2013.08.27 - Arrival in Africa

The time had finally come. The X-Men were shipping to Genosha.

With their first series of false identities, the operation's leaders departed for Kenya. The commuter train took them from Westchester County to Grand Central Terminal. A quick trip uptown on the MTA 4 followed by a transfer to the express A-line subway brought them to JFK International, where the mutants made easy passage through TSA thanks to a certain red-headed telepath. Sure, their actual faces didn't match the photo identifications, but telepaths have a wonderful talent at tricking the mook brain into believing something they aren't really seeing.

Unfortunately, it didn't make sense for the X-Men to fly First Class (pun intended), so they were stuck in coach for the long trip from JFK to Charles de Gaulle, where a connecting flight took them to Mombasa, Kenya's largest port town. The trio were seated separately, of course, so as to help throw off any suspicious eyes. Every single, possible precaution has been taken.

As the small plane comes in for a landing, the city of Mombasa is laid out before them. The airport lies just northwest of the island where Mombasa's vibrant downtown is located, with the rich blue waters of Port Reitz at the end of the runway. Once the trio have collected their bags, it's time for them to finally come together.

Outside, the hot equatorial sun beats down upon them, bringing beads of sweat to Kwabena's bald head almost immediately. Regardless, it brings a toothy grin to his face, and as he turns to face the others, he unbuttons the top button of his ragged, thrifted shirt to give himself some more air.

"Welcome to Africa," he says, with a distinguishable brightness in his eyes.

Well, no matter what else happens, at least it will beat flying coach. At least that's the thought that the six and a half foot tall woman has the moment they get off the plane. And during the plane ride, in fact. The tall woman had already decided upon that. She had decided to dress for the weather, knowing that her height and hair would make her stick out even moreso here during this stretch of the trip. Not that she was that concerned. So the woman had gone with a teal and black printed palazzo pant and a black and white patterned off-the-shoulder crop top. A pair of sunglasses sits on top of her head at the moment as she looks around.

"First time," Jocelyn responds easily. She's got a light brown backpack slung over one shoulder and a blue suitcase carried in her left hand. "Where to next?" she asks as she scans the area, taking it all in. It was one of the very few times she'd left the USA, so she was certainly doing a little bit of glancing around, both to appreciate things and to keep an eye out for threats.

Leaving the X-Mansion felt a lot like stepping out of a dream for Rachel, and left her with mixed feelings. Not having really had much time to settle in, she was still sorry to be leaving it, but at the same time, it felt like she was getting back to reality, somewhere she wouldn't be surrounded by quite so many ghosts of the past. And, of course, there's more than a bit of excitement about being back in the field, this time with a team to back her up. The flip side of that, of course, is that it's not just her neck on the line if she screws up...

Rachel's preparation for the trip was fairly straightforward - she dug the ratty old clothes she'd arrived at the mansion in out of the back of her wardrobe, and left some of her fancier choices behind. So dressed in jeans, boots, and a t-shirt, she's already feeling a bit too warm as the hot, humid air of Mombasa hits her. Hoisting the beaten up old rucksack she used as a carryon over one shoulder, and cheating just a little with her telekinesis to make carrying her suitcase a little more pleasant, Rachel walks with a long, easy stride over to the others. She's still adjusting from the plane. The tight seating arrangements were bad enough, but the pressure of all those minds around her - she put her shields up tight, and endured the headache as best she could. Now, like a muscle that's cramped from being in one position too long, she's having to ease her shields down gently. "Hot." Rachel says by way of greeting as she arrives, but grins too.

One thing's for sure. Kwabena is in no way enjoying his outfit. The shirt, thrifted, is nothing to be excited about, its long sleeves rolled up to hide some of the beer stains on the cuffs, and the khaki shorts on his legs are about as fashionably disgusting as Miley Cyrus twerking at the VMAs. To boot, he's wearing sandals, which is something he did as a boy in Africa, but a fashion choice he long abandoned since coming to the states. He carries a beat up old satchel over his shoulder and an old suitcase that looks as if it was handed down through two generations, at least.

"Not quite like Ghana," he says to Jocelyn, "but similah." Rachel's arrival draws his grin into more of a smirk. "Get used to it, Red. De island isn't much coolah."

Looking about, his eyes catch sight of a nearby bus stop. He'd done his research, and knew that this was one of the express busses into the city. "You girls have your shillings?" Kenyan shillings, of course, which they had an ample enough supply of, in spite of the fact that they were posing as low income mutants, looking to make way for Genosha.

As the bus rolls up, Kwabena is the first on board. He and the bus driver exchange some garbled words in two similar, but distinct languages, until the pair come to rest on a form of communication that lies somwhere between the driver's Kenyan and Kwabena's Dangme.

"One hundred and fifty shillings," he says to the others, eyebrows lifted. The translation? Roughly $1.50 in US Currency. "Not bad, not bad." Digging out the exact change, he tosses it into the fare box, then seeks out an empty seat on the stuffy bus.

Pulling out the required fare, Jocelyn deposits the required fare as she follows Kwabena into the bus. They were posing as mutants, which was rather easy to do when you were, in fact, a mutant. She can't make out exactly what Kwabena and the driver are saying, of course, but the teen doesn't seem bothered as she makes her way to a seat, taking the seat in front of Kwabena as she does so. Not like there were many options to choose from, Jocelyn figured, but the number of them would certainly require more than a couple sets of seats.

Instead of talking, Jocelyn decides to take this time to observe, and get a sense for how people in general tended to behave in this area. In truth, there wasn't a lot she could contribute on this bus ride, not unless things went bad from the get-go. She didn't speak the language and didn't have a way to fake it, so she just focused on keeping quiet and listening for the time being. The girl did seem a lot more comfortable on the bus than on the plane, all things considered, even if she was just as warm as everyone else. She wasn't using her abilities to deal with the warmth of the weather here. That could just lead to a tip-off they may not want.

Rachel casts her eyes briefly skyward in answer to Kwabena's smirk - and ends up squinting a bit at the bright sun. "I..." She decides, "...am going to burn." And she probably will. Some kind of hat immediately goes to the top of her mental shopping list.

Rachel falls in behind Shift as he heads for the bus, making sure to give her suitcase /some/ weight so that it doesn't appear to be floating along beside her. "Not lost anything yet." Rachel confirms confidently. As well as lightening her load, her telekinesis will give her a bit of warning if someone invades her personal space, and as her mental shields relax she's able to keep a light telepathic scan running. Handy to pick out pickpockets, at least.

Rachel mimics Shift in paying for the bus ride, then finds a seat of her own.

Most of the people on the bus are, of course, coming from the airport. There is an eclectic mixture of languages and people, but one thing is for certain -- easily half of the bus's passengers are mutants. Setting a pair of mirrored shades on Kwabena's nose, he's thus able to peer about, remaining utterly silent as the bus heads down the road toward a bridge into town.

A few minutes into the journey, however, the African leans forward and folds his hands together, adopting a posture that suggests he is bored. However, his thoughts are now centered upon Rachel. Suspecting that her telekinetic powers are at work, he simply focuses his mind upon her, thinking about their friendship, where she's sitting, what she's wearing, in an effort to raise her awareness upon her mental radar.

<< Tie in Channel, Rachel. Let's keep this one a silent conversation. Do you sense any other telepaths? Anyone who is eyeballing us? Any dangers? >>

Tying Channel in won't be too difficult, if Rachel attempts to do so, as Channel is perfectly aware of what Rachel's powers feel like and will allow it. It'll just take the usually amount of extra effort to get past Channel's natural defenses.

Channel does take note of the various mutants who are coming in, and makes a note to keep an eye out for active powers now as well as reading basic body language. So far, she hadn't seen anyone who was threatening. The woman is leaning back in her seat as she looks about, and she does slip her sunglasses over her eyes now.

Not that sunglasses do a single thing for the woman with energy sight, but everyone else wears the things, so she should to, right?

Rachel's hot. The jeans and boots were definitely a mistake, and the bus is stuffy along with it. She's not complaining - she doesn't want to look like a complete tourist despite her pale complexion and flaming red hair proving she's anything but local - but she's definitely uncomfortable, and looking for distractions. It's no surprise that Kwabena's attempt to get the attention of her mental senses succeeds almost instantly.

<< On it. >> Rachel's voice responds clearly in Kwabena's mind, followed by a different sensation, as Rachel reaches out to Jocelyn and applies a little mental elbow grease. A moment later, they're all linked together. << Channel? You're on with both of us. >> Rachel confirms, even as she shifts around in her seat to lean against the window, the very picture of a bored commuter enduring, rather than enjoying, the journey. She doesn't look at anyone in particular as her mind ranges around the bus. << There's one. >> Rachel confirms after a moment. << Very weak. No idea I'm here. No threat to me, Channel... >> Rachel pauses for just a second. << Or you, now, Shift. >> This close, extending her mental shielding is child's play. << Couple of guys at the back were looking at our cases. Good news is we look too poor to bother with. I didn't even need to nudge them. >> Rachel glances out the window, rolling her shoulders as if they're a bit stiff. << I'll keep an eye out, but we're in the clear for now. >>

Without moving a muscle, Kwabena silently acknowledges Rachel's quick response with a thoughtful acknowledgement. << Okay, good, good, >> comes Kwabena's voice. His thoughts, telepathically, come without accent, even though they carry the timbre and tone of his actual voice. It's not intentional, it's just... the way it works.

<< When we reach the island -- we should do some shopping. Find some hats, sunscreen, and the like. You'll find it's very cheap here, and we have plenty of money, even if it doesn't look it. Rumor has it the Kilindini Port, on the southern shore of the Mombasa Island, has become a major launching point for cheap passage from the mainland to Hammer Bay, thanks to the Mutant Pilgrimage. However, we're going to need to find a place to dump our first set of identities, so that we can use the second set to get into Hammer Bay. >>

Meanwhile, the bus mounts a bridge, carrying them from the mainland over a short expanse of water into the central Mombasa Island.

There isn't any physical shift from Jocelyn that would indicate she's having a mental conversation. Being used to Rachel's use of energy by now, the girl responds easily. << Half the people on this bus are mutants, from what I'm guessing. Looks like we're not the only ones heading this way. Quite the foot traffic. I'm not seeing much in the way of threatening powers being used. >> Jocelyn continues to casually watch everything as nothing as she speaks in her mind.

<< That only makes sense. Whatever the last stop is before arrival, that tends to attract those types of merchants. >> It made perfect sense in her mind, as the others could obviously tell now. << I'd be shocked if there wasn't such a place in Kilindini Port that specialized in that sort of thing. >>

This is good practice for Rachel, holding a three way link when one of the participants is Channel is a distinct effort, and it's better that Rachel gets used to the extra work now while she's fresh. Doing that at the same time as maintaining her light scanning for threats is an extra challenge, and it's certainly taken her mind off any residual headache that the flight left her with.

<< Both are things I need. >> Rachel agrees, her rueful tone lightly self-mocking and quite intentional. There's the sense of a mental nod from Rachel in agreement with Jocelyn's comments, before she adds, << Plenty of money but we don't want to splash it around. I'm less worried about getting fleeced than the attention we'd draw. >> It's obvious, but it doesn't hurt to remind herself.

Thoughtful curiosity shades Rachel's end of the temporary psi-link. << Shift? You've actually been there so you're the local expert. Since we're going shopping, what should we be wearing? What doesn't draw attention in Hammer Bay? >>

<< Works for me, >> is Shift's mental answer to Channel's suggestion. << Hammer Bay is pretty diverse. You've got humans and mutants of every shape, size and color -- quite literally -- but I expect the mutant population has probably doubled by now. Honestly? We could dress however we want. The thing is, I'm not sure if we want to go in there looking like this, ragged as hell, or if we want to do it up a notch. >> His mental thought pattern is that of a man thinking things through, which is in actuality what is happening. He's not a trained telepath, after all, and it's virtually impossible for him to prevent thought and dialogue from not mixing together. << I could rock the traditional African garb, but that might draw attention to me as an African mutant. No doubt Magneto has eyes all over the place looking for that. Then again, he might not expect to see me in the colors. You've got people dressed like punks, metal heads, businessmen, hell, even the hipsters have a presence there. >> Suddenly, he realizes that his thoughts are rambling, and a light smirk touches his physical mouth. << Either of you up for wearing the spandex? >> he jokes.

The bus bumps and comes to its first stop, but the Kilindini Port is another four stops away.

<< Why don't we see what we can find there first? Best bet is to act as if none of us have ever met, until today. We're all three of us mutants looking to reach Bastion, and since we're from different parts of the world, we've decided to stick together and help one another out. Plausible, right? >>

<< Detroit. It's like a whole other country. >> Jocelyn's thoughts are fairly focused and ordered as she considers things. << I think we might consider mixing it up a bit between ourselves when we get there. I can only make myself unnoticable to a certain degree, and unless I decide to stop eating, it'll be tough to maintain a dirt poor cover for long, but I can do lower middle class pretty easily. >> Jocelyn had given this a little bit of thought.

<< I've rejected the spandex suggestion from a few different folks for costumes, so I'll pass, thanks. I did bring a number of options with me though. Finding clothing in my size was something I didn't want to chance on. >> With Jocelyn's height, such things were never guaranteed.

<> Jocelyn adds that last bit at Shift's suggestion.

<< Going up a notch gets my vote. >> Rachel agrees, and not only because she's gotten used to having a decent wardrobe since she joined the X-Men. << Dirt poor is invisible /until/ you need to go somewhere you don't look like you can afford to be. >> Rachel fiddles with the rucksack that's sitting on her lap for a few seconds in a bored, desultory fashion, as she listens to Kwabena's train of thought. She knows he's mostly thinking to himself, but she can't resist adding a comment of her own. << Almost worth it. >> A mental snort comes clearly across the link as spandex is suggested, though. << I'll pass for now. >>

Rachel's attention shifts to Jocelyn. << If you're with me I can take care of that. But the less noticeable you are to start with, the easier it is. >> After all, it's easier if Rachel only has to make people fail to notice /one/ thing rather than several.

<< Definitely. >> Rachel agrees with Shift.