ArchivedLogs:Should Have Seen This Coming

Should Have Seen This Coming
Cleaning, and the comfort of cupcakes
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Hanna, Kay, Jayna
In Absentia	2013-06-13 Vandalism against an openly mutant friendly business? Nah, that'll never happen.
Location <NYC> Happy Cakes Bakery - TriBeCa
Happy Cakes Bakery is a cheery little spot of vintage charm amidst the hustle and bustle of the Manhattan neighborhood, a refurbished pair of row homes that hardly resemble their previous selves - the front walls are almost entirely gleaming glass, with the logo of the bakery painted onto the top, and rainbows of cupcakes dancing along the edges. Eclectically styled, it seems homey and welcoming - if the cross stitched sign by the door wasn't obvious enough - "All are Welcome!" it reads, with the "All" underlined in a sparkling bubble gum pink and yellow dotted line, with the logo of the bakery, a cheery smiling pink and white cupcake, beneath the lettering. Once inside, the walls of the combination bakery and coffee shop are covered in crisp clean white ceramic tile, with the occasional randomly placed tile with an color engraving of a tropical flower, or tile made of reclaimed China. Ambient music reminiscent of the Big Band era plays through the shop, loud enough to be heard, but not loud enough to make conversation difficult. Tables and chairs in a variety of sizes, colors, and styles fill one side of the room, none of them quite matching each other, but all of them seeming to work together. The other side of the shop is a long series of gleaming glass and chrome bakery displays, filled with colorful sweets and treats of every description. To one end of the counter is a gleaming chrome espresso machine with far more tubes and bobbles than is really necessary, but producing excellent espresso beverages. At the other end is the old style cash register, a chrome and cherry wood relic from a bygone age that dings cheerily with each sale. The wall behind the counter is covered in photos of a tropical island, as well as a pair of shops that look like a smaller version of this one, several including a pair of dark haired women. In the pre-dawn light of a muggy Thursday morning, two figures stand in front of the glass and brick storefront of Happy Cakes in stunned silence. The normally gleaming windows that make up the vast majority of the cheery little shop are entirely obscured, vitriolic slurs scrawled in harsh red spray paint, declaring "Freeks!", "Mutants Go Home," and “Die Mutie Scum!!” There’s just violent slash marks in harsh black, filling some space that the angry declarations had left uncovered, the paint still dripping and wet in the humid air. And then, as though the paint weren’t enough, the vandals have pelted the shop with what looks like enough eggs, spinach, and tomatoes to feed an army on fairly fancy omelettes - though, from the smell of it, the produce was no where near fresh at the time of use, and the early morning heat has done nothing to help that matter. “You knew this was a possibility, Hanna,” the smaller of the figures says in a hushed voice, finally breaking the silence, moving to lean gently against the other woman, “Especially after all that has happened this week, you had to expect this.” The smaller woman is wearing a fairly covering garment in an uncharacteristic black, a deep green hijab covering her normally wildly leafy hair. With the excessive covering, Jayna now looks like a fairly non-threatening individual, all things considered. Not that a willowy dryad is threatening on a normal day, anyway. The curvier of the two women is still silent, her arms crossed over her chest as she surveys the assault to her beloved bakery. She’s dressed in a deep indigo day dress, no crinolines adding flare to it, and simple black shoes - an almost uncharacteristically dull outfit for her. A heavy sigh, possibly a bit on the shaky side, escapes her lips as she looks down the street, taking in the still cordoned off crime scene tape just a short distance away. “I always knew this could happen, yes. Risky, yes. But,” Hanna snorts, reaching out to touch the door handle, which she finds coated in some sort of unidentifiable slime, withdrawing her hand immediately, “Ohgod I don’t want to know what that is. I had some faith in humanity left.” She shakes her head, the long, sedate braid swinging along her back, “I hadn’t been expecting this.” “So, do you just want to go home?” Jayna asks, looking at the store and the crime scene, “I don’t think anyone will blame you.” The smaller woman seems to rock a bit on her feet, as though getting nervous about standing out in the open for this long. Hanna snorts, and puts her key in the lock, throwing the door open and stepping inside, “Oh, like hell I’m going home. There’s cupcakes to be made, and dammit, I’m not going to get chased off by one little thing. Lets get the buckets and sponges, and get to work.” The figure walking down the street -- drifting down the street, slow and meandering -- has also gone to some length to cover himself up. Though in Dusk this does not help him look greatly /less/ menacing, in very unseasonable long floor-length sweeping black trenchcoat (it has an awkwardly bulky look to it, a hump at the top giving him a slightly hunchbacked appearance), with his pale-pale skin and dark-dark hair he looks kind of like a stereotypical Troubled Youth. If he were in high school (and he looks young enough it’s possible he might be) /probably/ he would be sent to many guidance counselings. The expression he wears doesn’t really detract from this impression. Lips compressed to a thin line, brows pulled together into a deep frown. His drifting-slow steps carry him near the nearby police tape, fingers tracing slow along the top of the tape as his eyes take in the cordoned-off space (there’s even a Happy Cakes box still sitting on the ground within! The blood spattered on it /probably/ explains why nobody’s stolen the free goodies yet); his eyes linger there a long while before turning away. A little aimless at first in where they’re directed, they shift after a short period to the bakery. Taking in the graffiti, the splattered food. The women outside. He moves closer -- admittedly still pretty slow. His arms curl against his chest as he stops outside the bakery, wrapping against himself tightly and just -- looking. At the spray-painted words. The sedate grimness of the morning is torn through by the throaty purr of a customized engine, rippling to a peak at acceleration and then winding down, down to a low spitting grumble as a Harley-Davidson is walked to the curb by two long, /long/ beanpole legs. It's a city; even this arrival is sedate enough. Long restless rides - call them what they are, Kay, /patrols/, mindless and winding - through the city find him here. Lank blond hair in need of a wash falls down around his ears when he drags off his helmet and pushes his sunglasses back up his forehead; he /sort/ of wears a grin, in that a thin show of his gritted teeth are out, breathing through them in a slow /hiss/. He's not looking immediately at the graffiti - but the caution tape. It's too early in the morning - and the /season/ - for the sun to bake the pavement hot enough to give off shimmery heatripples. But they're here, around this man, wafting in subtle flutters of his clothes. Maybe his engine is over heating. He swings a leg clear and rotates his head. The grin fades to only grim when he sees Dusk's back, set like a photograph of the times against the background-graffiti beyond him. Kay, tall, bare arms laced in tattoos, and scars /over/ those tattoos, and then tattoos /over/ those scars, falls into position alongside Dusk. And says, almost brightly, almost savagely, "-all for fuckin' cupcakes, huh?" He shakes his head. Like he's bitterly /impressed/. Adds, lower, "...'m sorry, man. Heard it on the radio." After charging willfully into the store, Hanna returns to the outside once more, a look of grim determination and stubbornness etched in her soft features. She is armed with two large buckets, one filled with water and soap suds, the other with clear water, a variety of sponges floating atop the water; after setting her burden on the concrete, she props the bakery door open, saving people from having to touch the gunk that is now encrusted on the handle and door. As though to thumb her nose at the vandals and the world in general, she sets a chalk board stand sign out on the pavement, declaring in brilliant colors, “Come in, we are open!” with a little doodle of a cupcake and steaming cup of coffee accenting the declaration. Without really taking note of the people approaching, Hanna sets about her work for the day, fishing a sponge out of the water with bright pink rubber gloved hands, and starts scrubbing at the mess on her windows. Anyone close enough can hear her humming to herself, although the tune isn’t as cheery or bubbly as it often is, she still hums quietly as she works. Moving in time to her humming, Hanna seems to have shut out the world for the time being – it is just her, her bakery, and a soapy sponge – the world sucks right now, why pay attention to it? After a few moments, Jayna emerges from the store as well, looking at her phone, “Ok. We’ve got about 30 minutes before you can start icing the cupcakes, and 20 before the next batch can come out of the oven. Mouse called – he’s going to try to make it in later, but his mom is concerned.” The green hijab that was covering her hair has slipped slightly, letting several of the willowy fronds escape to dangle in front of her face. Her large brown eyes settle upon the two men approaching and watching, which Hanna had managed to miss, and upon seeing Dusk, she frowns, recognition and sadness on her features. “Hanna,” Jayna says quietly, not sounding concerned, but still tapping the larger woman on the shoulder to get her attention. “They were really good cupcakes,” Dusk gives in initial answer to Kay; this might be aiming for /jest/ but his listless tone falls far flat of achieving this goal. There’s a twitch at the back of his trenchcoat, and a muscle jumps in his cheek. His arms tighten further against his chest, eyes somewhat glassily fixed on the store windows. At a delay, they slowly tic sideways to Kay. “They think he.” This falls flat, too. Instead of finishing: “Your people OK?” It takes a moment before he looks back to the women returning. Looking at the buckets, looking at the windows. His head turns, dark eyes shifting away to the caution tape and the bloodstained sidewalk nearby. His arms stiffly uncross from his chest and -- with some measure of /disregard/ (though perhaps a brief wince) for the heatwaves rippling off Kay, he claps the taller man on the shoulder and then lifts his chin to Jayna. “Need help?” "Some of 'em," Kay grunts mutely, his eyes pinned for just a moment longer on the side of Dusk's face. He claps down a long knuckly hand over Dusk's when it lands on his shoulder, eyes already /razing/ over the two women at work like a forest fire. And he /grins/, practically bounding around the side of the chalkboard sign, a hand clapping down on it partway through his orbit so that he arrives at its farthest side with fingers /wrapped/ around it. Like he's /showing/ it to Dusk, "Y'see this? Hey. Hey, lady." It's a little early and a little /solemn/ to be so lively, and Kay cruises in a gritted defiance of it, darting eyes between either of the women, "You got coffee made up?" Jayna looks to Dusk as he mentions the cupcakes, sadness on her features as she quietly says, “I’m very sorry about your friend.” She averts her eyes, trying not to glance down the street towards the crime scene tape, her brows furrowing. The question about coffee gets a polite smile, and the small woman nods, “Of course. I always have coffee ready. You can come on inside, I’ll get you set up with some coffee.” If she even noticed the leering, Jayna doesn’t register it or react, apparently quite used to being stared at. She gestures toward the inside before heading in, “I’ll swap the batches when they’re ready, sweetie,” she adds to Hanna, a bit of a smirk on her face. Hanna in the mean time, finally looks up and realizes that the world is starting to wake up, and customers are arriving. “Oh,” Hanna offers a sad smile to Dusk, her eyes shifting from their coffee brown to a deep indigo color as she looks at him, “I, well, help would be nice, but not expected after everything. I am very sorry about your friend.” Hanna frowns at the police tape, and the sadly abandoned cupcake box. “Let me know if you need anything. We apparently live in the same building as he did. So I’m around - if you all need anything brought up, let me know.” There’s a mothering sincerity in her voice, and she looks back to the grimy window, wrinkling her nose, “If you want to help, you can, but you are free to just go ahead and go inside. Jayna’ll help you out - breakfast foods should be out of the oven in just a moment.” “My -- friend,” Dusk echoes this word in a stilted tone that suggests that word does not exactly ring /true/, but he doesn’t correct it further. “You live in our building?” This earns a faint look of surprise, as he looks Hanna over more closely. He steps forward slowly; there’s a heaviness to his steps that carry over to the slumped weight in his shoulders. But he stoops, to swipe a sponge out of one of the buckets. “I’d take a coffee,” he’s oddly saying this more to Kay and his signholding than to Jayna, “-- Probably a whole box of -- whatever’s vegan, too, we.” He doesn’t finish /this/, just slants eyes over to where the box is discarded on the sidewalk. “-- He didn’t do it,” he sort of /protectively/ adds, to Hanna. "Got it," Kay says so offhand to Dusk, already turning to meander into the building, he seems to have barely heard the man, following Jayna into the building with his hands folded behind his neck for a little stretch. It's all loose-boned and humored, you almost wouldn't notice the electric piano-wire taut hardness locked all down his back muscles, leaving an invisible trail of warm, dry air dispersing in his wake. "Anything broken?" he asks of Jayna as he follows. Jayna ducks behind the counter, taking a moment to wash her hands before starting on the coffee. She talks to Kay as she works, setting up a French press and pouring the resultant beverage into a to-go cup - biodegradable, recycled, and brown, with a cheery little planet on the side, leaving enough room for cream and sugar. She immediately starts an espresso pull, carefully going through the motions to reproduce the same drink that the young man with the wings had ordered yesterday, occasionally closing her eyes to remember. Watching her make coffee is almost like watching a dancer, or a painter, as she apparently uses this as an excuse to clear her mind. “There’s fixings and stuff over there - including some flavor syrups if you like that,” she explains, gesturing idly to the little table with all sorts of coffee related things to be had. The question about things being broken gets a shake of her head, “No. Not that we’ve found anyway. Just defaced.” When she finishes making the drinks, Jayna sighs, and takes the newly finished espresso drink outside, offering it to Dusk with a nod, “Think I got it right. No dairy mocha with almond milk?” Hanna, in the meanwhile, is scrubbing furiously at the drying egg goo on the bakery window, focusing on that as an outlet instead of talking for a moment. “We just moved in a bit ago, up on the seventh floor. That, in addition to the odd hours I have to keep for the shop, I don’t meet many people in the building.” Hanna scrubs a bit more, making some progress against the caked on grossness, falling silent in her concentration. “I’ll pull together a box of the vegan cupcakes and brownies we’ve got today. Just let me know when you’re ready to go, that way they’ll stay cool for now,” the baker nods, “No charge. I couldn’t even think of... not after that.” Hanna frowns and works at some of the spray paint, watching Dusk as he picks up the sponge, her eyes shifting through a spectrum of blues involuntarily, and she quietly responds, “I’m not that up to speed on things, but no one deserves that. I don’t care what alleged crimes a mutant did or didn’t do - no person deserves that.” Dusk starts scrubbing, as the coffee is made. /Fiercely/ attentive to this task, applying himself to the window graffiti with a vicious will. SCRUB. “-- should ask Hive if he’s --” he starts to say to himself, when Hanna says where they live. But then his head shakes and instead: “We lived -- we live on four. And I can pay. There’s not many places here that’ll even serve us. I have kind of a vested interest in keeping you open.” His scrubbing gets a little faster. “And he /didn’t/ -- wasn’t. They just saw a shadow and /assumed/ --” There’s another twitch of the trenchcoat at his back. “His abilities were really similar. To the person who killed that cop this weekend.” The scrubbing at least halts so that he can turn to Jayna; the very brief twitch at the corners of his lips suggest he’s trying to smile, reflexive-polite, but he fails at it badly. He nods, takes the cup. “Wow. Yeah. That’s. -- Thank you.” Jayna offers a polite smile as Dusk confirms that she got the order right, shrugging slightly, “I can’t have caffeine anymore, so I tend to remember what people order, especially if it seemed like something good.” She instinctively fidgets with the hijab, knocking loose a few stubborn willow fronds that then dangle in her face, which she glares at balefully, “Yeah. Let me know if you need a refill.” The slender woman then rolls up her sleeves and dips into the bucket, pulling out a sponge and starting to work on the door, intent on getting the vile green slime that’s splashed over the Happy Cakes logo out of the way. Looking up at Dusk for a moment, Hanna pauses in scrubbing, wringing out her sponge and reloading it with more suds, “Oh, I appreciate the sentiment, but unless they decide to pass a law that mutants can’t own businesses in New York, this place will stay open. Or,” her voice trails off - she leaves off the second half of the statement, although she shudders, thinking of the images from the other recently destroyed mutant friendly coffee shop. The twitch at his back gets a concerned look, but she doesn’t question it, having not seen him the day before as Jayna had. “I believe you,” Hanna says quietly, her voice sincere as she continues to wash at the window, leaving it at that. “My name is Hanna, by the way,” she adds as an almost afterthought, continuing to scrub. Dusk takes a tentative sip of the coffee, just small as it is still hot. “Thank you,” he says again, sipping once more and turning to dip his sponge back into the bucket, rinse it out, squeeze it. “You’re --” he starts, looking over Hanna with renewed curiosity, but he doesn’t finish the question. Something tightens in his way-too-pale face. “I wouldn’t even be surprised right now if they did,” he admits. He returns to his scrubbing -- not quite as fierce this time so as not to jostle the hot coffee in his other hand. “Dusk,” he introduces himself, and then, as if well used to hearing /comments/ on this clarifies: “-- is my name.” He looks between her and Jayna. “How long have you --” His sponge waves towards the storefront they are cleaning. “Been here? There aren’t many places. That we can go. Even -- /before/ this all. Tend to kind of -- know every one of them.” Hanna smiles slightly at the surprise in Dusk’s voice, her eyes brightening to a warmer golden brown temporarily, before fading to a darker brown and then to a deeper indigo. “I’m, not very good at what I do, but I’m mildly empathic. Makes guessing what kind of baked good people are in the mood for a bit easier,” she explains, turning her attention and her eyes back to the grimy window, “The eyes are the only outward thing I have to show for it - I can wear contacts and cover it entirely, but,” she frowns, scrubbing angrily at the stubborn bit of paint, “I shouldn’t have to. None of us should.” Her eyes trail inside, to Jayna and her current attire, sighing, “But it’s dangerous not to right now.” “We opened up about four months ago now. Felt like the right time and place to open up shop,” Hanna says, nodding and scrubbing, “As long as I have a say in it, this place will be safe for anyone who needs to have a safe place. As best as I can provide. Sadly, I can’t keep the world from trying to ruin that.” Hanna shudders, bowing her head slightly, before continuing to scrub harder at the graffiti. “Oh! That’s --” Dusk’s eyes meet Hanna’s, another faint-twitch of aborted not-quite-smile on his lips. “-- probably useful,” he agrees. His gaze slants back towards the caution tape nearby. “I don’t suppose you have any cupcakes that cure --” he starts, but then just stops. Returns to scrubbing more fiercely. The trenchcoat twitches again, in time with an uncomfortable-pained twinge of Dusk’s expression. “Yeah. None of us should have to. But --” He can’t help another glance over towards the bloodstained sidewalk. “You do a good job,” he says instead, softer. “I mean. I’m glad. That at least his last -- the last time we got to --” The coffee cup trembles in his hand. “It was nice. Here.” Hanna nods, but looks sadly at Dusk as he starts to fumble over asking about the cupcakes, her sponge sitting still against the glass for a moment. Opening her mouth to answer, Hanna just shakes her head, “I wish I did, sweetie. I really do. I’m afraid they’re just cupcakes.” She sounds genuinely sorry that she can’t give him a cupcake to fix everything that’s wrong in the world. The twitching of the trench coat, along with the pained expression gets another look of concern, and Hanna reaches a hand out to touch the young man’s arm, stopping his furious scrubbing. As she touches him, the look on her face becomes one of marked sadness, and she looks at him, her eyes, now nearly black, flick toward Jayna, whispering quietly, her voice catching, “Oh, I am so sorry. He was...” she trails off, moving her hand away, “I am really sorry about that. Uh, strong emotion, it... I’m sorry.” She shakes her head, setting down the sponge she had been holding tight to, “This grime can wait. The eggs are already baked on, and the paint is dry. If you wanted to go inside and sit down, it’s ok. Really. You can take off your coat, too, if it’s more comfortable.” She gestures at the graffiti and egg, “If nothing else, this does provide at least some shielding from the outside.” “I have a friend,” Dusk says with another abortive smile, “who insists the right desserts can cure pretty much anything. He always. Bakes for us -- we were getting the --” He gestures towards the store again. “-- like a present. For him. Cuz he always.” He lifts his hand, holding the coffee still, scrubbing the backs of his knuckles to his eyes. “Sorry,” he whispers, when Hanna touches him. “Sorry. Yeah. He was -- we were -- he was --” His knuckles dig harder. He nods at the suggestion to go in, a little numbly turning to head back into the store -- sudsy sponge still in his other hand. The sponge gets a look of confusion when he finds himself inside with it still like he can’t quite remember what it is /doing/ there. He doesn’t put it down. He sets his coffee on a table, very /carefully/ lifting his long trenchcoat off first one shoulder and then the other. With it off he does not look hunchbacked at all, posture actually quite straight-tall. The long claw-thumbs at the top of his wings flex once freed of the garment. One wing, huge and suede-soft, stretches out wide, his expression kind of relieved. The other does not, held in place with its fingers folded in near each other; wrapped in soft binding and with splint taped to one of the long fingerbones, it also sports careful bandaging taped against one section of the thin membrane. “Don’t apologize, Dusk. Please. You are hurting, and that’s ok. It doesn’t feel like it’s ok, but,” Hanna says quietly, careful not to touch him, but ushering him inside the safety of the bakery, “I was apologizing because I always feel like it’s an intrusion when that happens. I didn’t mean to do that.” Once they are inside, Hanna heads for the counter, abandoning her pink rubber gloves on the chrome surface as she heads for the back, moving through the two way swinging doors, presumably towards the kitchen. In a moment, she’s coming back through the door, a plate with a single cupcake on it, a lavender cake filled with lemon curd, topped with a pale purple icing. “Here. Sit down, eat something. It’s vegan,” Hanna explains, setting the cupcake, which is plated on a colorful little China plate, down on a table. She moves with a single mindedness to get him the cupcake, she doesn’t notice him removing his coat, and she blinks for a moment, watching as he stretches his wing. “Oh, wow,” Hanna says quietly, looking with concern at the wing that doesn’t move, saying again quietly, realization on her face, “Oh.” "Not all that easy to hide," Dusk says with a small lopsided twitch of his lips and a glance shot towards Jayna, on this. He drapes his coat over the back of a chair, though with one wing immobilized he doesn't really /sit/ so much as turn the chair sideways and tuck one knee down onto it. "Lavender? I've never had a lavender cupcake." He says this with interest rather than concern, swiping his finger through the icing to lick it off appreciatively. "Woah. Thanks. You are like some kind of baking goddess. Should meet my friend -- s'in the building, too, you two could make incredible little pieces of heaven together." He glances upward, a little sheepish at the concern. "-- grounded for a while. Probably for the best. Flying in the city gets enough hate on a /regular/ day, this week I'd get myself shot." His nose wrinkles; the broken wing makes a small useless twitch against its binding. "Shot again, anyway." Jayna smirks slightly, and glances out the door, before looking at Hanna and sticking her tongue out. In one smooth motion, she pulls the hijab off her head, letting it rest on her shoulders, and revealing her hair, which has been covered up for the majority of the past two days - fine willow-like fronds encircle her head, actually braided carefully into a crown of sorts to keep them compact and hideable, save for the cluster of strands that invariably fall into her face from beneath the covering. “I really do dispise wearing that thing. But, for once,” she snorts derisively, fidgetting with the corners of her hijab, “It was safer to wear it than not.” She does keep glancing out the open door, as though expecting the angry mob to arrive at any moment, as though they could sense the rise in open mutant-ness in the room. Hanna smiles at the response to the cupcake, “Glad you like it. Took some tweaking to get the recipe right, but the lavender is a somewhat surprising flavor to most people - you don’t expect floral food, normally.” The description of how his wing got that way draws a grimace from the baker woman, and she glances back outside, saying quietly, “The... the police did that to you? I... wow. Just for walking?” She looks toward the case of cupcakes and baked goods, still only half filled as the baking for the day has taken a back seat, as though calculating something. “I am so sorry,” she says, even though she had nothing to do with the shooting, or much she could have done to stop it. "It's really pretty," Dusk's response comes when Jayna removes the headscarf, looking over the fronds. He picks up his coffee again, sipping slowly. "I've had rose. And dandelion. Lavender's good, too." But his head shakes at the question. "Not just for walking. For walking while mutant. It's -- hardly the worst thing the cops have been up to, lately." Jayna smiles, and blushes ever so slightly, as she goes about making an espresso, for no reason other than to have the smell of fresh coffee in the area, eventually creating another cup of Dusk’s preferred drink. “Sorry - I make coffee when I’m stressed. Here you go,” she explains, setting the cup down beside the cupcake plate. When Jayna drops off the coffee, Hanna raises an eyebrow at the girl, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. And I’d heard that the cops had been... involved... in things,” Hanna frowns, crossing her arms once again over her ample chest and looking outside, “I swear, this city seems to be in a downward spiral. And I haven’t been here that long.” “I’m going to be so well caffeinated.” Dusk is still failing at smiles, but there’s a little bit more warmth in his pale face when he looks up at Jayna. It shutters out again as he sips at the coffee. “The cops -- are the reason for all this in the first place.” His good wing tightens, folding up smaller against his back. “I think the world’s in a downward spiral,” he says, quieter. “We just feel it first because there’s so many of us here. But --” His eyes fix on the pastry in front of him. He lifts it to take a bite. “-- But it won’t last. It just needs a good hard /jolt/ to break it free.” Hanna shakes her head, eyeing the coffee, “We’re all a little, ah, wired at the moment. You don’t have to drink it, or if you want, I can put it in a to go cup for you when you’re ready to head out. But, really, there is no rush. Stay as long as you like.” She sighs, at the need for a jolt, “You are the second person in as many days to say the cops were the reason behind everything - and with everything that has gone down in the past two days, I’m not going to question it. And I’m almost afraid to think of what sort of jolt this world would need to knock this off. If the death of one cop set it off, what’s it going to take to prove to the world that mutants are people, too?” She rubs at her head, closing her eyes for a moment as though trying to clear the images that had just sprung to life in her mind’s eye. “I really don’t even want to think about it.” “They were taking mutants off the streets and --” Dusk’s expression hardens, his fingers tightening against the cup. “The one who died was --” With the clench of his teeth, lips peeled back into a grimace, the long sharp fangs in his mouth are clearly visible. It -- doesn’t really help the whole /goth/ look, today. “Sorry,” he mutters, “it just kind of makes me -- sick. Thinking of all the people /he/ killed and the city’s praising him for a hero today. And /celebrating/ because /Ian’s/ the monster.” He sucks down a quick mouthful of coffee, his shoulders tensed. “It’s going to take --” He looks over towards the front windows. The graffiti on them. He exhales in one sharp burst. “It’s going to take a lot.”