Sapiens Foundation - Rescue
Sep. 28th, 2024 08:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsAyame has reached out and Angelo and JPC come to get her.
Car doors slammed close in the quiet morning, morning light only just fading away and all three looked up at the house. Hopefully they could act before the street got busy with children heading out to school and the seniors in the community going out for their groceries or bingo games.
Angelo wasted no time heading for the house, stony-faced, and knocked hard on the door.
Oh, this was going to be -fantastic- fun, Jean-Phillipe thought. Not so much the getting a young mutant in a tenuous situation out and safe, but the hard-faced blend of 'LA gangbanger' and 'experienced lawyer' that did not often show in Angelo's day to day persona. It was...well, there was no use denying that it turned him on more than a bit. He could compartmentalize, though. For now they would be the proverbial rock and hard place in tandem, leaving no room for these foster parents to maneuver...
And then other things could be hard later.
He had to remind himself not to skip with enthusiasm, for a moment. And if he had let Ayame see any of his Brotherhood bravado before, now it was right there, not hidden at all.
The door opened a crack -- but instantly, as if someone had been waiting right beside it. Through the gap the two men could see a slice of Ayame's pale face.
"Th-thanks for coming," the girl began in a hushed voice. Nervously, she glanced over her shoulder. "I just, I didn't know who else to call . . ."
Angelo hadn't expected her to open the door, and his expression softened a little in response. "It's OK, you did the right thing. Do you have your stuff packed?"
"Yes, my bag's right-"
"Where do you think you are going?" A shrill voice sounded behind her and a hand was wrapped around Ayame's shoulder, pulling her roughly away from the door. An equally sharp, but lower voice issued another command: "Go to your room. Immediately."
The remaining color leeched from Ayame's cheeks. For an instant she looked like a child caught in the process of violating curfew -- no, worse. A kicked dog cringing in anticipation of the boot.
Then the young woman's mouth hardened.
"No." The syllable quavered, but the word was clearly audible. Ayame turned to her foster father and pushed the hand from her shoulder.
"I'm not staying with people who lied to me," she said.
A pale red-headed woman became visible in the door opening as she grabbed Ayame at both shoulders and attempted to pull her back into the house. Eyes widened at the sight of Angelo though and she screeched out: "Who the hell are you?"
"Angelo Espinosa", he said with an utterly unfriendly smile. "Ayame's lawyer, and I just saw you assault my client and try to hold her against her will. I'd take your hands off her if I were you."
"We are her parents. These decisions belong to us." The owner of the lower voice appeared behind his wife, bearded and bushy eyebrows in a sallow brown white the red of his head was bald. "Go before we call the police for trespassing."
“Oh, please, go ahead”, he answered, voice bright a cheerful but expression something like a shark. “I’ve got a few things to tell them about you. And she’s a legal adult, her decisions belong to her.”
"J'ai Dominion en rapide," Jean-Phillipe murmured to Angelo, betting against the foster parents being French speakers, and even if they were, the odds of them understanding a codename and connecting it to a Special Inspector of the RCMP were extremely low.
"I'm going with them." The words came fast -- Ayame had the look of one determined to do what needed to be done before her courage failed her. She stepped away from her foster parents and snatched up a suitcase that had been set by the door: everything about her life she'd felt was worth keeping. It was pathetically small.
"You spent so long telling me how grateful I should be that I believed you," she said bitterly. "I was so happy someone would take me, but you just saw someone you could use."
The woman pulled out a smartphone, quickly typing in 911, before showing them the screen. "We will report this as a kidnapping and have the law after you in moments. We are her guardians, especially with how dangerous it is for her outside."
The man decided on different measures. Suddenly stepping over and reaching out, he sunk his hand in Ayame's hair and with a firm yank he pulled her back. "You aren't going anywhere!" He thundered, his face reddening.
Angelo already had his phone out and filming before he’d finished the sentence. “And now I have you on video assaulting Ayame. Let her go and it goes no further, for now.”
Ayame was struggling, but she was slight, and her attacker's hands only knotted tighter in her dark hair. However, in his anger her foster father had failed to register one key detail: for the first time in years, Ayame was not wearing gloves.
Teeth gritting in pain, Ayame shoved one bare hand to his face and clawed her fingers. With the sound of a discharging stun-gun, blue-white energy arced between her fingertips mere inches from the man's nose.
"Let -- me -- go!
"You ungrateful little bitch." Her foster mother immediately hissed, dropping her phone to support her husband as he reeled back. "Throwing all those years we took fed you, took care of you in our faces. This proves exactly why your breed can't be trusted."
"Ah, finally the true faces are revealed," Jean-Phillipe intoned. He stepped forward, motioning for Ayame to move to where Angelo still stood, so that they could protect her from both sides. "'Your breed'," he quoted back to them with a sneer. "As though we are something other, safe for you to vent your hate on rather than simply people doing our best to survive just like anyone else." He shook his head. "Do you know who -I- think cannot be trusted? The sort of person who views housing and feeding a vulnerable person as some sort of transaction, that can be used as leverage when your ward decides to think for themself and refuses to submit to your control."
He waved a hand dismissively at the pair. "But paint us as the villains, rather than having the courage to examine yourselves critically. It would not be the first time, it will not be the last time." Before he turned his back to them, he held up a hand and a much stronger, more controlled version of Ayame's demonstration snaked itself up and down his arm. "Just be thankful that her lawyer came to the door and not the Brotherhood."
Ayame had recovered enough to reclaim her suitcase. Now she stood between Angelo and Jean-Phillipe, clutching the handle in both hands as she shook. This time, though, her face was set not with fear, but anger. Somewhere inside her a dam had burst, and now it was all pouring out.
"I thought I was the problem. I stopped eating takuan because you thought it stank. I only asked to get my nose done because you wouldn't stop talking about how flat and ugly it was. I was good. I even kept wearing the suit that summer we lost power, even when I got heatstroke. I ground away every part of myself you didn't like, and I didn't even know why. It never made a difference. I just didn't know there was any other way." Her knuckles whitened around the handle of the suitcase, but no sparks crackled. "So no, I'm not grateful to you. Now I'm leaving, and we can both move on with our lives."
"Like we said, an ungrateful little bitch." The woman spat out. "Just know, you've lost the only home you had left. No one will want you anymore."
“Wrong. Ayame’s with our community now, and we’ll look after her.” Just to drive the point home and offend the bigots even more, Angelo leaned over to give Jean-Phillipe a quick kiss. “Time to take her home, husband.”
Jean-Phillipe grinned widely. "Hold that thought for later, mon coeur. There will be time enough for scandalizing the young folk later." He steadied Ayame with one hand, sweeping the other before them grandly. "Our ride is prepared," he told her, indicating where Sooraya still had the car running. As they all piled into the vehicle, he laughed with almost manic energy. "Allons-y, chere Poudre," he called, pointing at the road in front of them. "Vite, vite!"
Car doors slammed close in the quiet morning, morning light only just fading away and all three looked up at the house. Hopefully they could act before the street got busy with children heading out to school and the seniors in the community going out for their groceries or bingo games.
Angelo wasted no time heading for the house, stony-faced, and knocked hard on the door.
Oh, this was going to be -fantastic- fun, Jean-Phillipe thought. Not so much the getting a young mutant in a tenuous situation out and safe, but the hard-faced blend of 'LA gangbanger' and 'experienced lawyer' that did not often show in Angelo's day to day persona. It was...well, there was no use denying that it turned him on more than a bit. He could compartmentalize, though. For now they would be the proverbial rock and hard place in tandem, leaving no room for these foster parents to maneuver...
And then other things could be hard later.
He had to remind himself not to skip with enthusiasm, for a moment. And if he had let Ayame see any of his Brotherhood bravado before, now it was right there, not hidden at all.
The door opened a crack -- but instantly, as if someone had been waiting right beside it. Through the gap the two men could see a slice of Ayame's pale face.
"Th-thanks for coming," the girl began in a hushed voice. Nervously, she glanced over her shoulder. "I just, I didn't know who else to call . . ."
Angelo hadn't expected her to open the door, and his expression softened a little in response. "It's OK, you did the right thing. Do you have your stuff packed?"
"Yes, my bag's right-"
"Where do you think you are going?" A shrill voice sounded behind her and a hand was wrapped around Ayame's shoulder, pulling her roughly away from the door. An equally sharp, but lower voice issued another command: "Go to your room. Immediately."
The remaining color leeched from Ayame's cheeks. For an instant she looked like a child caught in the process of violating curfew -- no, worse. A kicked dog cringing in anticipation of the boot.
Then the young woman's mouth hardened.
"No." The syllable quavered, but the word was clearly audible. Ayame turned to her foster father and pushed the hand from her shoulder.
"I'm not staying with people who lied to me," she said.
A pale red-headed woman became visible in the door opening as she grabbed Ayame at both shoulders and attempted to pull her back into the house. Eyes widened at the sight of Angelo though and she screeched out: "Who the hell are you?"
"Angelo Espinosa", he said with an utterly unfriendly smile. "Ayame's lawyer, and I just saw you assault my client and try to hold her against her will. I'd take your hands off her if I were you."
"We are her parents. These decisions belong to us." The owner of the lower voice appeared behind his wife, bearded and bushy eyebrows in a sallow brown white the red of his head was bald. "Go before we call the police for trespassing."
“Oh, please, go ahead”, he answered, voice bright a cheerful but expression something like a shark. “I’ve got a few things to tell them about you. And she’s a legal adult, her decisions belong to her.”
"J'ai Dominion en rapide," Jean-Phillipe murmured to Angelo, betting against the foster parents being French speakers, and even if they were, the odds of them understanding a codename and connecting it to a Special Inspector of the RCMP were extremely low.
"I'm going with them." The words came fast -- Ayame had the look of one determined to do what needed to be done before her courage failed her. She stepped away from her foster parents and snatched up a suitcase that had been set by the door: everything about her life she'd felt was worth keeping. It was pathetically small.
"You spent so long telling me how grateful I should be that I believed you," she said bitterly. "I was so happy someone would take me, but you just saw someone you could use."
The woman pulled out a smartphone, quickly typing in 911, before showing them the screen. "We will report this as a kidnapping and have the law after you in moments. We are her guardians, especially with how dangerous it is for her outside."
The man decided on different measures. Suddenly stepping over and reaching out, he sunk his hand in Ayame's hair and with a firm yank he pulled her back. "You aren't going anywhere!" He thundered, his face reddening.
Angelo already had his phone out and filming before he’d finished the sentence. “And now I have you on video assaulting Ayame. Let her go and it goes no further, for now.”
Ayame was struggling, but she was slight, and her attacker's hands only knotted tighter in her dark hair. However, in his anger her foster father had failed to register one key detail: for the first time in years, Ayame was not wearing gloves.
Teeth gritting in pain, Ayame shoved one bare hand to his face and clawed her fingers. With the sound of a discharging stun-gun, blue-white energy arced between her fingertips mere inches from the man's nose.
"Let -- me -- go!
"You ungrateful little bitch." Her foster mother immediately hissed, dropping her phone to support her husband as he reeled back. "Throwing all those years we took fed you, took care of you in our faces. This proves exactly why your breed can't be trusted."
"Ah, finally the true faces are revealed," Jean-Phillipe intoned. He stepped forward, motioning for Ayame to move to where Angelo still stood, so that they could protect her from both sides. "'Your breed'," he quoted back to them with a sneer. "As though we are something other, safe for you to vent your hate on rather than simply people doing our best to survive just like anyone else." He shook his head. "Do you know who -I- think cannot be trusted? The sort of person who views housing and feeding a vulnerable person as some sort of transaction, that can be used as leverage when your ward decides to think for themself and refuses to submit to your control."
He waved a hand dismissively at the pair. "But paint us as the villains, rather than having the courage to examine yourselves critically. It would not be the first time, it will not be the last time." Before he turned his back to them, he held up a hand and a much stronger, more controlled version of Ayame's demonstration snaked itself up and down his arm. "Just be thankful that her lawyer came to the door and not the Brotherhood."
Ayame had recovered enough to reclaim her suitcase. Now she stood between Angelo and Jean-Phillipe, clutching the handle in both hands as she shook. This time, though, her face was set not with fear, but anger. Somewhere inside her a dam had burst, and now it was all pouring out.
"I thought I was the problem. I stopped eating takuan because you thought it stank. I only asked to get my nose done because you wouldn't stop talking about how flat and ugly it was. I was good. I even kept wearing the suit that summer we lost power, even when I got heatstroke. I ground away every part of myself you didn't like, and I didn't even know why. It never made a difference. I just didn't know there was any other way." Her knuckles whitened around the handle of the suitcase, but no sparks crackled. "So no, I'm not grateful to you. Now I'm leaving, and we can both move on with our lives."
"Like we said, an ungrateful little bitch." The woman spat out. "Just know, you've lost the only home you had left. No one will want you anymore."
“Wrong. Ayame’s with our community now, and we’ll look after her.” Just to drive the point home and offend the bigots even more, Angelo leaned over to give Jean-Phillipe a quick kiss. “Time to take her home, husband.”
Jean-Phillipe grinned widely. "Hold that thought for later, mon coeur. There will be time enough for scandalizing the young folk later." He steadied Ayame with one hand, sweeping the other before them grandly. "Our ride is prepared," he told her, indicating where Sooraya still had the car running. As they all piled into the vehicle, he laughed with almost manic energy. "Allons-y, chere Poudre," he called, pointing at the road in front of them. "Vite, vite!"
