Blood on the Boardwalk
Posted on Fri Oct 3rd, 2025 @ 8:45am by Kennedy Kelly & Hayden Davis & Maeve MacKenna & Jennifer Bryant & Desmond Greene & Alaric Thane & Josiah Martin
7,421 words; about a 37 minute read
Mission:
Episode 7: Pathogens and Contagions
Location: Coney Island, New York City
Timeline: March 3, 1992
The moment the X-Men arrived they were taken in by the sensory overload that was Coney Island. It was an iconic stretch of Brooklyn that felt frozen in time while still managing to pulse with constant movement and excited energy.
~* 'X-Men, remember the clues we found in Peter's belongings.' *~ Jean telepathically shared the items with them in their minds; the missing person's poster, the lighter, and the dirty ticket for the carnival game. It wasn't a lot to go on but with a keen eye and some investigating they might pick up on a lead. ~* 'I'll remain in touch using Cerebro, alert me of anything unusual.' *~
Walking down a long wooden boardwalk, the Atlantic breeze shifted and the nip of spring hit their faces. The scent of salty ocean air, mingled with fried funnel cakes and hot dogs. To their left, Luna Park rose up into the sky like a fever dream with its rickety wooden rollercoaster rattling overhead. The rider's shrieks echoing alongside the deep whoosh of the spinning, neon-lit chaos of the other rides like the Astro Tower and the Tilt-A-Whirl. But the crown jewel of Luna Park was the Wonder Wheel—a century-old Ferris wheel with swinging cars, spinning slowly against the sky and offering dizzying views of the beach, the city, and the tangle of rides below.
Outside the bright and colorful rides were the stalls and shops that crowded the side streets and the boardwalk itself. Vintage arcades with claw machines and skee ball, souvenir shops selling kitschy T-shirts and seashell jewelry, and fortune tellers’ booths glowing with string lights and mystique. Music poured from boomboxes and buskers alike, adding to the sheer overload that the amusement park provided. Coney Island was chaotic, loud, gritty, and wildly alive, making it the perfect hunting grounds for a predator of men.
The Atlantic hit cold and clean. Maeve breathed it in, scarf tugging at her neck. First time here. “Achill it isn’t, but sea’s sea,” she muttered.
Her eyes ran the stalls, then snagged. “There—pin-ups and dice,” she said, chin tipping at a booth strung with tacky lighters. “Matches Peter’s bits, yeah? The naked-lady lighter, that shoot-the-star ticket. One of ye want to chat him up?”
She rocked on her heels, toe testing the boards. “These planks… feel off.” Her hand skimmed the rail like she was listening through it. “Hollow under the pilings, like the sand’s been pulled thin. Dark pocket.” A quick, uneasy glance. “I’ll stick a stone here, leave it for now.”
Lower, almost to herself: “Back home they say blood-drinkers keep to the shadows.” She swallowed and lifted her chin. “Mind your feet.”
Joey shivered as he pulled his woefully inadequate jacket tighter around him. He was not built, or equipped for the cold, and just as luck would have it there were calls for a winter storm to move in, despite the lateness in the season. "Why can't the bad guys ever set up shop somewhere nice, like Tahiti or Saint Martin?" he groused as he looked around. He did not share the superstitions of Maeve but the sheer number of people around put him on edge. Too many to watch, too many places to slip away. The only plus, as far as he could tell, was he could feel the pull of the, frankly obscene, number of rats that teemed in the shadows. He wondered if he could use that awareness to map out the hidden places or to get a sense of where they avoided. Only one way to find out, but doing it standing in the middle of a crowded 80 foot wide path did not seem advisable.
“I’m just happy there aren’t any dinosaurs.” Kennedy replied to Joey’s remark as she recalled their time in the Savage Land but she agreed with him, her dislike of being uncomfortable in any situation was apparent.
Jennifer followed. She did seem to be keeping in shadow, looking around. She had been uncharacteristically silent since the attack. She inhaled, nostrils flaring, as if she was sniffing the air. She didn't seem aware she was doing this. She looked to Maeve and then she stepped towards the stall with the markings that matched. She leaned against it with a cat-like grace, her smile seductive, predatory. Dark eyes sought the proprietor.
Desmond smirked at the complaints his friends uttered at the cold. He was just wearing some flannel over a t-shirt, and a pair of jeans. His eyes scanned the surrounding area while the combined scents of Coney Island invaded his mind. Hot dogs, popcorn, cotton candy. Then there was a faint but pungent odour of someone being sick on the boardwalk. His eyes were drawn away from the spectacle by Jennifer gliding away from the group. He took his first half-step out from his friends, following his shadow-drawn friend. His eyes shifted back to the larger cluster. His deep rumble of a voice carried well in the higher-pitched din of the boardwalk, "Stick together or pair up. Nobody goes anywhere alone."
With advice, or an approach at an order, dispensed, Desmond positioned himself very close to the booth Jennifer approached. But instead of standing next to her, he found a shadowy nook just out of the line of sight of the booth attendant.
Hayden nodded, taking a deep breath of the ocean air wafting in. She could sense the waters all around them, bringing some comfort to an otherwise horror movie night. "I think staying together is probably best. Strength in numbers and our powers combined could be pretty lethal if needed."
The vendor in question’s wares only managed to get smarmier as they approached, the pinup girls and lewd novelty gifts shifted towards something a bit more pornographic as they dared to examine the small seaside store. While the neon lights and laughter brightened the place there was something else much darker that lurked in the shadows that appealed to different kind of patron.
The man running the stall was no stranger to gawkers but his experience created a prejudice towards youths who lingered. “I’m watching your hands.” He threatened, “Don’t think I’m above knocking your teeth in for stealing, since the cops aren’t patrolling anymore we’ve all taken to defending our own."
"Maybe I want to buy something?" Jennifer said, her voice unusually low and silky. She was very close to the man now. She started to reach for a lighter. "I knew a man who had a lighter like this. Do you sell many of them?"
“Oh yeah?” The vendor’s demeanor softened a little at Jennifer’s alluring tone and it caused his thick eyebrows to waggle slightly. “I sell a lot of things to a lot of different people. Maybe if you and your girlfriends like to party.” He glanced over at Kennedy and Hayden with a smirk that showed off his gold tooth. “Or if you were…generous with your purchases, I might be able to remember something else.”
"They're a little young," Jennifer said, even though they were all roughly the same age. "But I think you and I could reach an understanding. That man..." She leaned closer. The intensity of her gaze was almost predatory. "I'm not so different than that man."
Hayden pulled her jacket tighter, the cold seeping into her bones in a way that felt sharper than the ocean wind. She tried to focus on the sound of the waves, but even that steady rhythm seemed different here. It was darker, as if the Atlantic itself was holding its breath.
The typical music and sounds of Coney Island from somewhere down the way drifted in and out with the wind. It was high-pitched and warped, like it belonged on a broken record in a horror film. Hayden couldn’t shake the feeling that they were characters in one of them. Like they were just waiting for the cut to the first scream. She shuddered, wondering if Jason would take Coney Island along with Manhattan.
“If you’re going to waste my time with bullshit then you can move right along.” The man glanced at the group that was standing next to Jennifer and reached out for the handle of his baseball bat that sat under the counter, claiming to be like that man set the vendor off. “I’m sick and tired of punk ass kids acting like they own this place, you scare off the real customers… you can fuck off just like the rest of them.” He jostled the bat under the counter, it made a loud noise and shook some of the cat o’ nine tails that hung from the stand.
The man selling hot dogs down the boardwalk perked up at the sound of the bat shaking and then another few merchants turned and looked at them, the Boardwalk watchdogs all suddenly on alert.
Desmond emerged from the shadows near Hayden. He stepped next to her at the booth. He towered over his friend, and the light caught the amber eyes, reflecting with orange off it in an unique shade. He made sure to cross his arms over his t-shirt-covered chest. With Hayden next to him, Desmond's alienness was pronounced further. "Man, you're way too loud. Didn't take you for being scared of a girl like her."
Jennifer looked over with a strange suddenness as Desmond emerged next to Hayden. She stared at him for a moment. There was something different about her eyes. Colder. More distant. Then she looked back to the vendor, hearing the baseball back, and a slow smile spread across her face, a hungry smile. "There's nothing to be scared of," she said, once more in that low, sultry voice. "Just tell me where he liked to linger and you'll never see us again."
“Mutant freaks too! I ain't telling you shit.” The man replied as he took in Desmond’s impressive height. It has all been too much for the man, presumably terrorized by vampires and now being interrogated by mutants - it caused him to raise his bat over the edge of his stall as he moved to stand. His squat and wide body now filled all the space behind the booth as his voice reached a shout. “Piss off before me and my friends have a real problem with you!”
A handful of Coney Island merchants all began to advance and encircle the group on the boardwalk; they had done a brilliant job of drawing all the wrong kind of attention to themselves. Upsetting civilians had not been the goal of today’s mission but now this strip of the boardwalk was on high alert and if anyone else was watching, it was clear this group was sticking their nose in other people’s business.
“Here!” Kennedy opened her wallet and placed fifty bucks on the edge of the stall, she didn’t dare touch the man or get close to him. “We’re going, we’re going.”
Kennedy took a few steps away from the man and his stall of novelty items, whatever information the man had about what was going on in Coney Island was lost to them. Now it was a matter of damage control before the whole mission was compromised. Heading off to the beach towards Maeve and Joey, Kennedy hoped the rest would follow before they made any more mistakes.
Maeve clocked Jennifer had the bloke handled and peeled off, hands shoved in her jacket pockets like any bored girl killing time. “Grand, you’ve got Romeo,” she murmured. “I’ll have a nose.”
At the rail she crouched to “tie” a boot, slipped a pebble through a gap; it pinged metal below and a cold draught breathed up with a tang of brine and old pennies. She stacked three small stones by the post as a quiet marker, then glanced to Joey. “Your wee pals are givin’ this strip a wide berth,” she nodded at the gaps. “Can ye ask why? Feels like trouble.”
She headed down the steps to the sand. Boardwalk noise dulled to wind, gulls, and the slap of water under wood. She stopped short of the pier’s shadow, scarf up, peering into the black underbelly—tar-stained pilings, rope ends, bits of glass winking in the wash. Too still.
Crouching, she traced a shallow scuff in the wet sand leading straight into the dark, like someone half-carried. She followed it a couple of paces, then slowed right down. One hand found a piling; she let the timber hum through her palm, breath small and quiet. Another flat pebble set at the tideline, just in case. She edged to the very lip of shadow and held there—eyes adjusting, weight on her back foot—watching the gaps under the boards and waiting for the dark to blink first.
Joey followed along behind, not willing to let someone wander off entirely alone. "I can give it a go," he murmured. "It's not like they speak English, but I might be able to get something," he added as he took a look around, making sure no one was paying them any particular attention. Usually, he only exerted control to keep rats away, but Maeve was right; they were willing to do that all on their own, it seemed. He could not feel nearly the number he would expect for the area. He crouched down himself as if Maeve was showing him something, as he called on the part of himself he often ignored, letting the power flow out of him. He'd wanted to send it as a gentle wave, but, alas, it was more of a torrent as the few rats desperate enough to brave whatever had them frightened came to him.
As he had said, they did not speak English, but they seemed to know what he wanted, and he was able to catch glimpses of their thoughts —a sort of viewmaster procession of images and emotions that told a story. Things hid in the dark. That was normal, considering the urban decay of the area that was plainly visible. The flaking paint, the creak and rust on the rides that were not maintained as well as they could be, the drugs being sold and done in dark corners. But there was also a bigger darkness he caught flashes of. A place that smelled of blood all the time and where the rats would not go because they did not return, and nor did the humans who ventured there. A warehouse on the edge of the park with a partially collapsed floor into the boardwalk's understructure. He shook his head as he started to tell Maeve before he noticed a panicked squeak from the rats. The dark was coming.
A shadow and a chill passed over the pair on the beach. The sensation seemed to arise from within them and it was ominous and foreboding, like someone had just discovered them and was now watching. The few rats that had dared to speak to Joey immediately scattered; whatever attention they had drawn seemed to frighten the rodents. The last lingering insight the rats provided was a simple but grave fear.
Death.
Maeve kept her palm on the piling, eyes on the black between the posts. “My gran had a whole book of warnings about under-places,” she said, almost to the wood. “Bridges, cellars, caves—anywhere the light doesn’t quite reach. Not the kiddie tales, the ones meant to keep you breathing.” She let out a slow breath and glanced up at the washed-out sky beyond the pier.
She thumbed a flat shell into the dark; it clicked off a beam and skittered. Nothing moved, just the creak of timber and the slap of water. “Alright,” she went on, voice settling because she’d decided it would. “We don’t turn our back, and we don’t make a scene.”
Her eyes slid to Joey without leaving the shadow fully. “What did they give you, the rats? Pictures, smells—anything solid? Tell me, and we’ll flag this spot for the others and go where it points.” She set a small stone at the tideline, then eased one step back, still facing the dark.
The rat stepped back slightly at the sensation, leaving his own focus on the darkness as well as he considered what to say. "Learned quite a bit," he said carefully, inching towards the concrete stairs. "But let's make it back to the others first. I think I hear a bit of a commotion and we can't afford to get separated. Metro North is a bitch to take to get back."
Before Maeve could respond, the commotion on the boardwalk escalated and while not all the words were divulged to them a few key ones were loud and clear, Mutant Freaks… piss off. They noticed that Kennedy appeared on the beach with quick steps.
“Let’s go…now.” She said before walking past them and away from the vendors.
The presence in the shadows dissipated as they left the beach, whether or not it continued to watch them remained unknown.
Leaving the seaside stalls, the Alternate Class made their way towards the chaos of the amusement park. This area was much busier than the stores on the boardwalk and it was easier to blend into the crowds who were distracted by their own quest for thrill seeking. Standing next to the carousel, its organ music and whirl of colors made for a good place to collect themselves when compared to some of the more daring rides that created screams that filled the night sky.
“Well that was a disaster,” Kennedy huffed. “Whatever is going on around here it has people on edge. He mentioned the police are no longer patrolling the park, is it really that bad?” Looking around she noticed a telephone and electrical pole that was covered in missing person flyers. Layered one on top of the other, some were weathered and faded while others were fresh and newly posted. The faces of dozens upon dozens of young people stared back at them, all hopelessly lost. “I guess it is.” Kennedy replied to her own question as she examined the posters.
"But why would he carry around his own missing person flyer in his pocket?" Hayden wondered aloud as she looked at the ones on the pole. "At any rate, the lighter was a huge bust." She looked at Kennedy and then others. "Maybe we can try to get something out of the raffle ticket. It was stained with mustard, so maybe a game near a hotdog vendor? And do all the games use the same tickets or are they different colors or something? I've never been here," she added.
Maeve fell in with them, eyes snagging on the pole plastered with faces. “Jesus… there’s loads of them,” she murmured, throat tight. “He was just one of many.”
She shook herself, nodding at Hayden, and rubbing her hands. “Ticket’s not useless,” she said, squinting at the games. “Loads of places do their own wee tickets—colours, wee logos, whatever. If his has mustard on it, he probably got it near a hot-dog cart, yeah?”
She nodded down the row. “We could do a quick lap, clock which games sit beside the dog stands, then peek in their bins for stubs. If the colour or the edge matches ours, that’s our stall. And if it’s that shoot-the-star craic, you’ll hear the pop-guns and see paper targets in the rubbish.”
Jennifer was staring off into space as she listened. She had trailed a little behind as the team had come here. Now she shook her head slowly. "The lighter wasn't a bust. We didn't find a direct connection and he didn't seem to be an associate of the man who bit me. However, he and the others on the boardwalk feel besieged and have banded together defensively. The police no longer even try. We know this area is a hunting ground and one heavily preyed upon. That man might have stolen from the vendor after he was turned or patronized him before. The other clues might lead to similar situations but someone might know something. I don't think a show of force is going to be helpful. We made the vendors defensive. Maybe we take turns, one person approaching each lead, but the others stay near enough to help if needed, not being obvious about it. If everyone or even three or four people step up at once, it might go like last time. These people already feel hunted. Let's not crowd them."
Jennifer paused. "I feel..." She shook her head and suddenly she sounded much more like she normally did, but clearly distressed. "Guys, I'm really scared here. I don't want to..." She didn't finish that thought.
Maeve slipped in close and hooked her arm through Jennifer’s, giving it a long, steady squeeze. “Hey, hey. Look at me a sec,” she said softly. “You’ve every right to be scared after what happened. Anyone would be.”
She dipped her head so they were eye to eye. “But you’re not carryin’ it on your own. You’ve got me, and Des, and the whole bleedin’ lot of us. We don’t leave each other. We don’t let each other fall. If it gets rough, we pull in tight and we protect, yeah?”
Her thumb rubbed a slow circle over Jennifer’s sleeve. “Just stay beside me. Breathe. We’ll take it bit by bit. You’re safe with us, love.”
Jennifer leaned in a little when Maeve took her arm, taking a deep breath. She met her teammates eyes for a long moment and nodded. "Thank you, Maeve. Thanks, everybody." She seemed to calm visibly. "I still think we should..." She paused and looked back to Maeve. "Wait. Did you and Joey see anything interesting?" Jennifer had been focused on her own attempts to get information from the vendor but she'd noticed where Maeve and Joey had joined the group.
"Yes," said Joey and he made sure they were away and not being followed by a lynch mob. "The rats have largely abandoned this area. I was only able to get a few to come to me when I would have expected there to be hundreds here. They are terrified. There's a spot they are avoiding they showed me. It's at the back edge if the park, an old warehouse. We could check out the games midway on the way."
“We need to keep looking and find some answers if we want to help Jennifer.” Kennedy said with that level tone she often held when they were on missions. Her emotions flattened and her thoughts focused when the huntress inside of her was called to perform. “It sounds like we have a good plan, head to the midway and see if we can find the game where this ticket came from before heading to the warehouse.”
Kennedy adjusted the collar of her coat before she examined the rides and the overlit paths towards the midway games. The true con artists of Coney Island awaited them up ahead, few won but many played their skewed games of chance. “If they think you’re a sucker looking to win, they’ll be more inclined to help you.”
Heading into the midway, the Alrernate Class was greeted by blinking neon signs all screaming for attention as they were stacked on top of one another in what could best be described as a visual shouting match.
WIN A PRIZE
3 SHOTS FOR $5
EVERYBODY WINS
It was a relentless advertisement that was escalated by the barkers that stood behind or leaned over their counters looking for patrons to play.
“Hey buddy, c’mon and try. The first one is free.”
“You look like a winner, doll face. Don’t walk by a guaranteed prize.”
“Don’t let your friend show you up, I bet you can do better.”
It was a barrage with no room to think — just a rapid-fire assault of voices, bells, buzzers, stuffed animals the size of small children, and spinning wheels that clack like they’re about to fly apart. Kids screamed, and vendors shouted all while the roller coaster rattled nearby like a freight train losing bolts.
"I loved going to the county fair back home." Desmond's eyes scanned the ahead of the group. He wasn't paying much attention to the stalls, instead looking for sudden rushes in the crowd, clumps people were drifting around, and other odd behaviour in the stream of people. "One of the few things dad would take us to instead of mom. I loved going on the Ferris wheel. Always wanted to get up high, ya know?"
“Up high is nice…” Kennedy agreed as they navigated the loud midway “I was scared of it at first but training with Kurt helped me to feel more comfortable in high places. Then again, it’s easy not to be afraid when you know someone will always catch you.” She too looked up at the Ferris wheel “But I can’t say that I’ve ever been on one of those, it wasn’t something my family really did…I’ve never been to a state fair either. It’s all about pies and quilts and cows, right?”
Maeve drifted along with the group, eyes darting at every flash of neon and racket of voices. “Aye, quilts and cows—and sheep, don’t forget them,” she piped up at Kennedy’s question, lips quirking. “County shows back home were all about who had the fattest ram or the prettiest carrot. But there’d always be a few rides too, tinny music blarin’, smell of chips and diesel.”
She glanced up at the Wonder Wheel looming in the distance, scarf tugged closer round her neck. “Never been on one that size though. Closest I got was the rickety swing chairs at Achill fair—half thought I’d end up in the Atlantic if the chains gave way.” Her grin tilted a little wry. “Maybe tonight’s not the best time for a go, but… reckon part of me’d like the view.”
Then, softer, she added with a glance toward Jennifer, “And maybe it’s good to remember there’s still light and laughter in places like this, even if shadows are lurking.”
Hayden nodded, "Yeah, I bet the view would be great. Imagine how much of the city you could see." She paused, letting Maeve's comment about life and laughter linger in the air for a moment. But also, remembering the aerial view of the city that she had with Bobby over a year ago. It was then that she noticed a hot dog vendor a short distance off to their left, next to several booths with barkers calling out.
"Hey, is that one of those water pistol target games near the hot dog cart?" she asked, subtly motioning to their left. "If anyone wants to give it a go and see if that ticket matches, I can help with the water. You know, slightly pressurize it to knock the targets down or something like that."
"That's not a bad idea." Kennedy agreed as she sidestepped a spilled soda in the middle of the walkway. "Why don't we all find a game that we know we can win and we'll collect a few tickets from it then compare and see if we've found the right person to interview." She glanced around the midway and found a game of darts where the player was required to pop balloons in order to win. "I can take a shot at that one."
Stepping away from the group but still within eyesight, Kennedy placed a five dollar bill on the counter for the game she had selected. The man running the game provided her with three dull tipped darts before explaining the simple rules to her. Playing into the scenario, she missed with all three of her shots before sheepishly placing another five dollar bill on the counter. The next round of darts went as anticipated for an expert marksman, Kennedy hit every balloon she had aimed for. Giggling and with a flippant shrug of her shoulders she accepted the tickets that had been provided to her for winning before she returned to the group.
"Okay. Here are mine." Kennedy said upon her return but she frowned when she placed her tickets next to the ticket they had found on Peter. They were not a match. "That's too bad... I guess we'll have to try some more."
Jennifer was seeming a bit distant again despite Maeve's earlier comforting. She felt strange. Changing. Still, she nodded to the plan. It made sense. She found a skeeball game. To her surprise, she was able to score perfectly. Her powers normally wouldn't have helped with that. Maybe she was just that good. Or maybe it was something else. Her heart sank a little. It sank more when the ticket didn't match. "No luck. I'm not sure finding the right game will be more help than finding the right vendor," she said despondently.
For his part, Desmond knew exactly what game he wanted to do. There was a big pole with numbers on it, and a big guy holding an even bigger mallet in front of it. With confidence, Desmond walked up. A big grin plastered on his face as he held out the three dollar bills for the game. "This thing is huge." He was looking at the pole, and the small bell on top.
When the stall holder offered Desmond the large mallet, he couldn't help but sell the weight of the big hammer. The tree-man nodded in admiration at the supposedly heavy hammer. He set it down, faux-spat in his hands, and looked to see if Maeve was watching him. With just one hand Desmond picked up the hammer, flipped it with a flick of his wrist, and sent it straight on target. The bell dinged loudly, and the stall holder looked at Desmond darkly, muttering something about mutie cheater as he counted out the winnings.
Maeve couldn’t help the stupid little smile when Des rang the bell like it owed him money. Show-off. Big, handsome, ridiculous show-off. She felt her cheeks heat, gave her head a tiny shake like she was clearing sea spray, and peeled away before she started staring.
She drifted toward a ring-toss beside a hot-dog cart—glass bottles lined up in tight little armies, barkers patterin’ on about “light wrists, sweet flick.” A lad with a grease-stained apron slid her a bundle of thin plastic rings.
“Right. Low and lazy,” she muttered, half to herself. First few clinked off the lips, learning the bounce. Then she flattened her arc, let them skim—one slipped over a neck, then another, then two at once when she sent them hugging the glass.
“Atta girl,” the vendor sighed, half annoyed, half impressed. He counted out a strip of tickets and tore them free with a papery rip. Yellow stock, red print, little saw-tooth edge on the perforation.
Maeve tucked a curl behind her ear, snagged a quick look at the hot-dog cart (mustard everywhere, naturally), then jogged back to the others, fanning the tickets like a winning hand.
“Alright—any good?” She laid one next to Peter’s grubby stub, lining up the edges. What d’you think—match or no?” She tipped her chin toward the ring-toss and the dog stand cuddled up beside it. “If this is our stall, we’ve got a barker to chat… preferably without bats this time.”
Dressed to hilt in his Limbo clothes, Alaric stood before the milk bottle stand with a baseball in hand. The carny’s grin was wide, but Alaric barely saw him. Or heard him speak.
"Step right up, knock ’em all down in one shot, win a prize," said the man who smelled like sweat, cheap cologne, old canvas, and sawdust. The carny leaned forward, "Think you got the arm for it, kid?"
Alaric felt the weight of the dark more than the ball. It was a familiar, subtle shift in the air that brought a prickle along his spine. The same one that had warned him of demons in Limbo. And it didn't have to be near. Or recent. Darkness left an unmistakable trace behind.
He threw anyway. The ball slammed into the stack of steel bottles with a crash that sent them scattering into the canvas behind them. The carny stammered as his grin faltered. "Well…uh, congratulations." But Alaric didn’t even bother to smirk. He reached out and took the tickets, his gaze sliding past the booth. He looked into the throng of shadows that clung to the midway.
The noise of the carnival carried on. There were screams from the roller coaster, the mechanical chirp of arcade games, and so on. But underneath it, Alaric could hear the silence between the sounds. He thought it too deliberate, too intent.
This wasn’t Coney Island anymore. Not to him. The lights and music felt like a thin veil stretched over a place that belonged to shadows. A place he knew too well. Limbo had taught him how predators watched from the dark, patient, waiting for one step too far away from the firelight. His hand twitched toward his side, half-expecting his Soulsword to answer. It didn’t... not yet. But his stance shifted, protective, as his eyes tracked each teammate in the crowd.
"Here," he said, handing the tickets over. There was no curtness to his voice. Only seriousness. "Maybe so, maybe not. But we shall see."
A large bushel of tickets was more or less crumpled in Desmond's grip. He came jogging back to the small huddle, an excited smile on his face. He had rung the bell, easily. He knew he could, but Maeve had seen it. His ego liked that, as did that fluttering thing in his stomach. That flutter stuttered as he took notice of Alaric's stance, his expression, his aura. His puppydog jog turned in a more weary approach as he stapped next to him, and placed his own batch of crumped tickets. He nudged his shoulder against Alaric, and gave a 'what's up' nod.
Unfortunately for him, Joey's mutant powers did not really help with any carnival games as such. He had to rely on his mundane skills to win a game. Fortunately, he quickly spied a target shooting game tucked into the boardwalk. A quick look, and he was sure it was the best choice considering the shocking lack of skill being shown by the current players. He stepped over, causing the carney look up. "Two dollars a shot. Five for three. Whoever gets closest each round is the winner," he explained the game as Joey rifled his wallet for the entry fee.
A few moments later and the boy hefted the BB-gun critically. It was surely rather poorly maintained and likely would not shoot entirely on target, but that was why he bought multiple entries. Plus, just hitting the target would make him better than most of the competition, most of whom seemed to have had vanishingly little practice ever shooting. He crouched down and braced the poor excuse for a weapon as he readied the shot.
Shortly, he made his way back with a relatively small number of tickets and a ridiculously oversized imitation sombrero that he held rather disdainfully. He also doubted his tickets would be a match, considering what little they knew about the vampire did not suggest him to be a crack shot, but looks could always be deceiving. He grumbled lightly and silently made to put the hat on Desmond's head as he looked at the others. "We're getting close to the warehouse it seems. That's it over there behind the arcade. Anyone have any luck with the other games or anyone getting creepy feelings?"
Hayden slid onto the stool in front of the water pistol booth, the neon lights flashing across her features. The carny gave her a toothy grin and gestured to the plastic gun chained to the counter. "Just hit the target till it drops, sweetheart. Steady hand wins the prize."
She huffed at his use of 'sweetheart' and picked up the pistol. What he didn’t see was the subtle way her fingers curled around the trigger, pressurizing the water in the gun and tube.
The moment the bell rang, she fired. The targets toppled one right after the other. They were clattering and clinking down faster than the other players could even adjust their aim. A chorus of groans rose from the nearby competitors, drowned out by the carny’s exaggerated gasp.
"Well, look at that! Clean sweep!" He handed her a fistful of tickets with a reluctant smile. Hayden grinned as she took the tickets and headed back to the group.
She placed them with the others and glanced down to see if they matched the one. Her heart gave a small jolt. The faded ink, the numbering, the serrated edge... an exact match to the ticket they had found earlier in the vampire’s pocket. "Who would've guessed the water pistols was his game."
“Alright, we have our guy and probably our hot dog vendor as well.’ Kennedy agreed with a small sense of relief as she glanced between the water pistol stall and the trailer across from it that was selling mustard covered hot dogs. If they wanted to stop the vampires of Coney Island they would need to collect as much information as possible about them. “We had mentioned diving and conquering before, that we shouldn’t bombard anyone with a big group of people. Is that how we still want to try this? Or should we just bite the bullet and ask? These guys seem, I dunno, nicer? At least they are smiling.”
"After what happened back there." Desmond said, throwing his thumb back to where they came from, "I don't think big groups are the way to go. It'd be best if we split up. That way they also can't coordinate without us noticing it either."
"I agree with Desmond," Jennifer said. "Though I'd go even further. Small groups. Maybe even pairs."
The man running the water pistol booth went back to barking at anyone passing by while holding a large, stuffed bear in one of his arms. "Win your girl the best prize on the midway." He smirked at a young couple as they walked by. The girl slowed a little and cooed over the cute bear with a red ribbon around it's neck.
The carny's grin widened seeing that he had caught her attention. "Only forty tickets and you can make her dreams come true." He said to the girl's date.
"Forty!?" That's crazy!" The guy balked knowing how hard it had been to get a few tickets at each location. "I'm already broke from these sham games." He pulled his date by the arm, breaking her stare at the bear. "Come on, let's ride the Ferris wheel instead."
With a shrug the man running the water pistol booth continued to dangle the expensive bear as a possible prize to anyone passing by as he continued to tempt them to play.
Meanwhile, the hot dog vendor seemed slammed with orders as group after group stopped by and picked up cheap, warm hot dogs for their dinner. Frantic and occupied his head was down and he attempted to work as quickly as possible in order to keep everyone happy. "Watch out for the mustard dispenser, it has a mind of its own." He warned the group currently dressing their hot dogs.
But before his words could sink in, one of the girls in the group wailed as mustard spurted and splattered across her sweater.
"There is a bathroom around the corner if you need to wash up." The hot dog vendor replied without missing a beat, "But the light above the doors is burnt out, so don't trip in the dark."
Desmond's ears perked at the hotdog guy's remark. A bathroom with no light, that sounds pretty ideal for something spooky. "So, one group should definitely also check on that bathroom... So maybe three groups total then?"
"It's a girl's washroom, I think," Jennifer said, looking after the girl who had just gone that way. She looked to Hayden, Kennedy, and Maeve. "Maybe two of us should head over there as if we need it?"
Maeve eyed the corner, the busted light over the washroom door making the dark look thicker somehow. Her gran’s tales of places you didn’t wander alone — cellars, bridges, shadowed corners — flitted through her head, though she wasn’t about to say that out loud.
“Looks proper creepy,” she said instead, lips twitching. “Like the start of one of those crappy horror flicks where the lass goes missin’ in the first ten minutes.” She gave a small shrug, casual. “Ah well. Might as well be me, eh? What’s the worst that could happen?”
Her grin tilted as she glanced at the other girls. “C’mon, let’s check it out before someone else ends up screamin’.”
“I don’t know if I should go over to the dark bathroom…” Kennedy said with some hesitation. “When I get startled I sometimes can’t control my powers and I accidentally blow things up, like pencils and textbooks.” She omitted the man in the hedge maze from her first X-Men encounter at the school. “I think I’d do better with the water game, the guy is playing into male egos over there… who wants to pretend to win a bear for me?”
Hayden gave a nervous laugh, "Yeah, it does have that horror movie feel to it, doesn't it. But hey, crappy horror movie meet crappy bathroom." Her humor was just as nervous as her laugh, despite trying to alleviate her own fears.
Alaric’s gaze lingered a beat too long on the dark corner before he broke into a grin. They could handle themselves. "I’ll take that challenge," he said to Kennedy. "I’ve got a decent aim, and worst case, I just look heroic holding a neon water pistol."
His voice was light, but his gaze briefly tracked the shadows again before he shoved the thought aside and nodded toward the game booth. "Come on. Let’s see if ego or experience wins out."
"Guess it's you and me for the washroom, Maeve," Jennifer said as she started in that direction.
"Wait up," Hayden called out. "That wasn't a 'no.' I just meant... I'm coming along, but it's still scary."
"Yo, me too!" Desmond called after the girls. "No way I'm dealing with a guy threatening me with a baseball bat again tonight. I'll take haunted-shithouse instead."
"Sorry, Hayden," Jennifer said. "I misunderstood." She nodded to Desmond. "All right, the four of us. Do you think we should maybe split up as we approach so they don't make us or feel crowded?" She spoke quietly. She wasn't just broadcasting ideas all over the boardwalk or anything.
Joey considered a moment and decided to stake out the hot dog vendor. If the four girls and Desmond were all over-powered, he likely would not be much help anyway, and he could also still see Alaric and Kennedy if he was careful. He made his way over to stand in the line, trying to look mildly annoyed at being there with the other boys getting all the girls, even as he did his best to use his senses. Something seemed off about the guy recommending a seedy, unlit bathroom instead of directing the girls to a safer location. He supposed it would be a good chance to see if he could actually use his natural sense in such a crowded place and hone in on a person. He just sincerely hoped no one was a vegetarian as he planned to order 14 hot dogs as part of his cover.
With their groups decided, the Alternate Class split up to divide and conquer. If they played their cards right and maybe with a touch of luck, they would hopefully find the vampires of Coney Island and stop the blood on the boardwalk.
-TBC-
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