2014.01.29 - Plans (With Pepperoni)

Pizza. It's withstood the test (and taste) of time. Literally.

Set out in one of the many trattoria's named 'Luigi's, there's something new on the menu to try that's gained Nate's attention. Stuffed ziti pizza. All the ease of pizza while eating baked ziti. How could it not be good?

Tucked in the middle of the table is a half a pitcher of cold beer, warmed bread, pats of butter and the general bits of olive oil, grated parm and red pepper flakes. A large bowl of salad also sits, though untouched by Nate at least, with a pair of tongs resting on the side.

Calls had been made to meet 'the big guy' here, and so... one of the first dinner meetings begins. 

"Caaaybe-babyyyy!" was the the shout that rang out across the... room. It was the ever-jubilant (but not Jubilee, damn it!) shrill of an excited Tabitha Smith, who'd spotted him from the front entrance. She was the first one to arrive! Aww yeah! Tabitha couldn't even contain her excitement at being invited to hang out with some real-deal heroes, despite what she felt was a "very unnecessary!" low-profile. People like Domino and Cable, she thought, should totally be on the cover of Time or something. Like Elvis, she slid herself across the polished floor, her sneakers squeaking, and she slammed down on the bench across from Cable. "Sup bro!" she announced, in a volume unfitting someone sitting next to her, "Thanks for the invite."

A pizza date. Really? Somehow Domino is not surprised by this turn of events. It does mean that she has to alter her course slightly, however...

Several blocks out there's screeching tires, at least one revving engine, and lots of horns blaring away. There's also at least one solid -crunch- as her tail fails to adjust to the sudden change of direction, plowing their car into the side of a salt truck.

It's not long after Tabitha arrives that a silver Porsche 911 sliiides through the slush into a parking space along the side of the street which happens to be right in front of Luigi's. The driver's skin is almost as bleached out as the small patches of yet undirtied powder atop of the newspaper stands, some of her eyespot tucked out of sight by mirrored black sunglasses.

(Tabitha's already here? Okay, that's kinda impressive.)

As the albino drops down onto the bench, likewise across from Cable, she flicks the shades aside and nonchalantly rubs some fresh carbon stains out of her fingers. "We've really gotta stop meeting like this, Wingnut."

Flying saucers are not only feasible, they exist in great numbers in New York City. This might be a surprise to your Average Joe, but it is unlikely to surprise anyone assembled for the meeting today. However, even they probably aren't prepared for the method by which they are introduced to yet another one of Forge's awesome inventions. The door to the restaurant opens, but nobody walks through it. Instead, a sharp gust of -7 degree weather is let into the pizza place. Several seconds later, the guest of wind is followed by the soft burbling and whirring of a frisbee-sized saucer, it's Jetson's-like engine propelling the little disc first to the hostess' counter, and then over to the table upon which The Team has gathered.

As the disc hovers in the middle of the table, a small flap on the side opens up, revealing a projector. This projector beams an image onto the table. There, in beyond-1080p holographic glory, sits a three-dimensional image of Forge, in what appears to be a bath robe.

Tabitha's arrival gains Cable's attention, and quickly. As it gains every other patron's attention in the place. There is no such thing as an empty restaurant in the City, and this is no different. Waiters, waitresses are sliding through the densely packed tables, and when Boom hits the area?

"Tabitha.." Nate begins, but looks as if he thinks better of whatever it is that he was gearing up to say. Instead, he exhales; particularly after hearing the roar of an engine from without. It doesn't take a telepath (but it helps) to know that everyone's favorite albino merc is arriving. "...good to see that you could make it," is given as a followup.

Reaching for his own half-empty glass of beer, Nate glances towards a waiter in gesture, adding, "Go ahead and order."

The pizza is all his? Really. A large ziti pizza. And bread. And the pitcher of beer.

"Next time you pick the restaurant then, Dom. But, then you get to pay," comes in a light, quipped tone at the now dropped merc. "And don't go too nuts. They don't have a top shelf." He checked.

The flying saucers, however, are a new touch. Remember those patrons that got a touch spooked at Tabitha's appearance? Well, to be told that UFOs are real, and shown that they are? Out come the cellphones, and there are a couple that even decide that giving up their seats and leaving might be a good course of action.

"Forge... It's cold-- thank you."

Nate exhales, and this time the sound is one of exasperation. "Can't you just ... sit here like us normal people?"

Tabitha Smith, not being the sharpest technologist in the proverbial tool shed, doesn't immediately realize that Forge's hologram is indeed a hologram. So, after saying her hello to Domino, she offers to buy Forge a slice of pizza. "You look hungry." She quickly turned her attention to Cable, of course, and lifts up her eyebrow in a mock-stare. "Alright, people. You must've gathered this elite fighting force for a reason," she says presumptuously. Yeah, she was totally elite. "Lay the serious dealie on me before I get food-coma," she says, eyeing the menu for the third time.

"You're looking vibrant today, Boom. Did they have another sale on Mountain Dew and Pixie Stix?"

Before the question can be answered her free hand snaps out across the table, claiming some of that stuffed pizza for herself with the decisiveness of a desert rattler going after a mouse. Like Hell the whole thing is all for Cable! (I can practically -feel- the fifteen million carbs mashed into this thing.) "You're already putting everything on my tab," she 'helpfully' reminds Nate. "Thank God I should have some say in where it goes."

Sigh... Domino props her chin up in one palm while balancing food within the other, her gaze looking that much more tired as she stares back at the holographic display that is Forge. "Truly you are an inspiration to us all. By the way, your sneaky suit tech got cracked by the Gotham Cowls in under thirty seconds. Does that whole 'wearer vitals' transmission feature have an off switch, by chance?"

Stuffing her maw with a bite of baked cheesy goodness, she says to Tabitha "Ih hunno, ath him." She's kinda curious about the reasoning, herself. Obviously it's not a top priority crisis, his pitcher of beer's still half full.

"Sit with you? In public? You guys do realize it's chilly in New York, right?" Forge appears to be the exact opposite of chilly at the moment, because the image clarified enough to reveal that he's not wearing a bathrobe after all, but a pool robe. And that thing he's lounging on? A folded-back pool chair.

"It's okay though, I cobbled this thing together so that I could still be with you guys in spirit, and you could still give me pizza. See that on the left side"" He points in the general direction, though his projected image doesn't quite match up with the orientation of the flying dish. "That's the pizza slot. Just slide a few slices in there, and the Delivery Boy (tm) will bring them here to Maui."

Despite his relaxed (some might say 'too' relaxed) posture, Forge's brows knit noticeably at the mention of the alleged defect. "Huh. Well... mine does. I guess I should probably tweak yours a bit. Then again, after this meal, I'll probably have to make you a brand new suit anyway. What are you now, a size 10?"

It's true. While not pressing, there is something on the scanner that is looming, and it's that he needs a little bit of input on. Or at least some agreement in timing.

Before he can actually give Boom her 'Yes you're right', Nate is slowed by the snark.. and he can't help but laugh. Okay, more chuckle, but it's a sound that is genuine, as seen in that single blue eye the reflection of the humor. "Okay, okay.."

"And yes, I suppose this is on your tab. How much did you bring from the contract two weeks ago?" That Cable'd set up? Well, at least the initial contact. Sorta.

Okay, it was all her, but he had something--

Nope.

"Forge. What the hell... no. If I have to freeze, so do you. Don't make me have Ship get you and bring you here."

With that threat out of the way, Nate grabs another slice so as to be sure it doesn't go down into Forge's slot. "Olympics. I don't know if you all know it, but Russians have an anti-mutant.. okay, anti-everything stance. Including other Russians. With the winter Olympics coming up, there's going to be problems. We need to get eyes and ears, because if we don't?"

Nate looks at those gathered and he puts his slice down and retakes his beer.

"Well, if we don't? It's on the radar."

Ever-peppy, Tabitha bops up and down in her seat, "Oh! Oh! Does this mean we get to travel?" she says, eyes blinking wide like she'd momentarily transmuted herself into an anime being. "This one time I went to Montreal, and dang, they got the best beer and music--" she began, and started rattling off an exhaustive, nonsensical list of obscure bands. "Montreal is cold, like Russia," was the over-generalized conclusion of this monumental motormouth session. She took a slice of pizza from the table and rolled it up into a little tube, and began cramming it into Forge's... slot, making cartoonishly over-exaggerated struggling groans: "Ungh! URgghh!" Cheese dripped down the side of the device, and puddled onto the floor below.

How much did she bring from that contract? "Ten G's," Dom casually lies while tearing another wad of dough free. That figure just might be missing a zero or two. And quite possibly some other assorted numbers in various locations.

When Nate lays out the description of their next 'job' her head hangs forward. If the table were a few inches higher she would have gladly made a resounding -Thwack!- sound as her forehead came to greet it in person. Still, she responds to Forge, first. "And -you- invented climate-controlled body armor, you dolt," she reminds the Tinker while reaching out to Gibbs-smack the representation of his head. (That leaves a little something to be desired.) It's followed with a frown and squint, leaning closer to stare at the projection. "Are..you really in Maui..?"

Then he does That Thing Which He Is Not Supposed To Do. He mentions her weight. Out comes that same ghostly-hued hand, -shoving- the landed UFO clear off of the table. She's hoping it'll hit the floor before Forge can get it back under control. That's where she's aiming. "Oops," comes the nonchalant reply.

Then, staring at Cable again as she so frequently does, she groans "You can't be serious. -How- does this affect us, again? It's the damned Olympics, something tells me the world is not going to end if, -heaven forbid,- someone firebombs the grandstands."

Back to Tabs, her tone loses any sense of emotion when she says "Russia gets old quick. They always make it sound so good in the brochure."

The semi-spectral image of Forge blurs and disappears as the Delivery Boy(tm) gets sent flying away from the table. However, Forge isn't exactly 'steering' the thing so much as giving it coordinates, so it only takes a few seconds for the little craft to adapt. The image is re-projected, although the dish hovers clear across the table from Domino.

"See? This is why you two aren't ever invited to my sweet mansion in Maui. Your considerably-more-charming friend here is totally invited though." The image is a bit disorienting, as he isn't exactly talking 'to' anyone at the table. Rather, he's talking into his robotic right hand, and apparently that's also what houses the monitor that he's viewing them all on.

For all the reaction he gives, one might assume that all he heard was 'Blah blah blah mission.' The over-sized mojito glass in his left hand might lend some credibility to that theory. However, he does manage to pay enough attention to remark "Well, whatever it is, I'm sure we'll be ready. You two know that you've always got my unquestioning support. Just try not to plan any missions for this week, I've got a conference."

"Russia is colder than Montreal and doesn't have near as good beer," Nate responds slowly, making sure he can be hard through (not above) the rattling. "And besides. Aren't you too young to drink?" Not -that- young, mind, but there are laws that are easily obeyed that doesn't really take much. (It's the bigger ones that he's a little more grey on.)

Domino's recounting of their take on that last contract has the telepath staring at her, blue eye to blue eyes. "The rest bought that Porsche, didn't it." Or at least the goodwill of another garage so he can't break it!

"Domino... Forge. Stop it. Forge, she's not gaining weight. I swear. Dom, no going out of your way to work out how to get even. Just take the opportunity if it presents itself."

There. Now that -that's- out of the way, Nate is able to get back on target. "It all kicks off in about a week and a half, Forge. You'll be out of sunny Maui and in mukluks like the rest of us." Though now, he catches the 'you two aren't ever invited...' and he makes an indignant, "What?"

"Hey now. Why wouldn't we be? Because we fight back and we're not shoving pizza filled with ziti through some slot that you invented? Who knows where that lets out? Hell... it could let out in my ro-- oh, it better not."

Tabitha considered telling Cable about her innumerable exploits with alcohol over the last two years, including the one where she'd hog-tied several of punk rock boys to the roof of the Chrysler building in retaliation for calling her... well, she didn't remember what they called her, but she was sure they deserved it. It was also the same night she got the spiral-shaped burn scar on her left buttock, but--surprisingly--she also chose not to share this tidbit with the class, either. Instead, Tabitha chirped in with something out of character: it was sensible, succinct, and factual: "Drinking age is 18 there, mang." But not leaving well-enough alone, a few seconds later, she adds: "Fo' shizzle count on me, C-dawg,"

Back to Nate again, Dom reminds the guy "Remember that this is the same kid we found hung over like hell floating in the pond in Central Park. In a boat. I still have no idea where she -found- the boat, but I do recall handing her something more to drink shortly after."

Mmh..? The Porsche? "Oh hell no, I stole that lady fair and square. Peh. Like I'd ever -buy- any of my vehicles." Then..she's being scolded? There's that cold blue stare again, right on target. But, no, wait. Not being scolded. Being given the green light for any future targets of opportunity. "Copy that, big guy."

"Forge, I am never going to associate R and R time with anything remotely connected to you." Held out for as long as she could.

"So, can't help but notice that you completely ignored my question there, Nate," she easily points out with another meaningful stare. "Firebombing grandstands not so much, then?"

"Mukluks? R and R? Arcade Fire? It's just all a bunch of jargon with you guys, isn't it? I swear, half the time I don't even... TAN-BOT! I'm drying out over here!" Forge has a nearly-full mojito, so he can't be talking about fluids. It's okay though, he's probably talking about...

No, he's talking about exactly what it sounds like he's talking about. A vaguely-humanoid robot shows up in the holographic image, having come from somewhere off to the left. In the robots hands is a gigantic bottle of suntan oil.

"About time, Tan-bot, I'm going to get uneven." Forge sets the drink down on the table beside him, and begins to undo the robe's belt.

Fortunately, at the last second, he remembers that he has an audience. "Oh. Right. Count me in or whatever. Talk to you guys later. Delivery Boy, return to The Honeycomb."

And with that, the image shimmers and cuts out, just as the Tan-Bot begins leaning over Forge with a creepy artificial leer.

The flying disc zips out, pushing open the door with some sort of magnetic ray, and whirs off noisily toward much warmer weather.

One doesn't have to -tell- Cable anything. He is a telepath. A talented one with absolutely no qualms about digging around in brains. And one, like most telepaths, wander into heads when emotion rears its head, or there's some 'tell' that there is something else that lies beneath the surface. "Nope, they didn't deserve being quite so high," is given in something of an offhand, deadpanned way, and that one natural, blue eye lingers upon the girl with a hint of a smirk.

Turning his head slowly, Nate's full attention is on his beer, and he finishes it in one, two swallows before the glass finds itself back onto the table. "Well, yes. I almost hope that maybe she's cleaned herself up? Just a little?" His metal hand comes up to make that little increment of measurement between thumb and forefinger, brows rising. "Little?"

Still, no worries. If she falls out of an APC like Wisdom did, he'll have the opportunity to laugh. Again.

"Okay.. okay." Domino is given something of a lopsided smile. As if he ever gives full disclosure?" No. Firebombing grandstands, not so much. We've got one rogue state that is good for the bomb any day. We have extremists that are inside. I want the time between now and then to see if I can't connect any dots with those coming up on the lists with known mutants. There's going to be more than a few disgruntled athletes who are going to be processed out of the competition. So, for our side, I want one, two of the mutants back -in-. We need to come up with something that'll fool their rigs..."

The upshot. Bad guys with nukes potentially threatening the Olympics. 'Good guys' as defined as 'mutants' need to be on the inside... and Cable wants them to be able to compete. With their help. End result? No nukes going -boom-... and maybe they get one for themselves as a 'good work' gesture.

"Forge," is murmured in quiet warning. Now, however, as that particular scene begins to appear before them, Cable is using some bit of TK in order to force the particles of that holographic picture not to rez. "No.. now.. go. Yes. I'll be in touch."

Good Lord.

Now that business is pretty much done in that short span of time, the food really should be eaten. That is, if he can refine his appetite. It's not a bad place, and they've managed to clear out the tables that are immediately nearby- which means they should probably help pay for that lost revenue.