ArchivedLogs:Introducing Ones Abilities

Introducing Ones Abilities
Dramatis Personae Melinda, Shelby
In Absentia	2013-01-26 The inevitable discussion of the abilities of mutants, those here and afar.
Location Helping Hands Homeless Coalition - Kitchen and Dining Hall
The dinner rush is slowing down and fewer people are lined up just to eat. The dining hall is not empty though. It is still buzzing with volunteers cleaning up and putting things back for the next meal. Others still stand watch over the pots of food, allowing for the occasional refill while others start packing up leftovers for outside distribution. Many people still fill the chairs around the room, eating, talking, and avoiding the cold outside, with no where else to go and no more beds available upstairs. Melinda is wiping down the empty tables and pushing chairs in. She's dressed rather frumpily, in jeans and an oversized sweatshirt, hair pulled back in a messy tail. She smiles to someone as they talk to her, but the woman is tired and doesn't offer much conversation. She remains focused on her work for now, cleeeaaaaannnnningggg. Is it crowded enough to, say, sneak up on someone? Sneakily? Because check it out, there's Shelby, creeping up behind Melinda and the dirty table! The girl is cold-nipped but her jacket is unzipped--there's a hoodie, a sweatshirt and a sweater visible at the collar--and she's down to one bandaged hand now, the other showing scabs but well-healed. She's also -terrible- at sneaking up on people, as can be seen when--within five or six feet of the older woman--she begins to hum the Jaws theme song. "Da duh...da duh...da duh...duh duh DUUUUN! Y'know if you were like a tuna or something, you'd totally be toast. Fish toast." Melinda casts a glance sideways when she hears the theme from Shelby's direction, but doesn't quite lay eyes on the girl. She finishes wiping the corner of the table that she's on and looks up again, her attention less distracted the second time. She finally labels Shelby as the source of the 'music,' but takes another second or two to recognize who she is. When recognition floods her exhausted senses, she straightens up. "Shelby. What? Tuna? No, we had beef stew tonight. Fish sticks is ... maybe next week." Ginger eyebrows go up up up. "Jesus, Mel, you're out of it. That was supposed to be like, hilarious." And Shelby knows the problem can't be on -her- end. She studies Melinda closely. "Fish sticks'll rot your brain. That or all the hobo fumes in here," she remarks with a quick glance around the dining room and its motley assortment of dawdlers. "Hey, you want some coffee? You look like you could use it. My treat." A thumb is hooked over her shoulder. "They were brewing up the big thingy in the back when I did a pass to case the joint." "Oh, sure. You're going to treat me to the coffee that we serve for free here," Melinda's sarcasm is intact even if the joke was lost on her. "Yeah, I probably need coffee. How about you. How are you?" Her head tilts to one side as she looks the girl over, her shoulders dipping in the direction when she sees the bandages on her hand. She glances toward the other one and her lips become studiously pursed. She reaches out for the more healed one to take a look. "Your fans were disappointed." "I was gonna carry it for you," Shelby points out as if this were a great coup of generosity. "And find you a seat," she adds with another glance around, "and keep the hobos off you." See what a good friend she is? She even gives her hand over without a qualm. The palm is speckled and scratched in numerous places, but the scabs are clean--or as clean as scabs ever get. There's not a hint of red around them either. Just cold fingers, which the teen wiggles when Melinda has had a good look. A winning smile is offered but wavers quickly. "Yeah, what the fuck was up with that?" "Yeah, I don't know. Are you just randomly accusing Jim of shit because it's funny or are you really weirded out by him?" Melinda turns Shelby's hand over as she examines it, but lets it go, straightening up and inhaling deeply. "I smacked him around with a bouquet of flowers for you. I would kind of like to know if it was justified." She turns away and goes to find a seat, settling in it and waiting on her coffee delivery. "Black, with sugar." "Huh?" That was not the response Shelby had expected and as is often the case in such situations, she stares. No answer presents itself. Bummer. "Umm, hold that thought," she mumbles before scuttling away to handle the coffee thing. It only takes a few minutes before she's back, plunking a styrofoam cup of black with sugar in front of Melinda and then dropping into the seat opposite. For herself, nothing. Maybe she ate before she showed up. "I didn't make that shit up, if that's what you're asking," she goes on to say, with equilibrium recovered. "Dude found me at IHOP and started talking about the folks who work there, y'know? Old guys on work release or girls who're like...teens. And then the girls get pregnant. So when I got up to go, he started screaming about how I took his wallet and ran me out. Ran out on the bill too." She allows a pregnant pause. "Maybe he wanted to say sorry. I dunno. Maybe he was just pissed I got him shot. But he's a -little- weird, right?" "So he was just making comments about the staff and you leaped to the idea that he was hitting on you?" Melinda is skeptical. "Sorry, look, I'll believe you if you say something bad happened or just that he makes you uncomfortable. But if the most you can accuse him of is using you to get out of paying for pancakes, I should probably apologize to him." She picks up her cup and raises it in thanks before taking a sip. Yep. Still as sour as ever. "Yes. He's weird, but so is everyone else here." "It wasn't like that! He said it, like, out of -nowhere-. What would you do if some hairy old dude sat down, started eating your food off your plate and then was staring at you when he talked about old prison guys knocking up kids, huh?" Shelby folds her arms across her chest. "-I- would get the hell out of Dodge, which I -tried- to do and now I can't even go back to IHOP. I was gonna pay and everything, too. But hey, if you wanna say sorry for whacking him with flowers..." She trails off, head tilted and expression thoughtful. "Maybe he did wanna say sorry though. See, if he did, then even he knew it was a shitty thing to do." "Ah." Melinda looks confused, then awkward, then finally quiet and dismissive. "Yeah, I probably don't need to apologize to him." And that's the end of it. She takes another sip of coffee and looks over at Shelby. "So, what happened to you? You said it was a long story, but I've got time now, so, unless you have to run off?" Her brows climb her forehead expectantly. Shelby is placated, whether or not that was the other woman's intention. She adopts a comfortable slouch in the chair, with one knee bent and lifted to rest against the table's edge. "Even if you did I bet he'd just make some smart ass comment," she says sympathetically--which is a case of the pot calling the kettle black. "Um..." This time the look she shoots around the room is a little more furtive. "Long and...kinda complicated. A little. I don't wanna freak you out or anything, you look like you got enough to deal with, huh?" "Oh, I don't know. I would rather know what is going on in this world than shut my eyes and pretend shit doesn't happen," Melinda exhales and eyes Shelby, "but if it's too terrible of a story or too soon to recount, or if you're just fucking tired of it, it's okay." She finishes her coffee and leans back in her chair. "Just don't stop on my account." "Man, you're all sortsa cranky today, huh? That's kinda awesome." Shelby is actually grinning by the end of Melinda's response--perversely, she seems to be enjoying it. "Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you. Were you watching the news couple of days ago, that asshole threw the FBI dude through the window down at Clothescycle?" Perhaps it wasn't a long story after all because rather than continue, the teen just raises her hand. One scabbed up, one bandaged. These are baby-waved across the table, fingers stiff and bending down once, twice, three times. "You threw the FBI agent through a window?" Melinda looks incredulous. "No!" The kid gets huffy about that. "Jesus! I said the -asshole-. Assholes are -guys-." In Shelby's world. "It was this crazy guy. -He- threw him through the window and I was like, right there, looking for something to wear to open mic. And I got hit with all the glass, then I -fell- on all the glass, and it was just fucked up." "Oh. Sorry. I didn't know that about assholes." Mel is a bit dry, but does take the younger woman's words seriously. She listens to the rest of her story quietly and cringing at the two points where Shelby got injured. "Esh. That sounds terrible. I am so sorry!" "Yeah, well..." Shelby slumps down in her chair again and returns her knee to its edge. "-I- got out alive anyway. You should've seen it. He brought this mouse, right? Or maybe he found it, I dunno. But it like...grew," she describes. With hand motions that include creepy claws and broad sweeps to indicate size. "It looked like it fucking hurt but I swear to god, Mel, by the time he got done with it, it was the size of a horse." Melinda is stunned into silence, for the most part, by this description. Her lips press into a fine line and she begins looking distinctly uncomfortable. She shifts in her seat and purses her lips. "And this mouse - that's what threw the man? Sorry, I don't actually have a computer that loads webclips right now and I'm not home enough to watch the news. Photos of the thing were shit." "No, it was the guy. He looked like a lawyer or something. Kinda old, talked like the old chick from Dollhouse. You ever see that? It was pretty awesome. But this dude, lawyer psycho dude, he's the bad guy. He threw the FBI guy, and he made the mouse grow too. And he killed the dude." Contrary to any sense of decency, Shelby is growing more animated in telling the story. "After I took off. The mouse just made Adam faint." She pauses. "Adam was working the counter. He's lucky he wasn't eaten." "So, British?" Melinda offers at the appropriate time, but falls silent during the retelling, with more detail this time. "Shit." She shakes her head and glances up at the ceiling. "What is wrong with this planet. Why couldn't some one with super powerful animal growing skills be a shrimpy individual and give the rest of us a chance?" "Yeah, like English," Shelby confirms. "I tried to stop him but like, seriously, what am -I- gonna do against a dude with a monster mouse, right? All I managed was to cover him with kittens from these ass ugly sweaters they had on sale. Fucking things couldn't even -bite- him, just ruined his suit," she glums, sighing and letting her head rock back so she can study the ceiling too. What's up there? Oh, a water stain. Fascinating. "He said the FBI dude wanted to melt his brain. That he wanted to melt mine too. Maybe everyone who's different, y'know?" "You... covered him with cats?" Melinda shakes her head. "No, ugly cartoon kittens? Oh good fuck." It's slow in coming, but there's a laugh that follows. She shakes her head, the single dry laugh relaxing her just enough. "He's mad. I don't know. I don't know that I can take anyone seriously that complains of government conspiracies and melting brains..." She pauses. "Though, apparently, telepaths are real things, so maybe I'm just ridiculous to dismiss it." "I didn't try to, it just happened. Like, I've been trying for -weeks- and all it took was some crazy fucker making me wet my pants to pull it off." Even Shelby can see the humor in this, though hers too is a dry humor, dry enough to burn. But she perks right up soon thereafter. "Wait, you didn't know Hive could do that? Oh...shit. Yeah, it's kinda weird, huh? And totally unfair. You can't check out a guy's ass when he can hear you doing it." Truly, it is a hard world. "Honey, not everyone introduces themselves with the whole and sum of their abilities." Melinda shakes her head. "Besides, I don't actually know what you can do still and I talk to you a lot more often than I do Hive." She scrubs her hands over her face and shrugs. "And I'm still not asking if you don't want to say." "You don't?" Shelby straightens in her chair, puzzled. "Oh, shit! Hell, I can fix that right away. Check it out!" Guess who still has the Sharpie she "borrowed" from someone else? That's right, she does. She fishes it from her pocket with her unbandaged hand and uncaps it. First instinct leads her to almost begin drawing on the recently cleaned table but she checks herself at the last minute with a peek at the other woman. Instead, she opts to scribble on her arm, after she's pulled her sleeve (all three or four of them) up to bare part of her forearm. "Okay, pick something. Like...a doodle picture for me to draw." "I don't know. Draw a puppy... or a daisy." Melinda doesn't care what thing Shelby draws. "A puppy daisy, gotcha." So Shelby draws, in permanent ink, a roly-poly puppy with a daisy growing from its head. After she caps the pen, she turns her arm a little so that Melinda can observe it. "Now you see it," she says to heighten the anticipation... "And now you see it for -real-." The puppy's head cocks, ears all floppy, and the daisy bobs with that movement. Melinda smiles as she watches, reaching out to touch the moving image to see what that is like. "So it was you in the bagel shop. I wondered, but I ... well, I wasn't going to - what word is there? The owners were accusing you, but yeah. I don't know. I suspected." She presses her lips into a fine line before swallowing and smiling at the drawing. The puppy presses its nose to the 'ground' and begins sniffing around, its tracking eventually leading it beneath the bandage swathing her hand. "Blow my cover?" Shelby suggests with a grin. "They were assholes. It's not like this -hurts- anyone." A black ink nose peeps out beneath white linen folds, decorating the tip of her middle finger. "But you hear some folks tell it, I'm like...Satan." "A very pretty and harmless Satan. Oh, but I'm sure that's the most alluring kind, because you are perceived as harmless, but are actually a juggernaut of trouble." Melinda shakes her head and glances up from the moving drawing to the mutant's face. "I hope your reign is long and full of music and puppydaisies, oh prince of darkness." "Man, I -wish-. Shit would be -together- if I was in charge. No dead agent, no cops keeping an eye on me..." A girl can dream. Shelby releases a sigh and flops back in the chair, tugging her sleeve(s) down. It takes her a moment to shake out of the funk she's fallen into but when she does, it's with a vengeance. And a grin. "So did you seriously beat that guy up with a bunch've flowers? Damn, you're like all...fierce and stuff when you wanna be." "I don't know. I didn't really beat him up, but I did give him a good smack." Melinda smiles and rests her elbows on the table, slouching forward. "Hive showed up after that and it was kind of his show then. I think he went home with the flowers." She scratches at the back of her head and yawns. "They were super sweet flowers. They took a beating like they were plastic, but still smelled good. Whatever Jim is, he's got great taste in bouquet stock." But not necessarily arrangements. "Hell yeah. Fist bump!" With her good hand, of course. Shelby offers it across the table. "I guess maybe if he was trying to say sorry I shouldn't be such a bitch about him but geez. Boys." Or men. Whatever. She tilts her head, much like the puppy had--it's still hidden under either bandages or sleeves--and studies Melinda for a moment. "You're looking pretty wiped out, huh? Maybe you should like, get home and sleep, yeah?" "Yeah. I think I will. How about you? Are you okay for the night?" Melinda slowly gets to her feet, grabbing her cup as she stands. "Not going to say it too loud, but that offer I made the other night" wasn't it last night " still stands." She glances at the other individuals who could likely use a place to sleep, but says nothing. Unusual courtesy leads the teen to keep her voice down as she asks, "You sure? I mean, I could hop the subway back to the doc's place but if you're closer, I'd totally take you up on that. I don't have much ass, don't want the rest of it freezing off." Shelby likewise stands and fumbles with the zipper to do up her coat. "I don't know what's closer. I'm in the Lower East Side." Melinda gestures Shelby to follow as she heads for the trash and eventually toward the reception desk to pick up her personal belongings. And then, they are off!