Logs:A Stormy Welcome

A Stormy Welcome
Dramatis Personae Lael, Marcus, Naomi
In Absentia	2020-08-28 "Ain't y'all got like super powerful mutants protecting y'all?" (Part of Final Boss: Xavier TP.)
Location <NYC> Sinkers and Suds - Salem Center
This diner, though very new, has modeled itself in the throwback style of Salem Center's main drag. Black and white checkerboard floor underfoot, steel stools cheerfully upholstered in bright red vinyl, brushed chrome tables both standalone or in the booths that line the walls. The servers are impossibly perky, the jukebox only plays oldies, and the seats at the long counter also often include conversation with the very chatty soda jerk manning the fountain there. The smells of fried food and fresh coffee generally fill the air. It's a dark and stormy evening in Salem Center, the town's sparse population mostly opting to stay in out of the weather. That might not be enough to keep the average Xavier's Student away from Friday night amusements, but fewer and fewer of them have been coming around these last two weeks. This popular diner isn't quite empty, but it's certainly less busy than one would normally expect. Lael, as nondescript as is possible for him in a plain black t-shirt and torn blue jeans, is sitting at a booth working diligently away at a cookies-and-cream milkshake. His ratty, much-patched backpack sits beside him, a cheap clear plastic poncho draped over it still beaded with water. His serpentine eyes skip anxiously to the door every few seconds before settling back on the dormant phone on the table in front of him, his hair squirming quick and agitated. "She should be here by now," he says, perhaps as much to himself as his companion, "what if something happened?" Across from Lael, Marcus has been sedately munching his way through a Reuben with a side of waffle fries, largely neglecting the peach Italian soda alongside his plate. If Lael is aiming for nondescript he picked a poor companion, as well, although similarly to his roommate Marcus's jean shorts and black-striped grey tee are not nearly so eye catching as the rest of him. He's been skimming the news on his phone -- with all the associated stress and worry that tends to bring these days, together with an additional layer of << {-- is the city even safe?} >> but now looks up. Blinks slow. Glances from Lael to the window beside them, heavy rains lashing at the glass. Of course, it's not his sister they're waiting for -- that might affect his composure. His shrug is placid, as is his reply, long tapered fingers flicking towards the stormy outdoors: "Traffic." When the door finally opens, Naomi is drenched. Her hair is protected under the hood of windbreaker, white with "I ❤️ NYC" printed on the back, price tag still dangling from one sleeve cuff, but her face and skinny jeans are damp with rain and her mind filled with irritation. A soaked sock peaks out from her runners. She looks around - <<Where you at?>> - eyes and scales furrowed as she scans the dining room. Her eyes widen with delight as she finally spots Lael, and she runs across to their booth, wet sneakers squeaking on the floor. She has to stop herself to remember to take off the soaked jacket before sliding into the booth besides Lael, immediately wrapping her arms around her brother. It's been a while, after all, and there's no corona here - she feels so reassured just to be near him again. "Hi," she says out loud after a moment, mostly out of consideration for their other companion who may or may not be a telepath. "Sorry. Traffic. Accident on the highway." <<Why here? Why not school?>> "Right, right," Lael replies, looking out at the rain, "you're probably right." It's just about then that Naomi slips inside and makes a beeline for him. He scoots aside, shoving his backpack onto the floor, and throws his arms around his sister. "Oh thank God, I was--" He hesitates, pulling back, his blush fierce enough to show easily on dark skin. "--worried. But yeah, traffic, that's...normal." His hair is still straining for Naomi, and he runs a hand over the squirming locks to smooth them firmly back down. When they start wriggling again it's at their usual, slow pace. "I'm sorry to drag you out here in this weather, but I'm worried the school ain't safe." He looks to Marcus--he's forgotten all about blinking in his excitement and anxiety. "Might be the city ain't safe, neither, but another student said she could get us help, and I trust her." Marcus glances up at the squeak of rushed footsteps on the diner floor. There's an internal awkward conflict he has with himself as Naomi nears -- first putting his phone down (more polite?) then immediately picking it back up again to kind of performatively engross himself in it as the siblings greet each other (now more polite??) and only finally when Naomi speaks ending up -- kind of hovering. Thumb above the screen, large eyes darting uncertainly back across the table. His squaring of shoulders, little in-place bounce, when Naomi says 'traffic' is small. Quietly he plucks a menu up from the side of the table, sliding it across the table to her. Then, after an indecisive moment, offering his fries as well. "You don't control the weather," Naomi says, her tone light. <<Right?>> She's kidding, mostly. Her eyes soften as she looks at the wriggling locks. <<Missed them, too.>> Her gaze slips to Marcus and the offered fries and menu. "Oh, thanks." A beat, then Naomi lightly swats at Lael's leg. "Ain't you gonna introduce us before getting into -" she hesitates, <<into some craziness, into NYC where I just was?>>, before settling on, "-into whatever nonsense." She sticks a hand out across the table, her left slipping to the offered fries and popping one in her mouth. "Naomi." "I don't control the weather," Lael replies, very seriously. His hair writhes harder at the thought about them, but he does smile--just a touch. "Oh Lord, I'm being awful rude!" He digs the heel of of hand into his temple. "Apologies. This here's my roommate, Marcus. And this is my lil' sister Naomi. And we ain't looking to get into no nonsense." He looks...actually a bit dubious on this point. "I got no idea what we're getting into, but I've heard a lot of rumblings around school. Something definitely ain't right there, and K.C. wouldn't just tell us to leave on a lark, would she?" There's just a beat of hesitation when Naomi extends her hand, Marcus's own long blue fingers curling inward. One more beat, a flicked glance to the scales on the girl's face, and a moment later he reaches to take it with a very small smile, a quick-bobbed nod of his head. He slides his drink in front of him after this. Sucks on it slowly. Surreptitiously under the table -- okay, potentially considerably less surreptitiously to Lael's senses -- googles 'on a lark'. Starts to slip down an etymology rabbit hole before he draws his attention back up. "Brought Suga Mama." When he does speak his Haitian roots are heavy in his accent. "Very serious." The handshake is quick but firm, and Naomi smiles in delight at it. Shaking hands with people again, no masks or gloves. She wonders why she didn't head to New York sooner. Probably should have left right when the scales came in, but what did it matter now? She took another fry. "Nice to meet you, Marcus," she says, making sure to repeat the name to get it in her head. <<Suga Mama?>> She's confused, feels like she's missing something. "How can something get serious at this school, anyhow?" She frowns, a wave of confusion and frustration and a touch of hanger. "Ain't y'all got like super powerful mutants protecting y'all?" "Suga Mama is K.C.'s..." Lael frowns, hesitating. "I guess she's an emotional support animal? Anyway, that's meaning to say she'da probably left Suga Mama if she was just in the city on a--" He breaks off, blushing again. "--if she was just in the city for fun an' meaning to come back soon." He shakes his head, his hair twisting into knots around itself. "I got no clue how it's dangerous, with all them superhero teachers around, but there been rumors it ain't safe there, and then K.C. emailed us sayin' we should meet up with her in the city." He shrugs, his hair calming again. "So I figure, let's hear what she has to say, decide after." "Big dog," Marcus explains, his hand lifting off the ground beside their table to indicate -- well, actually, it's considerably higher than Suga Mama's actual chonky pitbull height. More like a mastiff, maybe. Tiny pony. His brows crinkle as he considers the question of danger. << -- call is coming from inside the house, >> echoes in his head, as he returns his attention to his phone. Taps at it some more, brings up an op-ed from the Daily Bugle that is largely concerning itself with lambasting the NYPD Mayor, Chief of Police, and whoever else they can think of for not arresting the well known ANTIFA TERRORIST mutant Jackson Holland. He leans slightly into his side of the table as he slides his phone, article pulled up, across. Confides, lower, "Art teacher by day, but --" Naomis eyes widen at the demonstration. “Gotcha,” she says, images of big dogs and possibly small monster dogs running through her head. The phone catches her eye- she skims it quickly, one scaled eyebrow raising. <<Is it true?>> she wonders, her emotions of fear and confusion getting more knotted together by the second. Another fry. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to roll back to the city,” she muses. “We got a few days before term, right?” Lael opens his mouth to object to Marcus's representation of Suga Mama, but, catching sight of Naomi's expression, chuckles softly and thinks better of it. He leans in to look at the screen of the phone, frowning, his hair squirming faster. "I can't see how Mr. Holland could possibly be a terrorist, but--can't say as I exactly know him that well, neither." He sounds resigned here. "A few days, yeah. As many kids as have been leaving, I wouldn't even put it past them starting the term late. But hopefully this'll all be sorted out before then." Marcus can see lots of ways that Jax could possibly be a terrorist, playing out in brightly colored spectacle in his mind. Swooping down on an enormous dragonfly to drop paint bombs on the White House in the dead of night. Illusing himself up a new harlequin-mask face to sneak into the Met and rearrange all the pictures in all the galleries. Turning himself invisible to pilfer the cerulean crayons from every kindergarten in Manhattan. He takes the phone back, quietly. Picks up his sandwich to munch another bite. "Also," he adds, raising his eyebrows emphatically, "the city it is fun." Naomi looks from Lael to Marcus, then back to Lael. She doesn’t really understand what the hell is going on, certainly doesn’t know what to make of this terrorist teacher thing (it sounded both terrifying and like the coolest thing to her), but she trusts Lael. And Marcus has good vibes, at least. One corner of her mouth turns down as she tries to remember how much money she actually has in her wallet. Not much, at this point, but some. “Sounds decided.” She wipes some damp off her scales. “Can either of y’all drive?”