2013-03-01 Tea with a Sports Fan

It's afternoon, after classes, and Jocelyn had once again convinced an older student to take her into New York City. It was one of the girls who was a rather big fan of window-shopping, and she'd told Jocelyn she'd meet her back near a particular subway stop in a couple hours. It wasn't the most responsible thing, but Jocelyn figured it was alright and would give her a chance to check out the city. What could go wrong?

That's how the teenager, dressed in a blue jacket, a pair of black gloves, and jeans can be found walking through Queens. She blends in as well as she can, though her combination of height and red hair certainly causes a few people to give her a second look. There aren't that many shops in this area, and those that are seem to be mostly of the ethnic food types. The girl has paused at one claiming to sell "Authentic" sauces. There are a variety of locations all over South America, Europe, and Asia in containers that look like they're probably sterile. Maybe. Jocelyn isn't quite sure.

In Olena's world, the phrase 'what could go wrong' is a portent that translates to 'the apocalypse is coming'. But, then, to be fair, she's Slavic. Fatalistic expectations of apocalypse are rather de rigueur.

For her part, the Ukrainian is enjoying the rare winter sunshine and a growing sense of freedom and purpose, all of which have combined to put her in a particularly good mood. She doesn't have much in terms of spending money, herself -- stylish winter clothes notwithstanding -- and so is really more out to explore the city than purchase anything. Some new friends at the Center, however, recommended she check out some of the shops in this part of Queens, however, given it's ethnic diversity.

To some degree, she doesn't much care if she never sees Ukraine ever again. But, even now, she occasionally misses that sense of home she knew as a little girl.

Jocelyn glances over the sauces once more and decides that they're not for her. She wasn't going to be doing the cooking at the mansion anyway, so why worry about it? Besides, at least a couple of them look...off. So the redhead turns away and starts walking, moving in the general direction of Olena. The teen is used to keeping an eye on her surroundings, and she watches everyone as she walks along. Wait, someone there looks familiar. She adjusts her course ever-so slightly so that she'll be within speaking distance of Olena.

"Pardon me, Miss Kovalenko?" she asks, a hint of curiosity in her voice. The woman may notice that Jocelyn actually pronounces the name correctly, despite the fact that she certainly doesn't have any features that would peg her as anything except American. Jocelyn did think, however, this might be the person she remembered her coach showing her pictures of and describing. Huh. She didn't look the part of a steroids user.

Olena notices the red-headed girl; she notices just about everything. But, she had paid her no mind. Just another American teenager loose in the city. Hardly remarkable. She stiffens, however, as the girl approaches and actually uses her name. Turning slowly, her dark-eyed gaze sweeps over the youth, focus narrowing as she takes in the details of her person more closely.

Her head cants faintly to one side and her expression becomes courteous, if wary. "Can I help you?" Her accent is heavy, but her words are clear, as is her caution.

"I thought I recognized you. You used to compete in archery, didn't you?" Jocelyn comments to her. "I follow Olympic sports a fair bit, when they come up," she explains. The girl does adopt a casual stance now that her suspicions have, at least it seems, been confirmed. Of course, part of that may be that she realizes she's getting the once-over. That was normal though; she expected that. "You won in 2008, when I was a kid". So she's still a kid! She was more of a kid then! Though how often Olympic archers get recognized, Jocelyn isn't sure, so she's not sure if this is an odd experience for Olena or not.

It's an odd experience, yes. No one else, other than the fuzzy blue demon claiming to be Mystique's son, has made that connection. And even before the scandal, only people well-familiar with her sport or diehard Olympic buffs ever recognized Olena. She's not particularly sure it's a welcome experience.

Certainly, mention of 2008 causes the young Ukrainian's jaw to tighten some and her lips to thin, though she tries to maintain a courteous expression. "I did," she concedes simply, refusing to say more about it without prompting. Instead, she looks at the girl in askance, a sort of polite 'what's it to you?'

Jocelyn is just a fan of the game! Judging by Olena's reaction, she was either a graduate of the Barry Bonds School of Public Relations or just didn't like talking about it. "That must have been really exciting. I wanted to compete in the Olympics, but I couldn't just pick one discipline, so I wouldn't make it," Jocelyn continues casually. "So, I have to say, and forgive me, but direct is all I know. They said you were put in prison for cheating. But you don't or never really looked like you used steroids, and archery doesn't seem like a sport prone to steroid use, you know?" Jocelyn had met some steroid users, male and female. They looked nothing like Olena did, from her experience.

Olena inhales a slow breath, deciding the girl really is just a 'fangirl'... as weird as that concept is for the Slav. And, indeed, she looks nothing like a steroids user might. If anything, despite the nice clothes, she terribly underweight -- even compared to her 2008 training weight -- and would look the complete waif were her clothes not new and her hair and face not so clean. She can't really hide the hungry look, even under the bulk of fabric, leather, and wool. She hasn't had enough days of full meals to make up for 4 years of deprivation.

"I have never used drugs," the Ukrainian says, releasing her breath, her eyes snapping with conviction. "I do not need to. It was a lie made to discredit me." Not that it matters now. She will never see international competition again. And, actually, she's okay with that. She's found a better use for her talents.

"That's what I thought. I didn't think you needed to, frankly. Strength helps with how heavy of a bow you can use, but skill is a lot more important in competition. You're not competing to shoot the arrow straight through the target. Using steroids would be stupid in a sport like that, as I would think it would hurt your focus more than anything". Jocelyn glances about. "I'm sorry you can't compete anymore though. Did the IOC ever conduct an investigation of it's own, do you know?" She doesn't ask why Olena didn't fight it. That seemed too much of a direct personal question even for Jocelyn. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to sit down and have a drink and talk a bit with a sports fan, would you?" she adds.

It's actually possible Olena's expression softens some at the girl's response, unexpected as it is. Frankly, the Ukrainian expects most people to write her off, when it comes to the scandal, or dismiss her protests as 'what everyone says' when they're caught. It's a prison-yard cliche, seen on every cop drama ever aired in the world.

She considers the request for a long moment. Eventually, she nods her acquiescence. "If you would like. I do not know there is much I can tell. I was given no chance to defend myself and now, so long past, it does not matter." She steps to the side and gestures to encourage the girl to lead on.

Jocelyn nods and starts walking, leading them to a small little cafe that claims to have authentic Italian food. Olena may notice that Jocelyn moves fairly easily through the crowd, not making eye contact or really allowing anyone space to try and pickpocket her in the crowd, if she's paying attention and is wise to such things. "So you don't want to compete again?" Jocelyn asks. "It doesn't seem right, your name being dirtied like that for no cause," the girl adds. She believed pretty strongly in fair play, and if someone didn't do anything, then there shouldn't be any reason they can't compete and have their name cleared. But, she's also young and believes in all that truth and justice stuff, even under her usual hardened attitude.

Olena does note the girl's movements, since they're not far off from her own. Indeed, the archer seems to anticipate the crowd's movement before it happens, weaving deftly in and out of the flow only a pace or two off from the teenager. She glances around the cafe as they find a table, automatically noting usual exits, alternative exits, and escape routes -- not to mention clocking the various patrons, personnel, and potential threats as may be.

Positioning her chair to give her the best vantage of the room she can manage, she shakes her head. "No. I will not compete again. Certainly not in Olympics. There is little point. No one will believe me." She shrugs, leaning back, playing off as if she doesn't care -- though the bleak look in her eyes might belie that. "I do not know what investigation may have been. What IOC might have done." A sardonic smile tugs at her lips. "Let us say prison in Ukraine is not so... open as here." Unless, of course, you're talking GitMo, in which case there might be a parallel. Or not. Who's to say? "What is they say? Due-process? Da. I think is right. Due process is... different."

That's a nice way of putting it.

"It sounds like the due process is in name only over there," Jocelyn says. "Are you staying here in the States long, or are you just visiting?" Jocelyn was curious, after all. She could guess well enough that Olena likely didn't care that much for her native home. "People may believe you. You'd be surprised at what people will and won't believe. It isn't as though they ever produced any evidence to the public," Jocelyn points out. Granted, given Olena's powers, competition might be rather easy for her at this point, but Jocelyn doesn't know that.

Their conversation is put on hold briefly as a server comes by to take their order. Jocelyn orders a soda and a sandwich. The server then asks Olena what she'd like.

Olena actually has her own sense of fairplay when it comes to competition. Now that she understands much of her success is on account of her mutant abilities, she knows competing in the Olympics would be cheating, and she doesn't want to win by cheating. The only reason she doesn't consider 2008 cheating is because she didn't actually know that's what was happening. And, at the end of the day, the best eyes in the world is useless if you haven't had the training necessary to master the actual technique and skill of firing. So, that, at least, was honest.

She glances up to the server and asks for a simple cup of tea. She's got enough change for that and knows she can get food back at the Center.

As the server retreats, she regards the girl again, nodding slowly to the information she gives her. No public disclosure of any investigation? How interesting. "I do not have big need to clear my name in press," she tells the girl. "Most people do not know me. Those that do?" She shrugs now. "You are first." There's no point challenging the IOC. What could she say? 'I was locked up because I'm a mutant!'? Yeah. That'd make everything so much better.

The funny thing is, given her international profile, she'd probably make a great in-exile advocate for mutant rights in Ukraine and could quite possibly garner international support against the pogroms there. But, that doesn't occur to her. And it wouldn't solve her IOC problem.

"I stay here," she admits. "Is not so bad here." She looks around. "Is not perfect," she concedes, "but is far better than Ukraine." That really wouldn't take much. Not for someone like her.

Ironically, that's why Jocelyn isn't competing herself. Her powers would give her a direct advantage over others, even if she didn't use her enhanced physical traits. She could see the energy around them, and that would let her know when someone was going to strike. It just wasn't fair.

"Well, I suppose archery isn't as popular as gymnastics or basketball on a world level," Jocelyn says. "Though I'm surprised I'm the first to recognize you. If you're comfortable with that, then I hope it works out. What sorts of plans do you have for doing things here in the US?" It sounds like a starting over type of story to her, one she'd heard a few times back in Detroit, though it wasn't as common. Detroit wasn't exactly the immigration capital of the world. "You could open up a school and teach people how to shoot if you wanted. You certainly have the talent, and I bet you'd get quite a few willing students".

Olena smiles wryly at that. "Ni," she replies, shaking her head. "I am not so sure as you. Perhaps I could get job teaching, but will never be coach. People do not like coach with drug scandal on resume." She's fairly pragmatic about that. Her hand flips dismissively. "Is no matter. Have made... friends in city." Yes. Pan Lehnsherr is a friend. He even bought her a new bow -- which wasn't cheap. "They help find good job." A sharper smile. "Help others like me. Is good."

"Maybe not, but it isn't out of the question. Some baseball players who were accused of or caught using steroids are coaching now," Jocelyn points out. "But if you've got other options, that's good too. It was just an idea," the teenager comments. The food and drinks arrive, and the server leaves them be.

"So, others like you?" Jocelyn asks as she takes a sip of her soda. "What do you mean by that?" Jocelyn hasn't quite put together that Olena is likely an illegal immigrant. After all, you coudln't be in prison for that long over a PED issue...right?

Who knows? Certainly, Olena doesn't advertise she's an illegal. Not that stupid, or careless. And it's not like she's mentioned just when she got out of prison. For all the girl knows the archer has had years to make her application and transition. "Immigrants from Ukraine," she tells the girl, deciding the word 'refugee', while accurate, is too politically charged -- and too likely to suggest an illegal status. "Is hard, coming to new place as we do." Especially the way they end up coming over.

She glances up as a tv in the corner airs a local news report about a bad shooting in Harlem the night before, apparently something of a bloodbath and very likely connected to organized crime. She watches the reporter for a moment or two, but the sound is turned off and she doesn't lipread English well. So, she returns her attention to the table, taking a sip of her tea.

"Enough of me," she decides, now, once more lifting that dismissive hand. "Tell me of you. What sport do you do?"

Unable to see the television, Jocelyn doesn't notice the news report. Of course, she doesn't yet know about it, having not checked the news yet today, and gang violence wasn't that uncommon, even if this was a pretty bad bloodbath. She takes a drink of her soda. A nod is given about the Ukraine immigrants. "Sounds like some good friends to me," she adds.

"Me? I do martial arts. I've done a few different styles, and ultimately I've just kind of blended them all together," the redhead explains. "I'm also not bad at basketball, but it isn't my favorite sport. I'm just tall enough that I have an advantage over most people". She takes a bite of her sandwich. "But I've done some form of martial arts as long as I can remember. I found the discipline that it makes you learn helpful". She pauses. "I suppose technically I also do running, though I don't do it as a sport exactly. More like conditioning or training".

Olena nods to that. "I have not studied martial arts," she admits. A beat. Her brows lift some as she considers it and her head cants side to side in brief thought. "Perhaps I should."

She smiles now. "I also run. To keep in shape. Though, I do not like run on track. I prefer run through park or city."

A beat as another thought occurs to her. "You know," she says, "is not fair. You know my name; I do not know yours."

Pausing, Jocelyn shakes her head. "I'm sorry, I never introduced myself. I'm Jocelyn," the teenager says to Olena. How could she have forgotten that? Maybe some of the X-Men's secrecy is starting to rub off on her. "It's a good way to keep in shape. I like it better than running, to be honest, but running helps too. I can't stand track running, yeah. Lakes and parks are the way to go. I haven't tried running in the city proper though. It's a little too crowded in most of the city to properly run anyway". She wouldn't want to try it at least.

"If you want to study martial arts, there are a lot of different schools and types, too. Depends on what your strengths are and what you want to improve for which type you do," Jocelyn adds. "Though I think you can find most of them represented somewhere in New York. You certainly have a better chance here than you do in most places".

Olena nods to that, but smiles at the introduction. "It is nice to meet you, Jocelyn," she replies. For her part, she likes running through the crowds of the city -- partly because it helps her practice her 'flow'.

"I like the challenge of running in the city. Many people. Many obstacles. Makes for more interesting course."

She purses her lips slightly. "Most of time, I find, if you must fight, avoid hit is better than absorb hit. I am good at dodge."

"I can't say I'm in it so much for the course myself," Jocelyn admits. She's not into Parkour or Free Running or whatever it was being called. It just wasn't her thing. "I use it mostly to keep myself balanced a bit. It would be easy for me to focus too much on strength and not enough on speed". The teenager takes another bite of her sandwich before continuing.

"Being good at dodging is a good thing. I prefer not getting hit myself. Most styles include a fair bit of dodging work though, so I think you're pretty safe then with whichever one you choose," Jocelyn adds.

Olena nods simply to that and drains the last of her tea, setting the cup aside. "Perhaps I will find class, then," she smiles. She'll as Mystique about it. That woman can fight.

Once more, her head cants. "Do you have school? No school today?"

"I do have school, but classes are over for me today," Jocelyn says. It was afternoon, albeit a little early. But, Xavier's wasn't held to the strict school hours that a public school might be. If she had no class, she was much more free. "So, I've got the weekend coming up, and I'm certainly not going to worry about homework right now".

It's at that point her phone beeps and she glances down at the text. "I'm sorry, but my friend who was doing a bit of shopping wants to get moving, and she's my ride. It was very good meeting you," Jocelyn says, standing and offering the woman a gloved hand. "Maybe we can talk some other time?" she suggests.

Olena nods to the girl, standing up and placing a couple of small bills on the table to pay for her tea. "Perhaps we will meet again," she agrees, though she won't look for it. "Enjoy the rest of your day, Jocelyn." And, with that, she makes her own way back out onto the street.