covered a section of boxcar
with stylized paint cans holding up
a sign that said Art is not a crime.
After that, he stepped back
and let another artist take over.
Lieutenant Brown walked up and down
the line, surveying the boxcars, and
Shiv followed along behind him.
Most of the art was fine, but they found
several more instances of tags slopping over
the boilerplate, once over a pink ribbon,
and that was no good for anyone.
The Lincoln cars weren't even
marked with local information.
Here and there, Shiv could see
the Hammerheads' logo on the cars,
which was not a good sign at all.
Either Boss Batir wasn't sending
anyone to supervise the railyard,
or whoever he sent couldn't be
bothered to do a decent job.
It made Shiv uneasy.
Lieutenant Brown was
frowning at the boxcars too.
"I don't like this," he said. "We
can't let the Hammerheads keep
slashing the boilerplate, or else
we're all going to be in deep shit."
"Boss talk," Shiv said with a shrug.
"If you need something cut,
then you can call me."
"You know that Boss White
wants you to pay more attention
up the chain of command,"
Lieutenant Brown said.
"I know, I know," said Shiv.
"I cleaned off the crap, didn't I?"
"You did a good job today,"
Lieutenant Brown said. "I'll talk
with Boss White about the graffiti."
He did that, but the problem
kept getting worse anyway.
Cars came back from Lincoln
with the Omaha art crossed out, and
once someone had keyed a window.
Shiv managed to smooth over
the scratches in the glass, but it wasn't
ever going to be as good as new.
The racist shit got on his nerves too,
and when he saw GET OUT NIGGRS
on the side of a boxcar, he couldn't help
but remember Mr. Howard's red pen.
So Shiv took a can of red paint
and scribbled ^E underneath it.
Someone else immediately
added sick burn! below that,
making Shiv grin at the praise.
The next week was even worse, and
Shiv started hosing a base coat over
the racist slurs as quick as he could --
no need for anyone else to see that crap.
By the time he got to the back end,
the front had dried, so he painted
a self-portrait there, all pale skin and
white-blond hair and silver saxophone
wailing blue notes up to the boilerplate.
Lieutenant Brown came over and
added one of himself blowing his trumpet.
Then he stuck his fingers in his mouth
and gave a shrill whistle. "Whole car,"
he ordered, waving at the blank space,
and the guys hurried up to cover it.
Shiv spotted a rangy young Mexican
hanging back and looking wistful.
He elbowed Lieutenant Brown,
who waved the kid into the crowd.
When they were done, the boxcar
was covered top-to-bottom, end-to-end
with faces in every skin-toned paint shade
they'd brought with them, a mural crowned by
the piano-key fan of the Ebonies and Ivories
that mimicked Omaha's own sunrise logo.
Let the Hammerheads suck on that.
The week after that, the whole car
came back with black bars painted
down the side with rollers, so that
it looked like everyone was in jail.
Just looking at it made Shiv
want to cry. His hands clenched
into helpless fists at his sides.
"Sorry about your art, boys,"
said a railworker. "That piece
was a thing of beauty."
Shiv had to clear his throat
before he could speak.
"Well," he croaked, "you
can't do public art and then
expect no one to reply."
The railworker clapped him on
the back and said, "Good attitude."
Shiv was pretty sure nobody
had ever said that to him before.
It made him feel a tiny bit better.
When he got home, he discovered
that Boss White had had enough
of this shit, and also that Boss Batir
had been horning in on some of
Boss White's other projects.
"Pack a bag," Boss White said.
to Shiv. "You're goin' to Lincoln
to help clean up this mess."
That wasn't exactly reassuring,
since Boss Batir had promised
to beat Shiv to a pulp if he
ever came back to town.
Shiv packed a bag, though, and
went with Lieutenant Brown's team.
Faster Blaster had a team too,
which meant if things went well,
they could trap Boss Batir
between the two of them.
They came into town quietly,
not shooting everything in sight
like those stupid movies.
They fanned out in pairs
to find the Hammerheads
and make careful observations
before the lieutenants would
put their heads together and
then come up with a plan.
It didn't take long to find them,
because the Hammerheads
were anything but subtle.
Shiv was surprised
by how dysfunctional
his old gang seemed,
now that he knew what
he was looking at.
They didn't move like
a team, just like guys going
in the same general direction.
Aside from a few leather jackets,
most of them wore scruffy clothes,
and they didn't look all that healthy
underneath the layers of fabric.
When the wind shifted,
it carried a rank body odor.
"They're still in the old flop,"
Shiv said. "It doesn't have
a whole bathroom, just toilets."
"And they can't be bothered
to use the public showers, jeez,"
Faster Blaster said, turning away.
At home, you damn well washed or
Boss White would haul your ass into
a bathroom in your shorts and scrub you
with a bristle brush. Nobody cared
to do that more than once.
Shiv had seen -- and smelled --
plenty worse gangs than this.
He had just thought better of
the Hammerheads because they
were supposed to be important,
holding the state capital.
Maybe they had slipped
since he left them ... or maybe
they had never been as impressive
as he remembered in the first place.
Even the graffiti seemed sad
and faded in a lot of places.
Shiv paused to boost
a few cans of marker paint
from a construction site and set
to work. After all, the Hammerheads
couldn't do public art and then
expect nobody to reply.
First Shiv scrawled
never never give up
on the side of a building.
Lieutenant Brown smirked at him,
then wrote You've left the oven on.
Shiv promptly wondered if he had.
"You jerk," he muttered,
shoving the taller man, but
Lieutenant Brown just laughed.
Faster Blaster simply scribbled
What will you leave behind?
all down a random door.
Shiv noticed that it wasn't
just the gang falling apart,
the neighborhood seemed
kind of dysfunctional too.
In one place, a little bump
that kept cars out of the way
had been broken off.
He painted funny faces
on it and its neighbor. Maybe
now that would encourage
somebody to fix them.
When they learned enough,
then Lieutenant Brown and
Faster Blaster sat down to plan.
They even pulled Shiv into it,
which made him feel weird.
The idea was to ambush
Boss Batir in a parking garage
that he liked to use because
it was nearly abandoned.
That was unlikely to attract
unwelcome attention, and it didn't
have much loose stuff in it for
Boss Batir to throw around.
They consolidated their teams,
split up, and converged on
the site of the ambush.
There were only a handful of
Hammerheads gathered around
their leader, who leaned heavily upon
a concrete block they used as a table.
Shiv stared at Boss Batir.
That was what he'd been
afraid of all this time?
"What's bothering you?"
Lieutenant Brown asked.
"Boss Batir," said Shiv.
"He's the reason why I didn't
want to come back to Lincoln.
I remembered him being huge,
powerful. But looking at him
now, he just seems ... smaller,
somehow, and kind of grubby."
"Maybe he's not smaller,"
Lieutenant Brown said.
"Maybe you're bigger."
Automatically Shiv rolled
his shoulders and checked
the length of his shirt cuffs
over his wristbones. They were
fine. He tugged a thumb inside
the waistband of his pants. Snug.
"Could be," he said, although he
wasn't sure it explained his feelings.
As they watched, a bodyguard
wandered away in the direction
of the nearest bathroom.
"Showtime," said Lieutenant Brown.
The first thing Shiv did in the fight was
to cut the metal buttons and zippers on
the Hammerheads' clothes, and the second
was to sharpen the grommets so that
their shoelaces came loose too.
It didn't take long for the men
to start tripping over themselves.
Shiv laughed and flicked open
his double butterfly, the knife
resting easy in his hand.
Fighting was so much fun.
It got a lot less fun when
Boss Batir recognized him
and came after Shiv with
a hammer in his hand
and murder in his eye.
One glancing blow was
enough to knock Shiv down.
He could see Boss Batir
raise the hammer high, but
couldn't regain his focus.
Suddenly there was a thump!
and Boss Batir flew back hard enough
to make cracks in the concrete wall,
dropping his hammer to the ground.
Faster Blaster had fired his force gun
and caught Boss Batir off guard so that
he couldn't use his superpower to stop it,
which was the point of distracting him
with Lieutenant Brown's team.
Boss Batir was a stubborn cuss,
though, and he wallowed away from
the wall to swing a knife at Shiv.
A quick flick of Shiv's superpower
caught the knife in midair.
It was a shitty knife, so he
closed it and tossed it away.
"But -- but you can't do that!"
Boss Batir sputtered, backing against
the wall. "I've seen your superpower, it's
nothing more than parlor tricks."
"Surprise," Shiv said
with a smirk. "I got better."
"Shit! Sirens!" someone said,
and pointed up the block.
"We need to settle this quick,"
Lieutenant Brown said,
looking frustrated.
"Nah, I got this," Shiv said.
He felt out the sharp edges
of the broken concrete behind
Boss Batir, and then he used
his superpower to pinch them
shut around the man's clothes.
It would look like Boss Batir had
simply gotten stuck when he hit the wall,
but he wasn't getting out of here before
the cops came -- unless he wanted
to run away stark naked.
Shiv was still laughing
as they hustled out of range.
"Who's hurt -- other than me,
and that doesn't count?"
Lieutenant Brown asked.
He had gotten stabbed a bit,
but his power was Regeneration,
and the wound had already healed.
Shiv raised a hand. "Ribs,"
he said, "but they're just bruised."
Lieutenant Brown pulled up Shiv's shirt,
and for a wonder, Shiv had made enough
progress that it didn't freak him out. He
just looked down at the pale blue pool
of bruises spreading under his skin.
"We'll stop and get some ice on
the way home," Lieutenant Brown said.
They had a first aid kit, of course,
but its little cold packs would not
cover half of Shiv's chest.
"That and something to kill
the pain," Shiv said as he pulled
his shirt down over the bruises.
"Got it on me," said Lieutenant Brown,
handing him a baggie of dark blue pills.
One of those and Shiv wouldn't be
feeling anything for a few hours,
which meant he couldn't take one
until they got back to the van, but
he sure was grateful already.
"Thanks," he said. "You know
how to take care of a guy."
Which was more than he
could say for Boss Batir, and
Shiv was even more grateful
he'd never have to work for
that sorry bastard again.
"It's the least I could do,"
said Lieutenant Brown. "That
was the most beautiful beatdown
I've ever seen -- especially the last bit
where you stuck his clothes in the wall!"
Despite his aching ribs, Shiv
grinned in satisfaction
at a job well done.
* * *
Notes:
Boss Batir (Ulises Landron) -- He has tinted skin, brown eyes, and brown hair buzzed short. A scar cuts through the hairline on the right side of his face. His heritage is Hispanic and American. He supervises a lucrative drugrunning business in Lincoln, Nebraska through a gang called the Hammerheads. He tends to exert control through harsh punishments.
Origin: When Ulises was a boy, his father used to beat him a lot. One day the man threw Ulises against the wall and cracked his skull. Nobody realized it at the time, but that caused the boy to develop superpowers. The next time his father lashed out, Ulises struck back and killed him without really meaning to. But not exactly NOT meaning to either.
Uniform: Street clothes. He favors blue-collar work clothes in dark colors.
Qualities: Master (+6) Gangster, Expert (+4) Tough, Good (+2) Disciplinarian
Poor (-2) Violent Temper
Powers: Expert (+2) Control Force
Motivation: To be in control.
* * *
(Some of these links are harsh.)
Recidivism is a return to crime after release from prison. In local-America, it can run as high as 80%, one of many indications that the penal system is a catastrophic failure. The parole trap is so bad that some inmates don't even make it a day, let alone a week, before getting arrested again. This makes everyone look bad. A huge part of the problem is that former inmates are literally, legally second-class citizens banned from enjoying many of the opportunities that other citizens have. Mass incarceration leads to crushing debt, disenfranchisement, and other abuses. The debt to society is never paid, let alone forgiven; it hangs over them forever. With far fewer resources, naturally they struggle to get by, and thus fail more often than they succeed. This does nobody any good. Authoritarian government has a devastating effect on public trust. There are ways to prepare inmates for release, reduce recidivism, and improve the chances of reintegration. This is what Terramagne-America does, and it is literally the polar opposite of what local-America does. Before Shiv's release, people made sure that he would have clothing, food, transportation, housing, employment, and other needs cared for after he got out. Consequently he made it six months without getting re-arrested. He may be back fighting in the streets ... but notice that he chose not to stab anyone this time, even though he had every chance to do so. Looks like something worked.
(These links are controversial.)
Train graffiti has been described as a rolling museum of marginalized art. It grew out of diverse roots including railworker notations and hobo signs. Today the quality ranges from crude words to sophisticated political slogans, from scribbles to elaborate murals. In L-America, it is routinely demonized, although graffiti can be a positive force. T-America recognized that everyone has a right to some public space for expression, so the railroads reduced harassment and began keeping a few hobo cars open on a "no cost, no amenities, no liability" basis. They also took to placing official imprints higher on the cars, leaving the lower parts available for street artists to decorate. In return, the hobos were expected to refrain from breaking into locked cars or jumping while the train was in motion, and the artists were expected to keep their graffiti from obscuring important information. This compromise, aimed at harm reduction, works more often than not. Occasional infractions are usually addressed by the offender's own fellows, in the interest of not screwing up a good deal for everyone else. One result of this is that when a train is parked in the railyard for a while, it tends to attract a small swarm of street artists and fans who hang around making and admiring graffiti. Very little graffiti has been sold in L-America. In T-America, some art has become so impressive that a company may retire a car and sell it (at considerable profit) for nonfreight uses such as housing an information booth at street fairs. More routinely, a railroad serviced by great artists will gain eyeballs as people watch the trains -- and the company logos on them, which boosts advertising impact. See an example of how to graffiti a train.
Railroads in Omaha have a long history. T-America has more railroads than L-America currently does. This map shows the Omaha Belt Line Railway. Fontenelle Park lies northwest of Gene Leahy Mall. The Freight Depot with its switching yard lies just a little north of the parallel streets Dodge and Farnam which bracket the Mall.
Freight trains run 24/7, but scheduling can be erratic, as they have lower priority than passenger trains. This boxcar is completely blank, which is very rare. This one has high text, known as "boilerplate" in T-America, because the graffiti artists are supposed to paint around that area. Here's an example of a boxcar with full paint, more common in L-America than in T-America.
In L-America, this pink boxcar is a promotional car for a model train. In T-America, it is a real boxcar for female hobos doing a rail marathon where people pledge so many pennies per mile ridden as a fundraiser. Roadside viewers can take a picture of the car and key in its ID number to find out who has ridden in it and how far, with an option to kick in donations of their own. It's an insanely popular program that pops up every few years. People don't tag over the panels that have text or ribbons, but they do write names of victims on the blank side and end panels.
Anti-graffiti coatings make it easier to remove spray paint.
The City of Omaha Logo includes a sunray image. The black-and-white piano keyboard fan of the Ebonies & Ivories is similar.
Wet-erase markers may come off with water or alcohol. Used to be, you'd get a black water-erase marker with a package of colored dry-erase markers, so you could make more permanent lines like a chart and then easily change things inside it without having to redraw the whole thing. But they don't seem to do that anymore.
Hobo marks are symbols used to communicate survival information to people passing through a town. They are still used actively in T-America, much less so in L-America.
See Shiv's "Art Is Not a Crime" tag.
In this context, for a supervillain graffiti artist to correct someone else's spelling is not only stepping on their art -- a general insult -- but stepping outside his own social group into the enemy territory of academics in order to do so. Shiv's ^E means "insert E above," and "sick burn" praises a well-flung insult.
whole car -- graffiti that covers the entire side of a boxcar or other surface.
-- Glossary of Graffiti
Public art is an expression of how we see the world. Its very nature invites commentary and interaction. It can call attention to things that need repair. Graffiti is a particularly fraught form of public art. To young people who feel shut out from society, it's a vital way of expressing themselves.
(Some of these links are sad.)
In L-America, keeping clean can be very difficult, especially for homeless people or other poor folks. However, the need for public showers does not just affect those people, but also folks who bike to work, people with disabilities, and anyone who's ever had their toddler puke on them. Public bathing facilities mean you can do more stuff. Locally there are only a few public showers and bathhouses. T-America sensibly views those as a public health need, so they're more common; many ADA dotties and family restrooms include a shower or bathtub. For those stuck in a country that thinks people should just stay dirty, here are some creative ways to find a shower.
redsixwing and wyld_dandelyon. It also fills the "dysfunctional" square in my 5-29-17 card for the Pride Bingo fest. This poem has been sponsored by a pool from ng_moonmoth including janetmiles, technoshaman, Hal, fred_mouse, dialecticdreamer, and EdorFaus. It belongs to the Shiv thread of the Polychrome Heroics series.Warning: This poem contains some touchy topics. Highlight to read the warnings, some of which are spoilers. It includes mischief, picking pockets, gang life, graffiti, racist language, vandalism of art, references to past abuse, poor care of gang members, issues with keeping clean, Shiv facing Boss Batir, canon-typical violence, creative use of superpowers in combat, assorted injuries and street-typical medical details, and other mayhem. If these are sensitive issues for you, please consider your tastes and headspace before reading onward. This is a major plot point, so skipping it would leave a big gap.
"Beatdown"
Shiv relished his newfound freedom,
but he tried to resist the temptation
to go out and make trouble from scratch.
Boss White frowned on that kind of thing,
and besides, just because Shiv had
made it six months didn't mean that
he wanted to get arrested again.
So he went looking for little bits
of mischief that he could get into.
Shiv picked a few pockets,
most of those belonging to
rich shitheads who dissed him.
When he had enough cash,
he stashed the extra in the pocket
of a frazzled young mother while she
was distracted by the squalling brat
who didn't want to let go of her cornrows.
The other thing Shiv loved was
making graffiti. Not all of that
was even illegal, because he had
permission to tag some of the buildings.
Then there was the Freight Depot
where the cargo trains came through,
another spot ripe for graffiti.
Not everyone took as much care
as Shiv did, but Lieutenant Brown
kept a sharp eye on their gang, and
few others dared to cross them.
Shiv liked visiting the depot since
new cars arrived on Saturdays,
and the railroad gave local artists
a few hours on Sundays to come
paint all that fresh sidewall.
This time they already had
a good crowd, calling out
praise and critique of the tags.
"Hey! Someone get
that crap off the boilerplate!"
Lieutenant Brown barked,
pointing at the offending tag.
The boilerplate was the top line
of text and logos painted on by
the railroad companies, that
you didn't mess with or they'd
come run everyone off the lot.
Shiv grabbed some gasoline and
a rag from the ever-present supplies,
then swarmed up the ladder to wipe
the scribbles away from the ID number.
It wasn't even very good graffiti,
so he went on wiping the rest of the car,
and pretty soon other guys joined in.
Then Shiv found the transit stamp
with the Omaha logo on it, and used
a wet-wipe marker to jot the date and
the hobo symbols for food and work,
both being plentiful at present.
Next time the car came into town,
someone would wipe off the old marks
with alcohol and add fresh ones.
Chores done, Shiv picked up
several cans of spray paint and
quickly covered a section of boxcar
with stylized paint cans holding up
a sign that said Art is not a crime.
After that, he stepped back
and let another artist take over.
Lieutenant Brown walked up and down
the line, surveying the boxcars, and
Shiv followed along behind him.
Most of the art was fine, but they found
several more instances of tags slopping over
the boilerplate, once over a pink ribbon,
and that was no good for anyone.
The Lincoln cars weren't even
marked with local information.
Here and there, Shiv could see
the Hammerheads' logo on the cars,
which was not a good sign at all.
Either Boss Batir wasn't sending
anyone to supervise the railyard,
or whoever he sent couldn't be
bothered to do a decent job.
It made Shiv uneasy.
Lieutenant Brown was
frowning at the boxcars too.
"I don't like this," he said. "We
can't let the Hammerheads keep
slashing the boilerplate, or else
we're all going to be in deep shit."
"Boss talk," Shiv said with a shrug.
"If you need something cut,
then you can call me."
"You know that Boss White
wants you to pay more attention
up the chain of command,"
Lieutenant Brown said.
"I know, I know," said Shiv.
"I cleaned off the crap, didn't I?"
"You did a good job today,"
Lieutenant Brown said. "I'll talk
with Boss White about the graffiti."
He did that, but the problem
kept getting worse anyway.
Cars came back from Lincoln
with the Omaha art crossed out, and
once someone had keyed a window.
Shiv managed to smooth over
the scratches in the glass, but it wasn't
ever going to be as good as new.
The racist shit got on his nerves too,
and when he saw GET OUT NIGGRS
on the side of a boxcar, he couldn't help
but remember Mr. Howard's red pen.
So Shiv took a can of red paint
and scribbled ^E underneath it.
Someone else immediately
added sick burn! below that,
making Shiv grin at the praise.
The next week was even worse, and
Shiv started hosing a base coat over
the racist slurs as quick as he could --
no need for anyone else to see that crap.
By the time he got to the back end,
the front had dried, so he painted
a self-portrait there, all pale skin and
white-blond hair and silver saxophone
wailing blue notes up to the boilerplate.
Lieutenant Brown came over and
added one of himself blowing his trumpet.
Then he stuck his fingers in his mouth
and gave a shrill whistle. "Whole car,"
he ordered, waving at the blank space,
and the guys hurried up to cover it.
Shiv spotted a rangy young Mexican
hanging back and looking wistful.
He elbowed Lieutenant Brown,
who waved the kid into the crowd.
When they were done, the boxcar
was covered top-to-bottom, end-to-end
with faces in every skin-toned paint shade
they'd brought with them, a mural crowned by
the piano-key fan of the Ebonies and Ivories
that mimicked Omaha's own sunrise logo.
Let the Hammerheads suck on that.
The week after that, the whole car
came back with black bars painted
down the side with rollers, so that
it looked like everyone was in jail.
Just looking at it made Shiv
want to cry. His hands clenched
into helpless fists at his sides.
"Sorry about your art, boys,"
said a railworker. "That piece
was a thing of beauty."
Shiv had to clear his throat
before he could speak.
"Well," he croaked, "you
can't do public art and then
expect no one to reply."
The railworker clapped him on
the back and said, "Good attitude."
Shiv was pretty sure nobody
had ever said that to him before.
It made him feel a tiny bit better.
When he got home, he discovered
that Boss White had had enough
of this shit, and also that Boss Batir
had been horning in on some of
Boss White's other projects.
"Pack a bag," Boss White said.
to Shiv. "You're goin' to Lincoln
to help clean up this mess."
That wasn't exactly reassuring,
since Boss Batir had promised
to beat Shiv to a pulp if he
ever came back to town.
Shiv packed a bag, though, and
went with Lieutenant Brown's team.
Faster Blaster had a team too,
which meant if things went well,
they could trap Boss Batir
between the two of them.
They came into town quietly,
not shooting everything in sight
like those stupid movies.
They fanned out in pairs
to find the Hammerheads
and make careful observations
before the lieutenants would
put their heads together and
then come up with a plan.
It didn't take long to find them,
because the Hammerheads
were anything but subtle.
Shiv was surprised
by how dysfunctional
his old gang seemed,
now that he knew what
he was looking at.
They didn't move like
a team, just like guys going
in the same general direction.
Aside from a few leather jackets,
most of them wore scruffy clothes,
and they didn't look all that healthy
underneath the layers of fabric.
When the wind shifted,
it carried a rank body odor.
"They're still in the old flop,"
Shiv said. "It doesn't have
a whole bathroom, just toilets."
"And they can't be bothered
to use the public showers, jeez,"
Faster Blaster said, turning away.
At home, you damn well washed or
Boss White would haul your ass into
a bathroom in your shorts and scrub you
with a bristle brush. Nobody cared
to do that more than once.
Shiv had seen -- and smelled --
plenty worse gangs than this.
He had just thought better of
the Hammerheads because they
were supposed to be important,
holding the state capital.
Maybe they had slipped
since he left them ... or maybe
they had never been as impressive
as he remembered in the first place.
Even the graffiti seemed sad
and faded in a lot of places.
Shiv paused to boost
a few cans of marker paint
from a construction site and set
to work. After all, the Hammerheads
couldn't do public art and then
expect nobody to reply.
First Shiv scrawled
never never give up
on the side of a building.
Lieutenant Brown smirked at him,
then wrote You've left the oven on.
Shiv promptly wondered if he had.
"You jerk," he muttered,
shoving the taller man, but
Lieutenant Brown just laughed.
Faster Blaster simply scribbled
What will you leave behind?
all down a random door.
Shiv noticed that it wasn't
just the gang falling apart,
the neighborhood seemed
kind of dysfunctional too.
In one place, a little bump
that kept cars out of the way
had been broken off.
He painted funny faces
on it and its neighbor. Maybe
now that would encourage
somebody to fix them.
When they learned enough,
then Lieutenant Brown and
Faster Blaster sat down to plan.
They even pulled Shiv into it,
which made him feel weird.
The idea was to ambush
Boss Batir in a parking garage
that he liked to use because
it was nearly abandoned.
That was unlikely to attract
unwelcome attention, and it didn't
have much loose stuff in it for
Boss Batir to throw around.
They consolidated their teams,
split up, and converged on
the site of the ambush.
There were only a handful of
Hammerheads gathered around
their leader, who leaned heavily upon
a concrete block they used as a table.
Shiv stared at Boss Batir.
That was what he'd been
afraid of all this time?
"What's bothering you?"
Lieutenant Brown asked.
"Boss Batir," said Shiv.
"He's the reason why I didn't
want to come back to Lincoln.
I remembered him being huge,
powerful. But looking at him
now, he just seems ... smaller,
somehow, and kind of grubby."
"Maybe he's not smaller,"
Lieutenant Brown said.
"Maybe you're bigger."
Automatically Shiv rolled
his shoulders and checked
the length of his shirt cuffs
over his wristbones. They were
fine. He tugged a thumb inside
the waistband of his pants. Snug.
"Could be," he said, although he
wasn't sure it explained his feelings.
As they watched, a bodyguard
wandered away in the direction
of the nearest bathroom.
"Showtime," said Lieutenant Brown.
The first thing Shiv did in the fight was
to cut the metal buttons and zippers on
the Hammerheads' clothes, and the second
was to sharpen the grommets so that
their shoelaces came loose too.
It didn't take long for the men
to start tripping over themselves.
Shiv laughed and flicked open
his double butterfly, the knife
resting easy in his hand.
Fighting was so much fun.
It got a lot less fun when
Boss Batir recognized him
and came after Shiv with
a hammer in his hand
and murder in his eye.
One glancing blow was
enough to knock Shiv down.
He could see Boss Batir
raise the hammer high, but
couldn't regain his focus.
Suddenly there was a thump!
and Boss Batir flew back hard enough
to make cracks in the concrete wall,
dropping his hammer to the ground.
Faster Blaster had fired his force gun
and caught Boss Batir off guard so that
he couldn't use his superpower to stop it,
which was the point of distracting him
with Lieutenant Brown's team.
Boss Batir was a stubborn cuss,
though, and he wallowed away from
the wall to swing a knife at Shiv.
A quick flick of Shiv's superpower
caught the knife in midair.
It was a shitty knife, so he
closed it and tossed it away.
"But -- but you can't do that!"
Boss Batir sputtered, backing against
the wall. "I've seen your superpower, it's
nothing more than parlor tricks."
"Surprise," Shiv said
with a smirk. "I got better."
"Shit! Sirens!" someone said,
and pointed up the block.
"We need to settle this quick,"
Lieutenant Brown said,
looking frustrated.
"Nah, I got this," Shiv said.
He felt out the sharp edges
of the broken concrete behind
Boss Batir, and then he used
his superpower to pinch them
shut around the man's clothes.
It would look like Boss Batir had
simply gotten stuck when he hit the wall,
but he wasn't getting out of here before
the cops came -- unless he wanted
to run away stark naked.
Shiv was still laughing
as they hustled out of range.
"Who's hurt -- other than me,
and that doesn't count?"
Lieutenant Brown asked.
He had gotten stabbed a bit,
but his power was Regeneration,
and the wound had already healed.
Shiv raised a hand. "Ribs,"
he said, "but they're just bruised."
Lieutenant Brown pulled up Shiv's shirt,
and for a wonder, Shiv had made enough
progress that it didn't freak him out. He
just looked down at the pale blue pool
of bruises spreading under his skin.
"We'll stop and get some ice on
the way home," Lieutenant Brown said.
They had a first aid kit, of course,
but its little cold packs would not
cover half of Shiv's chest.
"That and something to kill
the pain," Shiv said as he pulled
his shirt down over the bruises.
"Got it on me," said Lieutenant Brown,
handing him a baggie of dark blue pills.
One of those and Shiv wouldn't be
feeling anything for a few hours,
which meant he couldn't take one
until they got back to the van, but
he sure was grateful already.
"Thanks," he said. "You know
how to take care of a guy."
Which was more than he
could say for Boss Batir, and
Shiv was even more grateful
he'd never have to work for
that sorry bastard again.
"It's the least I could do,"
said Lieutenant Brown. "That
was the most beautiful beatdown
I've ever seen -- especially the last bit
where you stuck his clothes in the wall!"
Despite his aching ribs, Shiv
grinned in satisfaction
at a job well done.
* * *
Notes:
Boss Batir (Ulises Landron) -- He has tinted skin, brown eyes, and brown hair buzzed short. A scar cuts through the hairline on the right side of his face. His heritage is Hispanic and American. He supervises a lucrative drugrunning business in Lincoln, Nebraska through a gang called the Hammerheads. He tends to exert control through harsh punishments.
Origin: When Ulises was a boy, his father used to beat him a lot. One day the man threw Ulises against the wall and cracked his skull. Nobody realized it at the time, but that caused the boy to develop superpowers. The next time his father lashed out, Ulises struck back and killed him without really meaning to. But not exactly NOT meaning to either.
Uniform: Street clothes. He favors blue-collar work clothes in dark colors.
Qualities: Master (+6) Gangster, Expert (+4) Tough, Good (+2) Disciplinarian
Poor (-2) Violent Temper
Powers: Expert (+2) Control Force
Motivation: To be in control.
* * *
(Some of these links are harsh.)
Recidivism is a return to crime after release from prison. In local-America, it can run as high as 80%, one of many indications that the penal system is a catastrophic failure. The parole trap is so bad that some inmates don't even make it a day, let alone a week, before getting arrested again. This makes everyone look bad. A huge part of the problem is that former inmates are literally, legally second-class citizens banned from enjoying many of the opportunities that other citizens have. Mass incarceration leads to crushing debt, disenfranchisement, and other abuses. The debt to society is never paid, let alone forgiven; it hangs over them forever. With far fewer resources, naturally they struggle to get by, and thus fail more often than they succeed. This does nobody any good. Authoritarian government has a devastating effect on public trust. There are ways to prepare inmates for release, reduce recidivism, and improve the chances of reintegration. This is what Terramagne-America does, and it is literally the polar opposite of what local-America does. Before Shiv's release, people made sure that he would have clothing, food, transportation, housing, employment, and other needs cared for after he got out. Consequently he made it six months without getting re-arrested. He may be back fighting in the streets ... but notice that he chose not to stab anyone this time, even though he had every chance to do so. Looks like something worked.
(These links are controversial.)
Train graffiti has been described as a rolling museum of marginalized art. It grew out of diverse roots including railworker notations and hobo signs. Today the quality ranges from crude words to sophisticated political slogans, from scribbles to elaborate murals. In L-America, it is routinely demonized, although graffiti can be a positive force. T-America recognized that everyone has a right to some public space for expression, so the railroads reduced harassment and began keeping a few hobo cars open on a "no cost, no amenities, no liability" basis. They also took to placing official imprints higher on the cars, leaving the lower parts available for street artists to decorate. In return, the hobos were expected to refrain from breaking into locked cars or jumping while the train was in motion, and the artists were expected to keep their graffiti from obscuring important information. This compromise, aimed at harm reduction, works more often than not. Occasional infractions are usually addressed by the offender's own fellows, in the interest of not screwing up a good deal for everyone else. One result of this is that when a train is parked in the railyard for a while, it tends to attract a small swarm of street artists and fans who hang around making and admiring graffiti. Very little graffiti has been sold in L-America. In T-America, some art has become so impressive that a company may retire a car and sell it (at considerable profit) for nonfreight uses such as housing an information booth at street fairs. More routinely, a railroad serviced by great artists will gain eyeballs as people watch the trains -- and the company logos on them, which boosts advertising impact. See an example of how to graffiti a train.
Railroads in Omaha have a long history. T-America has more railroads than L-America currently does. This map shows the Omaha Belt Line Railway. Fontenelle Park lies northwest of Gene Leahy Mall. The Freight Depot with its switching yard lies just a little north of the parallel streets Dodge and Farnam which bracket the Mall.
Freight trains run 24/7, but scheduling can be erratic, as they have lower priority than passenger trains. This boxcar is completely blank, which is very rare. This one has high text, known as "boilerplate" in T-America, because the graffiti artists are supposed to paint around that area. Here's an example of a boxcar with full paint, more common in L-America than in T-America.
In L-America, this pink boxcar is a promotional car for a model train. In T-America, it is a real boxcar for female hobos doing a rail marathon where people pledge so many pennies per mile ridden as a fundraiser. Roadside viewers can take a picture of the car and key in its ID number to find out who has ridden in it and how far, with an option to kick in donations of their own. It's an insanely popular program that pops up every few years. People don't tag over the panels that have text or ribbons, but they do write names of victims on the blank side and end panels.
Anti-graffiti coatings make it easier to remove spray paint.
The City of Omaha Logo includes a sunray image. The black-and-white piano keyboard fan of the Ebonies & Ivories is similar.
Wet-erase markers may come off with water or alcohol. Used to be, you'd get a black water-erase marker with a package of colored dry-erase markers, so you could make more permanent lines like a chart and then easily change things inside it without having to redraw the whole thing. But they don't seem to do that anymore.
Hobo marks are symbols used to communicate survival information to people passing through a town. They are still used actively in T-America, much less so in L-America.
See Shiv's "Art Is Not a Crime" tag.
In this context, for a supervillain graffiti artist to correct someone else's spelling is not only stepping on their art -- a general insult -- but stepping outside his own social group into the enemy territory of academics in order to do so. Shiv's ^E means "insert E above," and "sick burn" praises a well-flung insult.
whole car -- graffiti that covers the entire side of a boxcar or other surface.
-- Glossary of Graffiti
Public art is an expression of how we see the world. Its very nature invites commentary and interaction. It can call attention to things that need repair. Graffiti is a particularly fraught form of public art. To young people who feel shut out from society, it's a vital way of expressing themselves.
(Some of these links are sad.)
In L-America, keeping clean can be very difficult, especially for homeless people or other poor folks. However, the need for public showers does not just affect those people, but also folks who bike to work, people with disabilities, and anyone who's ever had their toddler puke on them. Public bathing facilities mean you can do more stuff. Locally there are only a few public showers and bathhouses. T-America sensibly views those as a public health need, so they're more common; many ADA dotties and family restrooms include a shower or bathtub. For those stuck in a country that thinks people should just stay dirty, here are some creative ways to find a shower.
See Shiv's "never give up" graffiti, Lieutenant Brown's "oven" graffiti, Faster Blaster's "leave behind" graffiti, and Shiv's funny faces graffiti.
(These links are harsh.)
Stockholm syndrome often applies to victims of abuse. Good therapy can help survivors say no to further abuse and even stand up to their abusers in effigy or in person Here are some insights on confronting an abuser.
When Shiv first started learning how to use a butterfly knife, he did what every novice does if they begin with a sharp blade: he cut himself. He then did the smart thing and bought a trainer. Once he learned how to handle the blunt version with basic skills, he used a single-edged butterfly. Later on he learned to do tricks. At his current skill level, he uses a double-edged butterfly for the simple reason that if someone else takes it away from him, they're more threat to themselves than to him. It's extremely difficult to control a double butterfly because there is no "safe" back side of the knife that you can allow to hit your hand. You have to control it entirely with timing. Shiv could use his superpower to cheat, but he doesn't.
Self-medication has pros and cons. Everyone can and should learn how to treat minor to moderate problems at home, but there are healthy and unhealthy approaches. Usually a beating is a good reason to visit a clinic. Shiv is exceptional in that his superpower enables him to distinguish between broken ribs and merely bruised ribs. Given that -- and a supplier who knows how to handle hospital-grade drugs safely -- his self-medication is reasonably safe.
Great...
Date: 2018-03-16 04:16 pm (UTC)