ArchivedLogs:Warnings

Warnings
Dramatis Personae Parley, Jennifer, Kurt
In Absentia	2013-05-14 Parley arranges for a meeting with those involved in the Oscorp incident.
Location <NYC> Central Park North
The email came to Jennifer, no fuss. A work email from the office of one Claire Basil, signed by 'Parley, Communications Consultant'. Its body content, in summary: I'm writing this in regards to the 'attack' on Oscorp Tower. For the aid your school has rendered me and a number of my contemporaries in early March, I would like to meet with you and those involved with the incident to discuss damage control in the coming months. Any members of the school faculty would likely recognize the message between the lines; the March raid on the Prometheus laboratories had swamped the school with wide-eyed refugee mutants, many injured, crippled and terrified, for many weeks, the younger of which already integrated into the student body. The rest: released into the world, to cope as they could manage. Only to turn up again, it would seem. Parley himself does not tend to cut a terribly memorable figure. The nature of his mutation tends to trigger a feedback of psychic camouflage, breaking up the blip a living creature would otherwise register on the mental landscape - which does permit him a measure of peace and quiet, even while wearing a sleeveless gray and black tank top in the balmy spring heat of New York, exposing the tawny fur and faint rosette-splotches that pour down his back in a far LESS effective camouflage against... yeaaaah, a /city/ background. Or. Rather. A city /park/ as the case may be. Parley perches up on the back of a bench that faces out over the water, one foot on the bench seat, the other folded up in a half lotus to form a lapshelf on which he's reading Dawkin's The Selfish Gene, one hand loosely curled around his cell phone. Occasionally, he raises his eyes to follow the routes of passersby, but generally appears absorbed as he waits. The e-mail from a complete stranger did not come entirely as a surprise. Considering what the merry band of mutants did, the staggering lack of a fallout was the true surprise for Jennifer. The meeting with Norman Osborn had blown over in a surprisingly calm fashion, a fact she was eager to share with the rest of faculty, making sure that it was known that their actions did not attract the wrath of the CEO of Oscorp Industries. Being contacted by Parley was far better than going out to fetch the morning paper and find the SWAT van parked outside. But Jennifer still decided to brave this particular meeting with someone else. Facing a dilemma not unlike a kid picking peers for the dodgeball team, the redhead took some time to figure out who should come with, or whether all involved should make an appearance. In the end, for reasons known only to the chaotic woman, she had picked the incredible Nightcrawler to accompany her. Despite her vehicular preferences, Jennifer had offered a ride to Kurt with her unimpressive yet usually trustworthy Volkswagen Golf. On the way to the designated spot, she spoke of her meeting with Norman in greater detail, feeding the falsified story of a malfunctioned prototype surveillance drone and how they supposedly helped with the evacuation process. Oh, that silly media and their obsession with terrorists! "Oh, I almost forgot," she stops, gently pressing the back of her hand against Kurt's chest to suggest a momentary pit stop at the entrance to the park. "Two things. First, I never got the chance to apologize for that whole... Shane fiasco. Secondly, I owe you one-- Back at Oscorp, I mean." She offers a smile that's both polite and sincere at the same time. The teacher is still wearing the same formal attire she wore to the meeting with Norman Osborn earlier in the day - a navy blue office jacket, a new white blouse, a navy blue pencil skirt, tan stockings and a pair of plain black high heels. Going out in public, for Kurt, is still something of a /production/. He has found, time and time again, that going into the city without at least some kind of way of hiding the most obvious parts of his very obvious mutation only leads to heartache. So when Jennifer asked him if he would come with her to the city, there was a lot of last-minute scrabbling on the elf’s part, to locate a long coat and a fedora and /shoes/, the true bane of Nightcrawler’s existence. He can’t hide his strange-colored face if people get close to him, but if he keeps his head down and his hands in his pockets, he can almost get away with it. This is how he’s been riding in the passenger seat of the VW Golf, and this is how he’s been walking beside Jennifer, matching her pace carefully. It’s a far cry from his usual vivacious demeanor, but Kurt is very clearly trying not to draw too much attention to himself. When Jennifer raises her hand to stall him before he enters the park, Kurt looks up, blinking a bit in confusion. He has been listening intently to her recounting of the meeting with Norman, but the act of pausing him seems a little strange to Kurt. He continues to listen as Jennifer speaks, and a smile flickers to life across his face. “Meine Freundin, think nothing of it, on either case. In the discussion with Shane--I think all of our tensions were high. I do not know if you know or remember my history in Florida, but it is...a touchy subject for me, and I spoke in haste. /I/ should be apologizing to you, so to whit: I am sorry. The less said about that, the better, perhaps. As for Oscorp.../really/, I could hardly leave you there. I regret I could not also get your motorcycle, I hope it has been returned to you?” There is a rustle in the long tails of Kurt’s coat, and he mutters briefly to himself in German, probably profanity. “Sorry. This tail, it is always making mischief, if I do not think about keeping it still every single moment it gets me into such /trouble/.” Already, the two mutants have fallen into the gently unfurled net of Parley's particular brand of empathic awareness. It's a subtle thing; it does not dig inward to seek but rather, lays out a passive tarp to catch what small sentiments, fragment-concepts, memory snippets or subtle intentions might express themselves naturally, swallowing them inwards like a funnel. Gulp. Yumyum. The key is in communication, and even without words, the social human mind is hardwired to communicate a lot... He quietly folds shut his book and laps his hands over it, watching them from a distance. Shamelessly eavesdropping on what they say... and /don't/ say to one another. Jennifer offers a bright smile to Kurt as she hears an apology from him, as well. "Agreed, the less said of our little scuffle, the better," she replies, content to leave previous conflicts in the past. It is at this point that Parley will overhear an echo of a fleeting mental whisper. << Oh God, he apologized right back. He /hates/ me. >> Throughout this shifting thought, the redhead maintains her bright smile. Ah, the mundane fears of the human mind. "Yes," she starts reluctantly, "I got Sam back." Green. Purple. She-Hulk. Parley gets a thoroughly detailed image of the motorcycle that is spoken of. It is hard to separate it from the emotions that come with it in Jennifer's mind - affection, attachment and dependence. The measure of infatuation this odd woman has with the bike is at rather unsettling and likely even unhealthy levels. Before the two continue, Jennifer leans back to look down at-- Kurt's rump? Well, one might think such, but in truth she is just trying to catch a glimpse of Kurt's tail. "It's fine, I don't see it-- Well, most of the time I don't. Just... try to keep it still." Straightening out, she sighs softly, looking at Kurt empathetically. "You know nobody will fine you if they see you, right? It's not like you can control your appearance. Come on, before we're /late/." Not that she abruptly ends the conversation; rather, she simply wants to be on the move. And while they'd be on the move, Parley will detect that the woman is hard at work rehearsing the lie Norman fed her. An effort that, despite her practiced polite smile, greatens when she finally spots Parley, heading towards him. “I am less worried about fines and more worried about /rocks/.” Kurt admits to Jennifer, as he carefully curls his tail around his own waist for the umpteenth time. Flashes of memory, or maybe just /fears/, bubble up to the surface of Kurt’s thoughts for poor Parley to endure; the vision of life from inside a cage, people sneering and poking at him with sticks, rocks, rotten bits of carnival food or whatever else they could find to harass him with. Words in German that require no translation. Demon. Hellchild. Freak. None of this shows on Kurt’s face, however, as he tips it towards Jennifer. His expression is tired and fond, but not haunted. “One step at a time. At least now I am coming out at all and not hiding in the darkest part of the grounds I could find and hissing at whomever was trying to bring me dinner.” Memories of that, too, more heavily flavoured with shame than suffering. “Perhaps one day I will be out here in shorts and a tank-top, you never know.” The would-be elf quickens his pace to keep up with Jennifer, letting discussion of his particular physiology fall by the wayside. His eyes are moving constantly, hands still in his pockets, and when they light on Parley his eyebrows lift, just faintly. Well. Maybe Jennifer had a point... Parley doesn't make any attempt to hide the fact that he sees them, watching their approach through the sunlight beams that dapple their route. "Jennifer Walters?" He draws both legs up off the bench seat and slips off the back of the bench to the ground, stepping forward. He doesn't extend a hand to shake, but he does make a sort of nod-bow with his head and shoulders that borders somewhere between general formality and vague... apology. "I'm Parley. Thank you for making the time to meet me." His eyes flick from her to her company, slight twitch-smile offered to Kurt. "Hopefully I won't take up too much of either of your time. You are..?" Since she is not offered a handshake, Jennifer does not extend her own. Instead, she mirrors the polite nod, which also doubles as confirmation of her identity. Parley's own introduction confuses her, however. It is visible on her face alone, but she sits on the question that swirls in her mind for a while longer. << Parley? /Just/ Parley? >> Just when it is Kurt's turn to introduce himself, Jennifer lifts a single index finger in polite protest. "Ah, sorry-- Parley? /Just/ Parley? Like-- The French word parlez?" Her index finger curls inwardly. Poor Jennifer looks genuinely confused. Kurt starts to pull his hand out of his pocket, as if in preparation for handshaking, but when he realizes that isn’t going on, instead he turns the gesture into sheepishly taking off his fedora. This reveals quite a bit more of his blue-furred face to the sunny day than he’d been /entirely/ prepared for earlier. “Kurt Wagner, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Parley.” The elf looks up to Jennifer a moment later, his expression amused. “It is the sacred right of all pirates, part of the pirate code! The discussion between two parties to come to a mutual agreement.” <<Like mayonnaise.>> His mind helpfully supplies, not unlike Johnny Depp in inflection, but that doesn’t get voiced. "You could call it my working name," Parley has the most - brief, /bright/ smile for Kurt, surprised and pleased, "It - yes, actually. It's a word adopted into English as well. You may find with time it's a common practice in some mutant social circles to adopt a name as part of embracing one's unique abilities. One that suits better than a given name. As it is, to parley is to discuss terms between often opposing sides." The warmth of his smile fades, his head dipping down to something infinitely more pragmatic, if drifting in a slight undercurrent of apology, "Which is, of course, why I am here. I represent a number of..." the side of his mouth so /slightly/ twitches, "conflicting parties, many of which already know more about Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters than I'm personally comfortable with. I understand you have come intending to - tell me the story that would best obscure the details." Accuse them of intending to lie? Who, /Parley/? Never. He's actually scooting his ass up onto the back of the bench again, draping his elbows off his knees wearily, dropping his head to rub at the back of his neck, "Mnh. But for me to help you with this, I need to know what /actually/ happened first." And, as though they were drawing a breath to argue, he raises a tired hand to stem a tide before it starts, "--starting with Rasa Djalili." Kurt's eccentric explanation of the reasoning behind this stranger's name warrants a look that's a combination of both surprise and confusion. A reluctant smile tugs at both corners of her lips. "Yeah, I like Pirates of the Caribbean, too." The joke might be dismissive, but it is light-hearted and genuine. With a bit of a sigh, she then turns her attention to less pleasant matters. Matters that become increasingly less pleasant as time passes. Sensitive names are dropped, lies are foreseen and the truth is requested. The natural environment that surrounds the trio would in Parley's mind quickly shift to represent the courtroom, with Parley as the prosecutor, shouting out in the redhead's mind, "Objection, Your Honour!" The image subsides slowly, along with a heavy sigh on Jennifer's part, which actually occurs in the real world. She makes sure to begin her little speech /before/ Kurt. "What /actually/ happened?" Her voice attains an alien, detached sort of firmness. "I'm glad you don't buy the media, either. There was no terrorism involved, just malfunctioned prototype surveillance drones. Myself, my friend Kurt here and another teacher from this school that should preferably /not/ be mentioned in public have helped Norman Osborn deal with the situation. The presence of Rasa Djalili was both a coincidence and a grave mistake on her part, because she could have been seriously injured. Students went missing at our school, and she wrongfully labelled Mister Osborn responsible. We went to retrieve her, since she was breaking rules. The rest-- The rest you are aware of." Finally, Jennifer Walters falls silent, currently oblivious of Kurt. The former lawyer is instead intently staring at Parley, the unrelenting eye contact being there to prove that it is the truth-- Honest! Unfortunately for her, Parley's talents will pierce right through the words. The deceitful ones, at any rate. “I like pirates of any stripe, really.” Kurt says to Parley as an aside, and it’s obvious just from the flickering of thought-concepts in the dark-curled head of his that he means the fictional conceit rather than any actual, honest-to-God piracy. He waits on Jennifer, very politely, well aware that she has a lot more practice in putting things as delicately as possible in technical terms, being as she is a lawyer. Instead, he stands peaceably, hands still in the pockets of his jacket, trying to ignore how his tail-made-belt wants to free itself and wave around as a far more visible indicator of his mental state than whatever Parley picks up on. He watches Jennifer’s face before supplying in as gentle a voice as the German can muster, “Myself and the other individual arrived a little later than Ms. Walters did. The situation was already very chaotic when we arrived, I am afraid I will not be able to add any personal insight as to the events.” This much, at least, is true, accompanied by a flicker of memory, Kurt grabbing the shoulder of someone just out of vision and teleporting them both inside of the building as it started to close itself off. The memory of the teleport itself is almost as disorienting as the real experience. For all that Jennifer is the one speaking, Parley has a distracted gaze flicking absently over Kurt's face, considering those curious eyes, the tint of the other man's fur. Remaining draped over his relaxed thighs, sitting on the back of the bench with his feet hooked on the seat, he scrubs fingers through his own fur - a sparser amount, localized to his back and shoulders. Mm, scritch. Especially a stripe of more bristly-stiff guard hairs making a punky little mohawk down the line of his spine. "--Mnh yes. Alright." He eventually exhales, only once they are both done speaking, making a soft /chuff/ for Kurt's so delicately worded addition. He closes his eyes, musing seemingly to himself, "Do you know. That with New York's public mutant displays ban, any official work I perform for Ms. Basil's private practice involving my mutation legally requires the client sign an informed consent form? I wonder, should I have brought the two of you copies?" It's not said in a snarky manner; honestly more curious, and his eyes open again, watchful and opaque. Finally, decides to simply admit: "I'm an empath, Ms. Walters. I know when individuals are lying. And as a story goes..." He runs a thumb pad over his fingertips of one hand slowly, "That one's actually... quite good. Norman Osborn constructed it, I assume? It has his... mnh. /Aggressive/ versatility. Shifts the blame off mutant kind, which he'd dearly need if he hoped to retain credibility while pushing through this /mutant school/ idea, and turning them into heroes. Hmh. While also doing you a very real favor." While speaking, a quiet monotone, a tendril of thought reaches out. Parley's mindvoice is neither sleek nor articulate; it's amalgamate and patchworked together in concept-fragments. And he whispers to Jennifer's mind alone: << (have you wondered)(why he would make you such a generous offer?) >> Upon learning that Parley is an empath and that he can detect perjury, Jennifer grits her teeth and tips her head back. The redhead doesn't look happy at all with this revelation. Both rows of knuckles crack as she rolls her digits and clenches her hands into fists. One hand shoots up to point an accusatory finger at Parley. "That's /cheating/," she helpfully states. That hand expands into a palm, the gesture now more 'look at this shit' than trying to pin blame; Jen looks to Kurt. "He's /cheating/. That's like if you teleported in front of a queue at a bank or something. Rude, y'know?" The woman turns her eyes back to Parley, then. It almost looks like she is going to lecture the empath further, but instead she catches herself and pauses. "Miss Basil? Do you mean a /Claire/ Basil?" This momentary shift in Jennifer's attitude does not last overly long. Her stern facade comes back shortly after. "If you work for her, then you should be aware how valuable mutual trust is, how each word spoken is important and how... people with your particular ability undermine these core components of legal matters." The words are not spoken with an accusatory tone; it is all spoken of as a matter of fact. << Get out of my head. >> These are the words that resonate the strongest within Jennifer's mind, although her psychic defence is peculiar, to say the least. She just happens to be one of the people who, when trying not to think about something, do exactly just that. Her mind transport her and Parley to Norman's office, where they shake hands, agree on a date in a thai restaurant, and speak of the difference between tools and friends. Closing her eyes, Jennifer tries to shift this vision elsewhere. Bike. Sam. The images she decides to offer to Parley are, to say the /very/ least, disturbing. "Dare I ask /why/ you called us here?" At first, Kurt is only confused. Thoroughly confused, given he is not at all privy to the conversation going on inside Parley and Jennifer’s minds. His eyes flick back and forth between the two, and then they narrow just a little, suspicion creeping in with the confusion. Given he has already taken his hat off /and/ that Parley is showing at least enough obvious mutation to make it a moot point, the elf lets his tail uncoil from around his waist so that he can poke it out through the split in the back of his trenchcoat and let it wave back and forth behind him. “I would avoid making Miss Walters terribly /angry/, Herr Parley, it is generally a very ill-advised course of action.” Like before, Kurt’s words are neatly ordered and precise, flavoured with a Bavarian accent that tends to make everything he says seem a little more comical than he intended. Still, he seems reasonably calm, the pattern of his tail a low, easy sweep. It is largely a calmness enforced by matter of will; below the surface Kurt is himself mightily uncomfortable with the notion of someone knowing his thoughts and true intentions without having been explicitly invited in. “And I think she has a point, ja? Just because you /can/ do something does not make it right or mean you /have/ a right to do it. I could myself teleport into almost any place I wished, but I must still respect that there are many places that it would be wrong for me to be. I have no inherent right to be somewhere just because I can /get/ there. Likewise...with all due respect, Herr Parley, you seem a very fine man, but you have no right to be digging through our words or feelings in search of something, even the truth, unless we have invited you to do so.” For a moment, Parley looks - surprised? Wary? Uncomprehending? Then it slowly fades down to vacated, and... careful, lips compressing. "-- Actually. Sorry. But my ability isn't one I /can/ turn off. There's a certain irony here. You realize you're... calling me untrustworthy for trying to be honest with you?" His head tips, with what for all appearances looks like genuine, if clinical, curiosity, "It does make an interesting question of morality versus peace of mind. Would you rather I have lied?" Did he hear a sound? His head turns to look blankly off across the green, placing a hand over his forehead to keep his spikey-messy hair from jabbing him in the eyeballs when a spare breeze ruffles along the grass tips. "Though this isn't really about me. Or any one of us specifically. Those with abilities like mine tend to learn early how to... mh. Keep other people's secrets as a matter of course." If Jennifer's bike-love bothers him, it doesn't show - is that the slightest curl-twitch slicing up at the far corner of his mouth? "You could say I have become a - receptacle for them. And I seek to use what I know to maintain a balance of power between sides. Oscorp is an astounding ally. And a remarkable resource." With head turned away, his eyes slide to either of their faces. Can you feel the 'but' coming? "But. Question his motives. Especially if he seems too eager to render you aid with no apparent gain of his own." The calm reply she receives in return seems to be enough to soothe her own demeanour. Mild annoyance lingers in the sigh Jennifer parts with, but generally she appears to accept Parley's response. "No. I don't like lies and I don't like lying." << But it was unavoidable this time. For Xavier's sake. For my friends'. For Osborn's. For my own. Please, pass this thought to Kurt. >> Her voice quietens. "Just keep in mind that illegally acquired evidence is not admissible, and unless things changed, I don't think telepathy has been legally approved just yet." Jennifer glances sideways to her blue friend, before she looks to Parley again. Her mind argues the lack of personal gain Norman gets out of this cover-up, complete with the surreal imagery she and her friends faced off against - the unrelenting horror that is The Goblin. Curiously enough, the massive beast is locked away in a tiny box just like that, before feminine hands place it in a shelf, symbolically signifying a secret set aside. << He doesn't know. >> As the pronoun is thought of, the image of Kurt flashes within her mind briefly. << Ignorance is bliss. Do /not/ burden him with the responsibility of this secret. >> The redhead thins her lips momentarily, seemingly considering her reply. At least, that's what it would look like to Kurt. "Did you call us here to just warn us, then?" It's not a dismissive question, despite the inclusion of 'just'. "Because I-- we appreciate it, and of course we have to keep a pulse on this incident. But I have spoken with Mister Osborn--" Words refuse to take shape. Like the lights in a long hallway in a horror flick, Jennifer's mind just sort of malfunctions when she has to lie. << He's a conflicted man. >> A disjointed series of thoughts swirls in the ether of her consciousness. << Evil? No. Misguided? Maybe. Knows about Xavier's. What is he going to do? Held onto my bike for me. >> These are not questions directed at Parley; rather, Jennifer asks herself. The redhead looks to Kurt, then. To him, her eyes seem to say what Parley is able to pick up more clearly. << A little help? >> “I do not think it is a matter of you /knowing/ that Miss Walters or I have not been entirely forthcoming, Herr Parley, so much as the perception that in being able to identify a falsehood, you are thus entitled to the truth.” Kurt tries to keep his voice as reasonable as possible, pulling his hands free of his jacket to spread them entreatingly between himself and Parley. He doesn’t have enough fingers to go around. Kurt does not enjoy lying, Parley will be able to pick this up immediately. He actively attempts to avoid it. But he also seems to understand that sometimes the truth is crueler than the misdirection. More flashes of a darker history than he prefers to admit to, things he doesn’t share especially with the students. Cage. Drugs he never took willingly. Terrible things that people don’t need to know but that bubble up for Parley’s consumption despite it all. The elf glances to Jennifer, seemingly uncertain. “As for myself, I prefer to know, and I appreciate the honesty.” <<What a burden that must be.>> The elf thinks to himself, trying to hide the sadness his expression would normally adopt with the thoughts. <<No secrets at all.>> He doesn’t seem to understand what kind of help Jennifer wants him to provide, but he does understand she seems to want /something/ from him. His tail flicks with a little more animation, lamplight eyes turning back towards Parley. “I find myself compulsed to ask, Herr Parley, as a theoretically neutral third party, /why/ do you find it necessary to maintain a balance between ‘sides’? Which sides, even could you mean?” Rmh. Stooped over, Parley presses the side of his cheek into a palm, all the easier to quietly rub small circles against his temple. "-- Admissible evidence, Ms. Walters," he exhales, as though sighing it to himself, "would first require a court to admit it to." The sense of that green toothy face bound up in a box and tucked away is reflected and then, ...touched upon with an odd, displaced gentleness, as though laying his own hand over hers. And /aiding/ in its push to the back of the shelf. << …(as i have said) i do not (share) secrets that are not mine. (i will only say) be careful (not to mistake his situation)(for your own.) >> There's a long pause. << (or his motivations.) >> What all falls across the nebulous boundary between Kurt's mind and into Parley's is wholly silent, his dark eyes remaining half-mast and serene, watching foot traffic flow along a jogging path - and then his gaze /brightens quietly/, more interested, when he sees the elf's unusual /hand/. For one mad moment, a few microclusters of tendon in his shoulder and bicep constrict as though his reflex-response is to reach out and /touch/ it. Ahem. He exhales /shortly/ through his nose, apparently accepting Kurt's argument without a battle - nor really even seeming to notice that his mouth is moving, "You're right, in that. I am entitled to nothing." He... roooocks to one side, peering behind Kurt to watch his tail fick-flick like he might very well be enticed to /bat/ at it, "But I ask anyway, Mr. Wagner. And I will always try." Oh ho, Kurt is asking more questions and Parley has nothing but a thin, enigmatic /smile/ to answer them with, slipping down off the bench back onto feet that make subtly less sound than amongst the compressing grass than they should, "If you have already decided to arrange your details with Norman Osborn, I'll respect your decision. You have my email if you ever would want to... mh. Discuss matters." Slowly but surely, Jennifer grows marginally more amicable and open towards Parley. With a bit of a sigh, she admits, "Yes, you're right. We are not in court. I sometimes forget that when I... enter arguments, especially if it involves someone who claims they are working for one involved in legality issues." As if to soften the rough patch with which the trio started, the redhead adds with a shrug and an apologetic smirk, "I once tried to prove to my friend Avatar sucked, like we were in court." Parley would see more to the story - a knocked over leather armchair, with Jennifer behind, tapping an actual hammer against the leather and pretending to be a judge. What follows after this image is playful wrestling. It is only then Jennifer clears her throat all of a sudden. << Don't read into that. >> "Actually, I you just gave me a /very/ good idea, Mister... ah, Parley. I would like to contact your employer, Miss Basil." Details spill forth within Jennifer's mind, all to do with her intentions to help clear Peter Parker's name. << Pass my idea along to Kurt. >> It seems she's growing rather fond of this empathic connection. "As for Norman Osborn, consider your warning... well, considered. But I don't think you answered Kurt's question. Why /are/ you interested in maintaining this 'balance' between 'sides'?" Parley would know Jennifer has questions at the tip of her tongue, but they retracted for fear of feeding him potential lies he could use; she duly buries those under bike thoughts. As is almost always the case, Kurt reads Parley’s intentions regarding his hands and his tail wrong. A thin mask of good nature slides over his features, to cover the increasing anxiety he is feeling about being out in public. His tail stills immediately, spiriting itself back up under Kurt’s coat to hide there where it can’t be /batted/ at or otherwise oggled. Likewise, he puts his hands back into his pockets. Instead the elf grows quiet, letting Jennifer and Parley work things out between themselves without his input. His only addition is to show his fangs in a brief half-hearted grin. “I still feel James Cameron and I need to have a long talk about image rights regarding Avatar.” Given that they’re all blue people with pointy ears and tails. It makes sense to him. "Because someone needs to," is all Parley offers, on the question of balance. Blankly. Unemphatically. << (is there something i should not be)(reading?) >> He inquires back idly to Jennifer.. << (you should probably pass along)(your idea)(personally). >> This isn't said in unhelpfulness, only polite, vaguely wry caution. << (what i know of the boy)(and you know of the boy)(maybe be different.) >> Aloud he hasn't missed a beat in the conversation, these sentiments rapid and light, as he dips his head, "I'll prepare my employer for your call. I think it would be very wise. She is both discrete and sympathetic to mutant issues." His mouth twitches, more self-aware than happy. "-- she gave /me/ a chance." Kurt's recoil from attention doesn't... surprise Parley, but he does not hesitate to withdraw as well, eyes lowering and drifting to the left, which a rotation of his heels follows through with, "Regardless. I won't keep you any longer." Lapping either hand over the small of his back, he speaks over a shoulder, "Thank you for meeting with me, under these circumstances. Be in touch." He begins to slip away, fishing his cellphone from a back pocket. The rights issue remark Kurt offers only serves to lift Jennifer's spirits higher. "The aliens there don't teleport, though," she notes teasingly. Okay, back to the matter at hand. The redhead looks to Parley again, suggesting through her thoughts, << I am pretty sure I know /more/. >> "I will phone your employer and arrange for a meeting. Thank /you/ for the warning." A polite smile stays on until Parley walks off. It is only then that it slowly diminishes and she turns to face Kurt. "Well, that was a bit... weird. 'Because I need to'? I talked to Osborn in his office, and while he's not the most respectable man, I don't think he warrants such a personal word of warning. From a mind-reader, no less. I don't know who I should be mistrusting more, now - him or Norman Osborn." Turning to face the way the two came from, she sighs softly, fishing in her pocket for her car keys. "What did you make of this whole meeting, Kurt?" “Well, nobody is perfect.” Kurt says to Jennifer with a mildly amused tone to his voice. He retrieves his fedora from where-ever it’s been to place it back on his head, squaring it off so it can hide as much of his features as possible. Strangely, he’s suddenly not feeling very daring about being out in the world, Jennifer’s comments about the legality of it aside. He glances up towards her as she considers the situation aloud, his own expression pensive. “I get the feeling he is a cat’s paw. He rather admitted it, so perhaps that is an unfairly obvious deduction on my part. I think our friend Parley came away far ahead in that conversation....and perhaps he is a natural meddler, given his gifts. It feels like eel-infested waters to me but I would not give Osborn a pass simply because I do not trust the source of information either.” At a far enough distance to be in a privacy of springtime grass and wet-dirt smells, a cool wind blowing in off the small park lake, Parley pauses, reading an email on his phone and then tucking it into a back pocket. And with eyes tipped up to follow a few clouds across the sky he murmurs thoughtfully, "...Kurt Wagner, then. Hm." And sigh. "Well played, Mr. Osborn." He hustles along to get in doors, walking against foot traffic but never disturbing the minds or attentions of those he slips by.