2013.08.08 - Chance Encounters in Mutant Town

When you're a wanted, highly-recognizable mutant, there's really only one place in New York to hide out with any degree of success. It is for this reason that Mimic perches on the roof of an obliging SUV as it casually meanders through traffic. Apparently his landing was light enough to avoid tipping off the driver, but he's certainly noticed by everyone else that the vehicle happens to pass. Even in Mutant Town, it isn't a completely common sight to see a hobo with angel wings.

It's only when the SUV turns into a parking deck that Mimic decides to dismount the roof. With outstretched wings, he lifts himself up to about 'third story' level and drifts down the road further to his ultimate destination: a dumpy outdoor cafe. His wings tuck fold back, causing him to come to a quick but graceful halt in mid air. He lands on two feet, right next to a conveniently empty table. The startled waitress who happens to be roaming by doesn't say anything, so Mimic politely takes a menu out of her hands and seats himself.

"I'm just waiting on a friend. In the meantime I'd like a local beer. I'd like it in a bottle, and I'd like the bottle to be cold."

Jocelyn had a contact. The contact had information Jocelyn wanted, in theory. She'd had her conversation with the contact, and the girl wanted to grab a bit of food. It wasn't that uncommon for the former street kid to grab herself something to drink or eat at some cafe. The woman had picked this particular one because she knew it was quick and not a lot of questions were asked. The teen makes her way over and gets a menu from the same waitress before Jocelyn goes to seat herself. She was dressed in some of her 'old' clothes. A pair of old, faded jean shorts and a green tanktop. She's not wearing any jewelry or carrying a purse of any kind. She knew the rules of the street.

As Jocelyn goes to take a seat, her eyes can't help but pick up on...well, something that looks incredibly messed up. That guy's wings looked just like Angel's. And the ruby red goggles were very familiar to the Young X-Man, as was what was being them, thanks to her energy sight. The tall girl does know enough not to stare, and her glance only lasts the briefest of moments before she's looking back at her menu. Oh, she's still paying attention, alright, but that's just to the world about her. She grew up on the streets, and knew you had to be ready for anything.

The waitress is quick to comply, and Mimic is nursing some sort of oatmeal stout. He doesn't appear to have much of an opinion on the quality of the brew, but then it's hard to gauge whether someone enjoys something when they are wearing opaque googles. While drining his beer, he keeps scanning his environment, although not enough to look suspicious. He already looks suspicious enough without putting nervous body language out into the universe.

As Mutant Town is full of exactly what you'd expect it to be full of, Mimic is currently bombarded with mutant energy signatures. It's therefore no surprise when he doesn't immediately notice that yet another mutant is within spitting distance of his table. However, a six and a half foot woman with red hair is going to attract a glance regardless of her genetic makeup. He motions the waitress over "Send the girl at that table one of these" He points to his beer. "Don't tell her who it's from yet."

"I'm sorry sir, but I don't think she's old enough to drink."

"Oh... nevermind then." Mimic pulls out his phone and begins messing about with it.

Psh. Stupid laws about drinking age. Well, the place did need to keep it's license. Jocelyn glances over the menu and orders something when the waitress comes by. The teen had much the same idea as Mimic, actually. She speaks softly to the woman. "Pardon, but I don't get around her very much. Don't suppose you know the name of that gentleman over there with the wings and eye thing?"

The waitress shakes her head. "No, though you could always just head over and ask," the waitress responds. Perhaps the waitress gets a lot of this sort of thing?

Jocelyn just gives the woman a polite nod and sips her water a little bit. Finally, the teenager stands and walks over towards Mimic. "Don't suppose you'd mind a bit of company? That table is a bit cramped for someone my size," Jocelyn says, gesturing to the table, which is in a little bit of a narrow spot with a low overhang. There weren't a lot of other options around either.

The Prime Directive of 'Keep a Low Profile' and 'Place the Mission First' aren't necessarily conflicted by allowing a random stranger to sit, so allow Mimic does. He gestures toward a seat with his half-empty beer bottle "Knock yourself out. Also, you can sit with me." He can't help but smile at his own semi-clever turn of phrase, but any evidence of his smile is mostly hidden behind his bristly hobo beard.

"Fair warning though: I'm not going to be here long. A friend of mine is coming by, and then we've got to go do this thing. It's a whole ordeal." Vague, nebulous conversation topics are mandatory when you're part of a terrorist organization.

Yes. Yes they are. They're also part of the deal when you operate with a secret mutant strike force based out of a school, though the Prime Directive of that is 'Don't mention the Secret Mutant Strike Force to Strangers'. Jocelyn nods to the man as she easily slides into the seat. "Fair enough, we've all got places to be at some time," Jocelyn says as she takes a drink of her water for now. She figured it was some sort of street drug deal or something. Vague statements like that as excuses to leave were common enough, and it was a similar lingo. "Got my own stuff to do, but it's nice to take a load off for ten or fifteen minutes at a stretch, you know?"

Olena Kovalenko -- known here in the US as Oksana Balanchuck -- is... not thrilled. Oh, she doesn't mind being in M-Town, at all. She spent a goodly amount of time here when she first escaped the Russians that brought her to New York. It's the necessities of the some of business that brings her here, this time, that irritates her.

But, the Ukrainian doesn't complain. Certainly not out loud. There's no one who'd be all that sympathetic to her, anyway. She slouches into the cafe, unnecessary since she's really not that tall, and waves the waitress away. Instead, she simply scans the cafe for a pair of giant white wings. It's not like they're hard to find.

The fact, however, that they're sat at a table with someone else already there? That gives her a moment's pause. She regards their owner from across the cafe and arches a dark brow dryly.

"Ah. Speaking of machete-wielding devils..." Mimic's begoggled eyes manage to pick out the most Wednesday Addams-like of all the mutants at this particular cafe. A professional-ish nod is given over a now mostly-empty bottle, and he returns his attention to his impromptu guest. "Yeah, yeah, totally."

The bristly hair of his mustache crinkles visibly. "And speaking of stretch, you don't happen to be a pro volleyball player, do you?"

"No, not a professional volleyball player," Jocelyn says with an easy laugh. "Though at least you asked volleyball and not basketball. That's the one I usually get. I don't compete in any professional sports". At least, she doesn't anymore. Her mutant kind of put that idea on hold. Jocelyn does notice the comment, but she doesn't make any obvious turns to look at Mimic's associate. She may or may not know Olena is there. She likely has picked up on the fact that someone has arrived, however. However, Mimic hasn't immediately dismissed her or moved on, so Jocelyn hasn't left her seat yet.

"So, how about yourself? What do you keep yourself occupied with?" Jocelyn doesn't necessarily expect a fully truthful answer, as few actually gave them around here, she found. Plus Mimic had already gone about being rather vague. But you could learn from what a person did tell you. Sometimes it was even true.

Ok. It takes a moment. But, ultimately, as she starts to weave between the tables of the busy cafe and gets a better look at Jocelyn's face, the Ukrainian recognizes her. Sure. She was the kid that stopped her on the street when she was still on the run from the mob -- the one who recognized her from her own Olympic career.

Well. That's going to make things awkward.

There's no help for it, however. The archer lets out a soft sigh, steps lightly around one of the other waitresses that backs away from another table unexpectedly, and comes up to the pair of them without further hesitation. Her foot hooks one of the legs of a third chair at the table and pulls it out before she flops gracelessly into the seat.

"Hey," she greets bluntly in accented English. "Sorry to be interrupting."

There is a glint of recognition from Jocelyn as Olena sits down. This was Mimic's contact? "Oh. Hello miss...". BEEP! BEEP! Jocelyn's phone inside her pocket goes off. Jocelyn picks it up and looks at the text. "I am afraid it is bad timing for me. I need to get going. Have a good day," Jocelyn offers to the two, one being a very obvious mutant. And then Jocelyn will make her way home.