The Charging Bull. First dropped by its sculptor illegally in front of the New York Stock Exchange on December 14, 1989. A symbol of the aggressive virility of Wall Street cast in bronze complete with two testicles that have been polished to a shine by years of tourism. On days like this, with a clear sky, and the sun sitting at the right angle; it shines with its full bronze glory. Wall Street is busy with suits and cases walking to and fro, and the usual group or solo tourist stopping to take a picture around it.
A lovely day for a spectacle.
One of the professional types, a woman in a dark blue and black suit, breaks from the flock of other professionals to strut straight at the statue. Others pay her no mind. She stands in front of it, stares it down, and cracks her knuckles. The people around her take immediate and loud notice when she transforms from a plain professional to a seven foot tall yellow humanoid with five yellow tendrils and red eyes.
"Is that Vaudeville?" asks a tourist in disbelief.
"What?! I can't believe we get to see Vaudeville!" exclaims another tourist before there are volleys of flashes from phones and real cameras.
Vaudeville smiles and gets to work before her audience. In both hands and each tendril is a spray can of a different color. Before the eyes of everyone present, and the world since several were live streaming, Vaudeville paints swirling rainbows across nearly the entire statue. The eyes were singled out to be violet, the horns indigo. The testicles were left to shine.
While this goes on the tourists gawk, the locals gawk or Shake their heads, and a police officer calls it in over his radio but makes no effort to stop Vaudeville.
Her artwork done, Vaudeville stows away the cans and leaps atop the bull to strike a ballerina pose with arms out, leg extended back and standing on the other.
"I want to beeee apart of it! New York, New York!" She belts out in full voice. Her full, distorted yet still feminine voice.
More flashes from cameras, more shouts.
Beneath the veneer of the symbiote, Dominique feels her heart beating like a Power Metal drummer. The symbiote feasts on the rush of adrenaline and heightened chemical levels incited by this latest act of public disturbance.
They love us! They really love us!
Not everyone. Can't deface beloved artwork and expect everyone to appreciate your artistic vision in doing it. Specially those police officers getting out of their cars.
They know they can't do anything to stop us.
"Hello officers!" Vaudeville waves at them while holding the pose. They shoot back stoic glares.
"Nice to know you're still keeping up appearances! Everyone knows how this is going to play out." She mocks them. They would tell her to come down, surrender to their custody, or else they would use necessary force to get her compliance.
One officer, a burly older guy with 'Sgt.' on his uniform opens his mouth to go through the motions of maintaining law and order. He gets to "Look, Vaudeville…" Before a green light surrounds Vaudeville and she disappears.
"Oh no not again!" Vaudeville yells as she falls through the rift in the universe. This was much different than the one in Central Park that fateful night. That had been like walking through thick smoke. This was more like she had fallen down a deep hole. All she could think to do was to get into a crouched position the instant before she feels solid ground under her again.
Looking around, it's apparent that she had fallen somewhere in a jungle, at night.
"Not in New York anymore." Vaudeville stands up and scratches her head. A city slicker doesn't know enough animals to know the animals she hears are not the usual you would hear in any jungle of her Earth. Hell she didn't even know those. She does realize immediately that yellow sticks out even in a dark jungle.
Got to blend in.
She turns from yellow to dark green to blend with the vegetation as she starts to sneak through the jungle, listening for any sign of civilization, or anything vaguely human. There's a distant popping noise from two different directions. Might as well head to the middle of those and figure out what's what. Would be faster, and more fun, to go swinging through the jungle canopy, even make a loud Tarzan yell; but that could get her the entirely wrong kind of attention in an unknown universe.
For all we know this place could be crawling with Xenomorphs so let's keep it quiet.
We didn't bring enough chocolates.
We always say that. If we run out, we will just eat whatever looks good and not human.
She stalks her way around the jungle. It was only a few minutes later that she came to a stream, and knowing enough about wildlife to know they tend to stick around clean water, looking up and down while crouched and camouflaged as a boulder. By the moonlight, she sees no other animals but is surprised to see a human form upriver.
He's not moving.
Vaudeville is on him quickly, pressing fingers to his neck.
Alive but bleeding from the head. Not good. We can fix that.
The symbiote moves from the hand on his neck, spreading over his head as it recedes from hers and morphs into her casual appearance of purple sweater, white NYU shirt and jeans. Best to not have him wake up to what would look like a monster about to eat him. The wound in his head is mended, blood replenished as the symbiote bonds with him but only partially. A full bonding could have been too traumatic for him.
Let's see what we can get from him while we fix him up.
Over the partial bond, Dominique receives some information from his brain. Names, faces, the situation that brought him to be unconscious next to this stream. It's only cursory knowledge, but it is a lot to take in for even this brief time if only for the ramifications of a multiverse conflict. Dominique grins first with excitement, then grimaces as the bond continues and she feels the strain of being bonded to another person like this. She pulls the symbiote away from him, just in time for the man to regain consciousness and look up at her.
"Hi Nolan. How do you feel?" She asks, taking her hand away from him, talking to him like she knew him. Which she kind of does.
