ArchivedLogs:Helping Hands and Feeding Birds

Helping Hands and Feeding Birds
Dramatis Personae Ducky, Melinda
In Absentia	2013-05-09 Mel meets a young mutant at the shelter! They talk of getting her back to school.
Location <NYC> Helping Hands Homeless Coalition - Chelsea
The lower level of the Helping Hands building is devoted to being a soup kitchen, with a large empty space, painted white and filled with cheap but sturdy tables and chairs that leads back to the counter tops that house small burners to keep food warm while serving. Behind the counter space, there are tables for additional food prep, with multiple openings and doors to the kitchen. The real heart of the shelter is the kitchen, where industrial sized stoves and ovens take up huge amounts of space and generate delicious aromas as they work most of the day preparing that night's meal. The homeless shelter itself starts at a small desk in the front, complete with announcement boards, calendars posted, flyers that describe all the services provided at the Coalition, and most importantly, the rules that all must follow that wish to be there. There is a monitored door that requires the receptionist to press a button to open access upstairs. Up those stairs are equally large open rooms filled with single beds. There are a couple rooms for families that house bunk beds that require card keys to access - those keys always left with the receptionist when the occupants leave for the day or week. On the third floor, there are youth hostel rooms for paying customers and those with long term needs and the inability to obtain a lease. On all floors, the bathrooms are shared, with certain perks available to homeless individuals who are willing to clean those out and help out in general around the shelter. While dinner has been served and cleaned up after, the soup kitchen keeps a pot of soup on simmer for late comers or people who really need a second serving. The cheery aroma of vegetable lentil soup fills the air and seeps throughout the first floor, even to the front reception desk where Melinda is on duty tonight. She has a book with her to read, and the computer on the desk is playing the music she has on a small thumb drive plugged into the side. Also, it wouldn't be Mel without a tall steaming cup of coffee, a stamp on the paper cup indicating it comes from a place in Soho called Montague's. She is wearing a plain blue tee shirt and a pair of jeans with sneakers, her name tag indicating she is Mel and she's here to help. Ducky has become a bit of a known element around the shelters in the area, and this one in particular is one that she tends to frequent with some regularity. The young girl shuffles her way up to the front desk, looking more than just a little bedraggled and tired, as though she had been running quite a bit. She carries a crumpled up brown bag in her hand, stained with grease and seeming to wear thin in a few places, the contents apparently having been squished up a bit in transport. Slowly, Ducky trudges her way up to the front counter, and greets Mel without really looking up, somewhat mumbling her request, “Um, hi. Is there any chance of getting a bed for the night, and maybe some dinner? ‘Cause I had gotten food, but it kinda got cold and squished, and, well, I gave most of it away after all of that.” She makes a bit of a face and looks back out towards the front door, where a pigeon is sitting determinedly on the barest window ledge, watching here. “I don’t suppose there’s one near a window, maybe?” Ducky asks sheepishly, then adds, “I promise I won’t let him in, I know it’s not allowed, pets that is, but I kinda like being able to hear the birds, if that’s possible. If not, it’s ok, too.” Nervously, she ruffles her short hair and finally looks up at Mel, before falling quiet and waiting for a response. Melinda looks up from her book and smiles a little, looking Ducky over for a moment and nodding. "Sure thing, hun. One sec." She lowers her head and performs a few quick keys trikes on the computer on the computer and then looks up at Ducky once more. "What shall I sign you in under?" Real names? Who here uses real names? She is perfectly willing to take whatever she can. "I can only give you a room if you can pay, and as for a window in one of the large rooms, well, that's first come first serve, okay?" Ducky sighs and nods, “I understand. Thanks. I, well, can’t really afford a whole room to myself, and don’t really deserve one anyway. I’ll take my chances in the big room, maybe someone will decide it’s too chilly to sleep by the window.” She takes a deep breath, and flinches at the question about her name, pausing before responding, “Ducky, please. Just Ducky.” She pauses for a moment, fidgeting with her hair again, “So is there still soup, too? Or am I just smelling the leftovers from dinner...” she trails off, trying not to look too hopeful about getting food - apparently the sandwich she’d acquired earlier was damaged beyond repair from whatever she did during the day. "Oh, there's still soup. We always have something until the doors close." Melinda smiles as she finishes the request and waves someone over mind to the desk. Mel rounds the counter and gestures that Ducky follow her, as she proceeds into the dining hall, heading all the way to the serving count. "How are you doing, Ducky?" She grins a bit, and pitches the balled up grease bag into a nearby trash bin, happy to no longer be carrying the messy bag along with her everywhere. “I’ve been better, I suppose,” Ducky responds, her voice sounding a bit deadpan as she follows Melinda back towards the cafeteria area, “Found out a guy I ran into once, who helped me out with a scary situation, is missing now, got yelled at by an asshole on a rooftop, and generally had a rough day. But, well, I’m used to it at this point. Or I should be, anyway.” Her stomach growls at the thought of food, and she looks down sheepishly, apparently momentarily lost in thought as she walks along. “How are you doing, um, Melinda?” she sounds uncertain on the name, and sort of tilts her head as she tries to remember the name she’d glanced at on the tag. Melinda looks over at Ducky a little surprised, her brows furrowing. "I'm sorry to hear about the guy. I hope he's okay. Also - I'd apologize for the asshole, but it's kind of par for the course for New York City. How about we get you some soup to soothe your nerves a little." She keeps heading back, picking up the pace to move behind the counter when they get there, leaving Ducky on the other side. She hunts under the stove top and withdraws a bowl, grabbing the ladle from the pot and starting to fill it. "Honestly, my weekend was pretty shitty, but nothing has gone wrong this week so far, so I'm hopeful." She scrounges around again for a plate for the bread and butter that go with the dish. She hands them all over to Ducky. Ducky smiles, probably the first time she has done that all day, and accepts the food from Melinda, carefully arranging things on the plate. The first thing she does, though, is to tear the bread in half, and carefully spoon some of the lentils out of her soup bowl, letting the liquid drain from them, and then setting them in the middle of the half of bread, and folding it over into a little pocket. She then wraps that up in a napkin, and puts it carefully into her backpack for safe keeping. There’s just a bit of a smirk on her face as she does this, apparently realizing just how odd this could look to someone watching. “Sorry your weekend was crap, miss. My weekend was odd. I came out of it with an apparently valuable former sponge, so that’s, interesting. Or something,” she pauses at the mention of assholes being par for the course, “People keep saying that sort of thing. Is there a reason they congregate on rooftops? I keep trying to get away from people for a while, and for some reason, it’s really hard to find a vacant rooftop in this city.” The young girl sounds rather puzzled by the issue, frowning slightly. "Well, in the city, we don't have a lot of open spaces that are private. No one really has lawns and backyards to spend time in, so when people want to be outside in a somewhat safe, private environment - and they have access - they go up to their roofs. Sorry, Hun. You'll probably be hard pressed to find an absolutely free roof in this city, especially as the weather warms up." Melinda leans against Ducky's table for a while and smiles a little as she watches how she handles her food. "Oh, don't mind me. Everyone has a different way of eating and storing and I find it kind of fascinating. I work in food service, so... I get to see all sorts of different things all day." She wrinkles her nose and consider before admitting. "I don't know how a sponge could be valuable, but congrats on getting it." “Huh, hadn’t thought of it like that,” Ducky muses, taking a bit of her remaining bread and a spoonful of soup while she thinks, chewing and swallowing before she speaks again. “I grew up in the suburbs, so I’m used to the rooftops kinda being just for the birds. And crazy girls who think they can talk to them,” she says with a chuckle, taking another bite of her food. “And the saved bread isn’t for me. It’s for my friends. You aren’t really supposed to give them just bread, since it doesn’t have the stuff they need. But the beans and other stuff gives them some other nutrients.” She chuckles and shakes her head, “Bah - listen to me, babbling on about nutritional diets for pigeons and ducks in New York. It’s a miracle they don’t all drop over from coronaries, given what they normally eat.” Ducky shakes her head, and pokes at the decidedly heavy thing weighing down her backpack, “For some reason, it’s a perfectly formed replica of a sponge, made out of metal. Impressive sculpture work. Just found it sitting on the sidewalk near a dumpster.” She shrugs, and continues eating a bit. "Ahh, consummate bird friend, then, are you?" Melinda chuckles and exhales, gaze traveling to the front desk from time to time, just in case. "It's very curious, though. Why would anyone replicate a sponge? It's... an interesting concept and lots of people could probably put it into some type of post modern exhibit, finding meaning in it, but it's still unconventional." She finally adds as she shakes her head a little at the concept. "So, Ducky. I've seen you around a bunch. What's your story? I don't want to pry, but there are a number of programs here that might help you out. You could get your GED, or take some classes too. We work with some local businesses, too, to help people get jobs too." Mel purses her lips as she looks the girl over again. "Any way we can help too, even if it's just listening." Curiously, Ducky tilts her head slightly as Melinda talks, thinking for a moment as she tries to formulate a response. It seems to take a bit for her to form her thoughts into something coherent, “At one time, I had wanted to go into zoology, or biology, or y’know, do something with myself. Travel the world, exploring, going to the rain forests, helping people, helping birds and animals, and all that goody two-shoes save the world type stuff. I thought I could do that. I was good at school, I had a bright future, everyone said. I studied birds, knew all about them, all the different kinds, how to care for them, how they communicated.” She falls quiet for a minute and looks around at the emptying cafeteria, trying to think of how to continue - her hazel brown eyes just stare at Melinda for a long moment, as though judging how much she could trust her. “Can’t do that now. My parents had to have me committed on my sixteenth birthday. Because I said I could talk to birds,” she sighs, and looks to the nearest window, where, sure enough, the dappled gray pigeon is sitting on the sill looking inside. “Of course, that had to mean I was crazy, right?” Ducky says quietly with a grimace, “I’m 17. If I apply for my GED, or apply for a job, or anything other than a shelter, I have to give my real name, and I’m still gonna get flagged as a runaway, and sent back home, and they’re gonna stick me in a home. I’ll never get out. And I’ll just end up medicated, and kept away from my friends, because they’re obviously triggering my psychosis, or whatever bogus thing they’d drum up to put me away.” The girl sets her spoon down, and kind of just stops, looking dejectedly at the half eaten bowl of soup - she really does look like just a lonely, lost teenager. “Sorry,” she mumbles in the direction of her soup, tears welling up in her eyes, “You probably didn’t want to hear all that. Sorry I sort of blurted it out. Sorry.” "No, no, it's perfectly okay. It's kind of why I'm here, to hear stuff like that, and see if there's anything we can do." Melinda slides into a seat and considers quietly. "I know you don't likely want to talk about it, but we can set you up with a psych doctor, if you want - for an evaluation and second opinion. People can't put you away just because they want to. If your parents are attempting to do that, we can set you up with lawyers to get you emancipated from your parents' care." Melinda relaxes back into her chair and loosely clasps her hands in her lap. "You shouldn't have to give up your dream and ideas of a degree if you don't want to, hun. If it is something you can manage and still live a healthy, productive life, then we'd like to help you do that too." Ducky cringes slightly at the mention of a psych doctor, and looks a bit scared, responding quietly, “Problem, is, I wasn’t crazy then. But, well, I’ve had a little over a year worth of living on the streets, alone, with few people to talk to other than the birds. And, sometimes I start to doubt my own sanity. I adore my friends, but your average pigeon doesn’t exactly provide the most riveting conversation.” She shakes her head slightly and sighs, “Doesn’t help that I’ve been using the fact that I actively look like a crazy person in my daily life to hide the fact that I /can/ talk to birds. And they talk back.” She ruffles her hair, unable to look Melinda in the eyes, running a hand through her short hair with a sigh, “There’s that whole stigma of being a mutant, thing. Can I even get into a school, or get a job, with that mark against me? Because that’s just it. My parents were more willing to accept I’d lost it, than they were to accept that I could be a mutant. If I’m not crazy, and imagining the birds, then I’m a mutant, with all that that entails.” Ducky looks sheepish and half mumbles she says ‘mutant’, as though terrified it is going to get her thrown out. Ducky wrinkles her nose in disdain at herself, settling back against the back of her chair, idly running her spoon through the soup, but not eating anymore, “Listen to me. Stereotypical moping teenager. ‘Oh woe is me.’ I’m really sorry about this. Thank you for listening though, I appreciate being able to talk to another person for once.” "Oh, honey, if you're a mutant, that's an entirely different story." Melinda smiles reassuringly. "In fact, there's a school I know of that takes students like you, whether a parent enrolls them or if they are runaways. They're about an hour out of the city, it's really safe and the education, I hear, is top rate. I can get you an interview if you're interested, or have one of the teachers or students come here and talk to you about it, whichever you feel safer doing." She sits up a little straighter and chuckles a little. "Avian communication is one haven't really heard of before, but there are so many different types, and I am by no means an expert." The look on Ducky’s face when Melinda talks about the school goes from utter shock, to relief, to giddy excitement. With the first real smile she’s had in some time plastered on her face, Ducky is all but bouncing in her seat. After a moment though, she calms back down, and crosses her arms over her chest, looking concerned, “I... I... it’s real? I had heard people mention... a, a school. For mutants, maybe. But, well, I thought it was just a vicious rumor, or, or a mean joke,” Ducky stammers, still all but shaking with excitement and nervousness at the thought of getting to go back to school. “I met a girl who went there, but, I only saw her once, and she had to go, and I never heard anything again, and then I started hearing about mutants going missing from the streets, and there were rumors. And it just seemed all too good to be true, really..” Ducky looks down at herself, and her worn and baggy clothes, “They’d really take someone like me? If they could come here, that would be good, I think, I mean, if that’s ok? Is there a test or anything? And my parents couldn’t make me leave, or force me to go to an institution, or...?” Her voice trails off, and she blushes, realizing just how overly excited she sounds, and how close to crazed she is probably appearing with this stream of babbling. At the question about her powers, Ducky tilts her head to the side, and ponders for a moment, “Yeah. I can talk to pretty much any kind of bird. Mostly around here it’s ducks and pigeons and stuff. Seagulls are rude, though, and some birds are smarter than others - just ‘cause I understand them, doesn’t give them intelligence. But there are some smart ones out there. And then there’s Horus. He’s really nice, I like him, but he’s not really a bird, I don’t think. I’m pretty sure he’s a mutant, just a really bird-like mutant. But I can talk to him, same as any other birds.” She nods, and calms down a bit, nibbling idly on her bread, if for no reason than to shut herself up. "I'm sure there are plenty of tests, it's a school after all, but if you're talking about a genetic test - I don't think so. Generally, it's pretty self-evident when a person has a mutation. They've got telepaths there, so maybe they'll just be able to hear your powers in your head like you do." Melinda waves a hand, giving a definite impression that she doesn't /exactly/ know what she's talking about, but could be close enough. "Oh, wait, you've met Horus? He's kind of a sweet heart, but I don't know him very well, on account of the language barrier." She shakes her head. "It's amazing how the mutants in this city seem to find each other. I'm sure that it's not... well, anyway. I wouldn't normally guess we're talking about the same person, but how many bird like guys in this city are named Horus?" She shakes her head again and chuckles. "Sorry, now I'm kind of rambling. But yes. Stay here a few more nights and I'll put a call in and see if I can't get you a meeting of some type in the city." Tilting her head curiously, in an oddly birdlike manner, Ducky asks Melinda, “So, you just know people from the school? You...” she pauses for a moment, “You didn’t go there?” Apparently the young woman had automatically assumed that Melinda was a mutant, what with the not immediately calling the cops on her, or throwing her out. She blinks for a moment, “I’ll stick around here, since this is the shelter that doesn’t usually mind my bird entourage, anyway. And, well, since if I’ve got a chance to go back to school, especially one like that, well, I’d just sit here and wait for as long as necessary. Thank you. I, um, I really don’t know how else to say thank you. But, yeah,” Ducky babbles on for a few moments, an occasional giddy grin crossing her lips. At the mention of Horus, she nods, looking thoughtful for a moment, “Yeah. He’s nice, and I wish I’d gotten to talk to him more. I mean, I don’t know what his story is, but he was kinda hesitant to talk, even though I could talk to him. Granted, that could have been ‘cause his friend was there harassing some other guy, and, well, Corey was nice, but Hive was kinda, um, grumpy. I think.” She seems to have trouble remembering the names, closing her eyes and having to think for a moment, “But They told me where they lived. I should probably go say hi to him again, since, well, I don’t know how many people actually can have conversations with him.” Ducky trails off, idly looking around to the nearest window, where, sure enough, her pigeon has settled in against the window - its small body mooshed up against the glass like a gray-white mass of concrete on the sill. "Hive's an asshole." Melinda replies flatly, her expression flat, her everything /flat/ all of a sudden. She draws in a deep breath and rubs her hands over her face. "Sorry. Bad weekend." Her lips purse as she collects herself again. "No, I'm sorry. I'm just a boring human, no special powers, no private schools for me. It's okay, don't worry. Doesn't mean that I will treat you any different. I really want /everyone/ who comes through these doors to end up in a better place in the long run, and I really do mean everyone." She leans back in her chair again and exhales the last of her moodiness out of her system. She follows Ducky's gaze and considers. "You know, I may be able to get you on the roof of this building, if you promise to only bring bird friends to visit. We can't actually have other people up there, as that's against the rules." Ducky looks a bit surprised when Melinda says she’s not a mutant, immediately beginning to stammer out an apology, “I... I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have assumed! I didn’t mean to, I, I’m so sorry,” she babbles, eyes wide in panic that she had offended the other woman somehow. “You’ve just, well, you’ve been so nice to me, and you knew about the school, and, I’m sorry.” She slumps into her chair, looking like she’s just made an even bigger ass of herself. Ducky remains quiet for a few minutes, poking at her now cold soup with a spoon, “And yeah, Hive’s kinda an ass. I keep running into jerky people. Ah well, ‘swat they say about New York, anyway.” The mention of the rooftop makes her look up again, “I would, um, appreciate that, even if it is only for a few minutes. I kinda want to give him his dinner,” she pats her bag, as though to indicate the bread and beans she had bundled up earlier, “I won’t be long, and it’ll only be me and a few birds up there. I would really appreciate it. If not, I can just set it outside for him. But people kinda tend to frown on pigeons hanging out in the front of buildings, since they’re usually seen as nuisances.” Ducky nods, pausing in her babbling long enough to make a second bread and lentil packet for her feathered friends, rather than let the food go to waste. "Being called a mutant shouldn't be an insult, Ducky. I don't think it is. I'm kind of touched you thought that of me." Melinda gets up as the other girl appears to be done, and gathers up the plate and bowl, heading back to the kitchen. "Come with me then." Melinda leaves the dishes in the sink for one of the volunteers to wash, and leads the girl through the industrial kitchen, away from the prying eyes of other residents. She uses a keycard to open a door in the back, leading to a long staircase upstairs, It's four flights from their current position, so the trek is somewhat boring. "If you talk to me, I'll get you time on the roof when you need it. You can stay out as long as you like, but the door will lock after you on the way down. There are card panels at each level, aside from the residence levels where you will be sleeping, so you can let yourself back where you need to be, okay?" Ducky blushes slightly at Melinda’s response, nodding quietly, “I’m still sorry I just assumed. I’ve kinda had a bad experience with the whole thing, but, well, yeah, I won’t bore you with a retelling, again.” She follows along gratefully, shifting her back pack to her front as she steps into the staircase, fidgeting with the bread and beans bundle, being ready for the birds who will almost certainly find her as soon as she steps outside. She does, however, listen as Melinda explains what is going on with the doors, and where to get back in. “Thank you so much for doing this. I really do appreciate it. For everything, thank you,” Ducky babbles, sounding quite sincere about her thanks, nodding emphatically. As Ducky steps outside into the night air, she looks around at the roof, reorienting herself on the building. Quietly, almost certainly too quietly for the pigeon to hear her from several floors down, Ducky says, “Come on. I saved some dinner for you. If you want to have some, come on up here.” After a few moments, the flutter of wings signals the arrival of the dappled grey pigeon, along with two others. They land on Ducky’s arms without hesitation, the gray one on her left, the other two on her right, and begin munching happily on the offered bread packets. The look of contentment and happiness on Ducky’s face is quite obvious as she talks quietly at the birds, with pauses occasionally as though having a conversation. "You're welcome," Melinda offers at some point during all of Ducky's grateful babbles, a small smile on her face. She stays by the door on the roof for a while, watching quietly. "Out of curiosity," she asks at length. "What do they say? I met a kid who 'does' bugs, I think, in a similar fashion to your birds, but I didn't really get a chance to ask him much about it." It takes Ducky a few moments to finally answer Melinda’s question, “It depends on the bird, really. Most of the ones that follow me, or come readily when I call to them are either former homing pigeons, or descendants of them, so they’re a bit smarter. They usually talk about what they’ve seen around town, and interesting things they ate, and if people were mean to them, or chased them away.” Once the dappled gray one has apparently had his fill, she shifts him to her shoulder, setting the remaining packet down with the other birds - she idly pets the one on her shoulder while she continues to talk. “Since they sit up so high, or fly, they usually see stuff, and if I can figure out the right questions to ask, they can tell me some interesting stuff. Hardest part is making sense of it sometimes.” With that, she picks up her dappled gray one and sets him on the ledge beside the other two, kneeling down to talk quietly to them. After a moment, they fly off, “And then sometimes, they can look for people. Or ask around for me,” she looks out after the three birds, “They’re going to see if they can find that missing kid. People keep telling me that he’s gone, and he was nice, so I said I’d try to help. But I’ll see in the morning, maybe. Decent chance all the answer I’ll get is that they found a new bakery next street over.” Ducky smiles and heads back towards the door and Melinda, “Thank you again.” "Yeah... finding missing kids is important." Melinda nods slowly and rubs a hand against her brow lightly. "Definitely let me know if they find … well, blue skinned fish boys too. There are two of them, and one of them works for me. His dad's really worried, and to be honest, I am too." She takes another deep breath then turns toward the interior. "I'll see you later, Ducky. I better go check in downstairs. Let me know if you need anything." And with that, she slips back inside, needing to get back to the front desk.