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{{ Logs
{{ Logs
| cast = [[Doug]], [[Hive]], [[NPC-Flicker|Flicker]], [[Joe]]
| cast = [[Hive]], [[Joe]]
| summary = Joe makes a little magic, and some new acquaintances
| summary = Hive and Joe become best friends by engaging in witty repartee
| gamedate = 2013-12-19
| gamedate = 2013-12-26
| gamedatename =  
| gamedatename =  
| subtitle =  
| subtitle =  
| location = <NYC> [[Strand Books]] - East Village
| location = <NYC> [[Forbidden Planet]] - East Village
| categories = Hive, NPC-Flicker, Joe, Doug, Mutants, Citizens, Strand Books, Assholes
| categories = Hive, Joe, Mutants, Citizens, Forbidden Planet, Assholes
| log =  
| log =  


The Strand manages to pack a whole lot of character into one bookstore, but they have a lot of space to fit it in. They advertise themselves as having eighteen miles of books, and whether or not that is true, it certainly is true that they have an enormous number of shelves packed into their rows and rows and rows of books. A book-lover's haven, this East Village landmark boasts an enormous collection of volumes of all types among their stacks, crammed into the narrow aisles. Well-known for their rare and out-of-print collection, they have many hard to find volumes tucked away in their labyrinth of shelves as well.
It's Thursday night and the Forbidden Planet comic book store has been open since early on Boxing Day. Everyone has been streaming in and out with their gift cards and certificates all day, but the evening is finally ramping up to the main event. Plenty of people (mostly guys, let's be honest), have been stocking up for a serious Magic the Gathering tournament. All types of games will be set up at the tables prepared around the store, all meant to play tournament style, with winners being awarded all manner of prizes ranging from rare singles, to packs and even a full box up for grabs.


The weather outside is -- actually pretty excellent, considering the season, low 40s and clear. Perhaps it is this brief spurt of pleasant that has lured Hive out of doors to /contaminate/ it with his perpetual grump. He's in the sci-fi/fantasy section, glaring at the shelves with his lips pressed thinly together. Nothing particularly eye-catching about his attire, faded old jeans, ratty worn sneakers, a blue denim shirt unbuttoned over a white undershirt. And a lot of glare.
Joe is here trying not to look too miserable. Any mind-readers present will be able to tell right away that he's riding the line between /really/ enjoying the game of magic, and wanting to play to win, but also /really/ not being thrilled at being in a crowded room full of people. He's sitting at a table he's managed to get to himself, but could easily seat 6 or 7 more people. He's taken up most of it and his sorting his haul from opening an entire box's worth of cards already. At glance, it looks like he picked out a very profitable box with several valuable, rare cards. What luck!


His companion is making up for this with a warm dose of cheer. Flicker's smile is bright as ever, even if the face it resides in is still marred with a pitted run of scars. "-- could /all/ use a little pick me up. And this /is/ the time of year for it."
Hive doesn't look like he's enjoying a crowd much, either, but then he often looks like he's not enjoying anything. He is dressed in battered old canvas jacket unbuttoned over a Cornell hoodie, faded jeans, falling-apart sneakers held together with duct tape. His hands are shoved into his jacket pockets, and he's /glaring/ at the tables with a disgruntled look of irritation. Eying the players like they're a particularly loathsome obstacle standing between him and the shelves on the far side fo the room. He pushes his way past one table, stopping to drop his knuckles down in a heavy thump on Joe's. "Got back into your nerddom, then." He doesn't really look like he's paying all that much attention to anything, eyes half-lidded, lips pressed thin together, though his mind is (perhaps unfortunately) keenly attentive to the (perhaps unfortunately) crowded room. "-- Box is a haul."


Hive just answers with a grunt. His eyes close, his fingers lifting to rub at his temples beneath his shaggy too-long hair, a slow wince screwing up his expression. "This is the time of year for /too many goddamn people/."
"Yeah, it's funny, I guess," Joe says, looking up at Hive. The mental atmosphere in the room indicates a few disgruntled or jealous folks who've noticed the rarity of Joe's haul. Joe's own mind flicks to time he spent blinking cards between unopened packs, inside sealed boxes, masking the time it took as a superstitious ritual. "You know, when I was your age, I could hardly afford to play packs. Never had this kinda luck back then." Joe chuckles. << Fucking make my /own/ luck now >> is his idle, amused thought. "You competing tonight?"


Doug's cheer is probably felt well before he comes within sight. His mental landscape is a /tumble/ of happy, recent accomplishment, mixed with images of Stark Industries and a need to collect a gift for Sebastian. His current quarry is nowhere near the sci-fi section, but he turns up here, anyway, dressed rather /business-like/ under his leather jacket in dark charcoal slacks and a tie to match around the neck of his white shirt. His laptop bag is slung over his chest, and his fingers drum along the top of the bag as he skims the shelves. The sound of familiar voices brings his attention around, and he grins widely when he spies Hive and Flicker. "Hey guys!" he chirps, abandoning his search to come over, bouncing on his toes for a moment. "You out last-minute shopping like the rest of us?"
"Mmm." Hive's eyes close the rest of the way, then open again, still lazily half-mast. "Helps when you're a fucking cheater, I guess." There's a considerable delay that precedes his reply, but it's blunt and heavy when it comes. His teeth bare, just a thin sliver in a sudden sharp smile. "Oh, you would not want that, I don't think."


In the tune to 'Happy Birthday', Joe is trawling the scifi/fantasy section and singing in his head, <'Merry Christmas to me, Merry Christmas to /me/, Merry Christmas to me-eeee, Merry Christmas to /me/.> He's even stepping in time to his horrible, horrible song. He stoops down next to Flicker, muttering something like "'Scuse me," but he's kind of hard to hear. From the bottom shelf however, he retrieves the massive box set of hardback Game of Thrones series. By the look of his struggle though, the set must weigh more than fifty pounds, which is quite a strain for the feeble-looking man.
To his credit, Joe masks his shocked, guilt-ridden mind behind a placid expression, betrayed only by a raised eyebrow. He starts to stand, but a twinge of pain in his left knee flashes hot in his mind, pushing everything else aside for a moment. He forces himself to laugh, "Yeah, a box like this? Got the black magic on my side." After a deep breath, Joe gets focused again, and he's scrutinizing Hive's face. His mind reveals some confusion about Hive's facial expressions, trying to reconcile the fact that /he/ believes that /Hive/ believes Joe is a cheater, but he can't figure out how Hive would know or come to that assumption. "I dunno man, I like a challenge. Maybe you're as much a cheater as I am." Joe shrugs. "Just a friendly game man. You beat me, I'll give you this legendary I pulled." Joe reaches out and places a finger on a card that retails solo for more than forty follars. "If you win, you just have to tell me how you beat me."


Hive's fingers rub harder against his temple as the others approach. "Fuck you," he grumbles in answer to Doug, no real heat in his voice and his eyes still not opening, "I'm not Christian. -- The hell's gotten you so cheery." Maybe he's speaking to Doug with this, but when his eyes open they narrow on Joe.
"Black magic, is that what they're calling it these days." Hive's hands stay in his pockets. A small upward tug pulls brief and twitchy at one side of his mouth. "I'd be completely as much of a cheater as you are. But that's why I don't play. No fun cheating at games I /like/. Plus," his brief-thin sliver of smile returns, "I'm not betting you with someone else's card you just stole."


"The holiday spirit," Flicker replies lightly. "Did you know they have a first edition copy of the Wizard of Earthsea here?"
Joe seems relatively relaxed as they continue talking about cheating, as he comes to the decision that Hive just made a lucky guess. Until, that is, he mentions 'stolen' cards. He stops and just watches Hive for a long moment, registering little things like his dominant hand, listing potential tells, etc without even really realizing he's doing it. "Whoa, stolen cards? What's that about man? Who's card did I steal?" Joe glances around, surprisingly subtle about it, and his mind betrays his trained, practiced criminality. He lowers his voice and nudges the chair opposite himself out with the toe of his boot. "What /card/ did I steal? Everyone here watched me open the packs." His mind flashes through the five very rare cards he swapped, and he continues to analyze Hive's face for any clues as to << what the fuck is going on here? >>.


This at least does perk Hive up. Just slightly. Not that you'd necessarily know it from his continued scowl, but he does straighten and flick his eyes briefly to Flicker. Then down to Joe. He leans back against the shelves, slumping there like holding his weight up is proving /difficult/. "Jesus, you look as much of an invalid as I am."
There's another small twitch at the side of Hive's mouth. His lazy-closed eyes open a little wider, studying Joe's face a moment as his mind listens in on the other man's. He doesn't take the offered seat, but he does lean in, one hand rested on the table and his skinny-bony weight propped against chapped scuffed knuckles. He reaches for Joe's cards, rifling through the pack and dropping out those five very rare cards face-up on the table. He sets the rest of the pack down neatly beside them.


Doug is unbothered by Hive's greeting, his grin slipping wider. "I just had the /best/ interview at Stark Industries," he says, the auto-replay of the event running unbidden through his head. "I start their paid internship after the New Year." The teenager bounces on his toes again, and brightens at Flicker. "Dude. In spite of all the shit, this might be my favorite Christmas /ever/. I have /extra/ holiday spirit to hand out." He might explain why that is, only then there is a Joe, and he peers at the man struggling for a moment. Then his lip quirks as Hive addresses him, and he shrugs. "Maybe he's just a heavy reader."
Joe gives himself credit for staying so cool and collected while Hive reveals what he did. Fortunately they're both being fairly subtle about the conversation so they don't seem to have drawn any undue attention yet. "These cards," Joe says, sliding them in a flourish, making them disappear and reappear in turn, using only genuine sleight of hand before fanning them out. "Came out of this box. Which I just bought with green American money." But Joe already knows this conversation is just for show. His mind flits through the various items in Hive's pockets until it lands on his library card. Joe's third eye widens at the mouthful of a legal name, but his face only betrays a moderate amount of concentration.  


"What? Fuck /you/," Joe says hurriedly, also without much heat, but the confusion in his mind makes it clear he thought Hive was talking to him at first, instead of Doug. Struggling to stand up, and eventually managing to balance the box set on his shoulder, Joe heaves a sigh of relief. His mind flashes through a mental rolodex of suitable insults as he looks Hive over. The thought process is halted abruptly though, and Joe just says, "Hey kid, this thing's fucking heavy." His eyes take in Flicker and Doug now too, and as he does, his thoughts instinctively start making astonishingly accurate value judgements about all kinds of things from Doug's sexual orientation to Hive's enthusiasm about Ursula K. Leguin, correct on both of those counts, at least. The former leaves Joe feeling kind of 'squicky', the latter piquing his interest. Perhaps more interestingly, he's also mentally catalogued everything in Hive's pockets, though it's not clear exactly /how/. All of this is evaluated in a fraction of a second.  
"What do you do for work, Jet?" << I know you can read my mind >> Unfortunately he can't hide the fact that this is a gamble. He /thinks/ Hive can read his mind, but hasn't actually figured it out yet. "Because I'd like to beat their offer." This fact is true. He's actually trying to figure out how much he'd have to offer the young man to join him in various 'interesting' business ventures. Joe has a very industrious imagination.


He frowns briefly at Doug's joke, and then actually grins. "I like that one," he says, adjusting the weight of the box set on his shoulder while they stand there. "And you don't have to be Christian to like Christmas, guys. There was a pagan holiday this time of year way before those assholes took it over."
<< I can do much worse than read your mind. >> It's somewhat unfortunate that Hive's mental voice feels like an /attack/ even when he's simply making conversation; his words do not sound in Joe's mind so much as /stab/ themselves into it, sharp and gouging-hard. << And I will, if you call me that again. >>


"Fuck /you/." This time it's directed at Joe, actually. "I don't celebrate goddamn /Yule/ either." Hive starts to stand up straight again but ultimately just slumps back against the bookcase, shoulders drooping as his hands shift to his pockets. His mind hones in just that much more acutely, actively paying /attention/ now to the paths of Joe's thoughts. His fingers absently squish and mold at a cluster of tiny spherical magnets mooshed together in his pocket, his eyes narrowing again on Joe. "Internship," he grouses at Doug, "keep your frakking spirit and come boast at me when you've got a real job."
Outwardly he's not quite so cool and collected as Joe, knuckles tightening into a hard fist, eyes narrowing, jaw tightening. "My name is Hive." His words aloud are much softer than the stabbing mental pain, a quiet tenor accented enough to be clearly Not From Around Here though past that it is harder to place. "What do /you/ do, when you're not scamming your way through competitions?"


Flicker actually smiles, though, bright and warm. "Oh, wow, congratulations, Doug. That's awesome." He looks down to Joe, brow faintly furrowing. "Do you need a hand with that, sir?" he asks when Joe mentions the box being heavy. He nudges Hive in the ribs with an elbow. "S'ok, Scrooge. I'll have enough cheer for the both of us."
"Ow, ow /fuck/!" Joe says, nearly toppling backwards from his chair. Joe is completely flustered and people are looking over at the two having a quiet conversation now punctuated with this one loud obscenity.  


Hive chuffs out a snort, his eyes lowering to the ground, eyelids falling half closed. "You always do. Fucker."
Over by the register a tall, gangly looking fellow wearing a name tag as an employee at Forbidden Planet, looks over at the two, frowns, but doesn't say anything yet.


Joe looks like he's about to add something in the way of a comment toward Doug as well, when Doug lights up, looking at something across the room. Joe just shrugs when the young man excuses himself, and then nods at Flicker. "You know what? Actually, that'd be great, thanks man." Joe hefts the box again with both hands, passes it to Flicker, and sighs with relief. "Got a bum knee, and a - well pretty much bum everything else down that side." It's a slight exaggeration, but not much of one. He flinches when he rubs at the shoulder it was sitting on, trying to work out the pain which is familiar in his mind. Taking in Hive's expression, he consciously acknowledges Hive's headache as 'an obvious detail'. After a moment, Joe reaches into a jacket pocket and produces a bottle of Advil. He shakes two into his palm, dry fires them, and lifts his chin in Hive's direction. "You want? Look about as bad off as I feel."
Massaging his temples with a pained expression on his face, eyes closed, Joe leans forward to rest his elbows on the table. "Jesus Christ kid- /Hive/, whatever the fuck you want... My bad." Joe's mind flashes through his brief deal with with Wilson Fisk, and then being set up at his Off-Broadway show as the Amazing Zerah. Part of him actually really loves doing the shows, the part of him that resents the sick, twisted aspects of his personality. He reaches into his jacket pocket and produces a business card advertising his stage show. "You and I could take that show to a whole new level.


Hive snorts again. His eyes close /all/ the way, now, hand inside his pocket balling up into a fist with a quiet crunch of magnets rubbing against each other. "Fff." Briefly, his teeth grind together, and though his eyes have been closed the whole while he pulls his other hand out of its pocket to hold it out towards Joe. "Shit. Thanks, man. I swear /holidays/ give me a goddamn headache."  
"Fucking white people can't even say my damn name." Hive does take the business card despite this grumbling, straightening up from his lean at the table to eye it and then shove it in a pocket. "Amazing Zerah are you for real. Tell me your costume has sequins." He drags out his own wallet, retrieving his own business cards. Rang Phueng Design. A website, a phone, an email. Office in SoHo. The name on it (Title: Principal Architect) actually /says/ 'Hive', too. Just Hive. "Already got a gig," he says, laying a card down on the table. "No trickery required. Can't con a /building/."


Flicker's smile is crooked, looking even moreso with the wealth of scars amassed on one side of his face. "Oh, man, yeah, I know that feeling." He takes the box, tucking it under his arm to rest it on a hip. Joe's comment to Hive draws his eyes towards his friend, a quick flick-shift of gaze that he pulls away soon to study the bookshelves instead. "S'how he always looks. His face is set to 'Grinch' year 'round."
Slowly getting himself back together after the brain stabbing, Joe opens his eyes experimentally. It seems the sudden migraine is fading quickly, and he looks up at the young man who refuses to sit with him, regarding him for a long moment. "I'm for real, yeah. I'll comp you some tickets, if you promise not to fuck up my show." He grins, and shakes his head at Hive's description of his job. "Everyone's conning /someone/ man. Besides, I thought architects make bank." << You look one step up from homele- >> Knowing it's too late to edit himself, Joe clamps down on the thought anyway, and shrugs his apology. "Never met a mind-reader before."


Joe shakes out the pills and suppresses the inappropriate joke in his mind about not taking candy from strangers. He does get a mental chuckle at his own crassness though, and it spills over onto his face as a smirk. He closes the bottle and rolls it across the back of his hand, almost like a force of habit, but it turns in to fairly complex handjive by the time he's done. The bottle flicks from hand to hand in what could easily be a regular sleight-of-hand technique, except for the bizarre twisting of Joe's mind. It's not entirely unlike trying to think through a novelty bendy straw. the bottle reappears a couple of different times before he just pockets it again.  
Hive's mouth hooks upwards at one side, eyebrows hitching just faintly upward in time with a slightly interested widening of his eyes. "Huh. Yeah? I'm more of an eavesdropper than a meddler anyway. I bring a friend or two?" He exhales a quick sharp laugh. "Yeah. Yeah, okay, I guess everyone is." He doesn't seem overly offended by the mental comment, looking down at his threadbare clothing and taped-together shoes with a wry smile. "About to get evicted so I guess I am. Not over rent though. I pay /that/ fine. Just never bothered much with shopping."


When Flicker suggests he can relate, Joe looks him over again. "Yeah man, I bet you can." He shakes his head, dying to ask Flicker what happened, but his limited politeness filter kicks in and buries the question again. "Look, I really appreciate the help. Now, don't make fun, but I can't go hiking up and down this crazy place to find out - do either of you know if they sell Magic the Gathering cards here?"
His fingers lift, scuffing through his hair, fingertips running against the side of his head. "Never met one that /told/ you."


"'least my face isn't set to ugly-ass melting wax year round." Hive apparently has no politeness filter, limited or otherwise.
"Yeah, sure," Joe nods. "I'll leave four at Will Call under 'Hive'. Come any time." Joe watches the comment about 'nearly evicted' go by, and his mind briefly latches onto the news story about the lofts, but he doesn't consciously remember or make the connection. His mental self reveals a phenomenally sharp mind, but he's also still recovering from being brain-punched. "Oh shit... I never thought a'that." Joe shakes his head slowly and shrugs. "Well, siddown and play a fucking game with me." He holds his hands up at the side. "No funny business. I made a white deck and a black deck already. They're actually both decent. We can use your dice for life counters. You pick." He moves his foot under the table to nudge the chair out another inch.


Flicker doesn't look /bothered/ by the comment on his scars, an /amused/ smile curling his lips, though he does reach out his free hand to /thwap/ Hive in the back of the head.
"I've met a shitton of freaks, and a disproportionate number of them psionic as compared to any one other thing. Just try thinking /really loud/ weirdass shit on the subway and see who bristles." Hive regards the chair for a moment with deep suspicion, but then he hooks a heel against a leg to drag it out further. He drops down into it in a loose-boned slouch. "Not porn, though. /Everyone's/ got porn on the brain, it's never startling." He scrubs fingers through his hair again, then digs dice out of his pockets, rolling a d20 towards Joe and setting two d10s in front of himself. "Black. Gimme. No funny business." His teeth flash again in a thin sliver of smile. "Because I'll fucking /know/."


Hive snorts again, but his startled jerk knocks one of the headache pills out of his hand. He downs the other dry, but opens his eyes to frown at the floor. "He lost a fight with a dragon." He answers the question offhand, even if Joe doesn't ask it. A very faint upward twitch pulls at his mouth at the question of Magic, his half-lidded eyes shifting briefly to Flicker and then down to the floor.


"Oh!" Flicker's eyes light, a more animated bounce in his posture. "No, no they don't /here/ but there's this /awesome/ comic shop -- uh, /just/ next door, have you been to Forbidden Planet?" He gestures out towards the exit. "Anyway if you're looking -- they've got plenty of Magic cards and also a really great selection of graphic novels and -- sci fi and. A lot of things, actually."
"Don't make fun," Hive echoes in a dry murmur.
Joe's eyebrows pop up when Hive insults Flicker's melted face, astonished that Hive would say such a thing. But then he just shrugs, deciding it isn't any of his business how these two talk to each other. He nods when Flicker explains, holding his hands up when Hive warns him off of teasing. "Hey, I'm not giving anyone shit. I'm not into comics, but I actually want to see the new MtG sets. I haven't played in years, but the new shit sounds kind of cool." His mind flashes to the memory of successful tournament play in a casino somewhere. He gestures at Flicker then. "Can you just help me to the counter with that? I'll have to go check out Forbidden Planet next."
"The new stuff is incredibly convoluted," Flicker says with a wrinkle of his nose, "but it's definitey worth checking out. -- Oh, oh right." His cheeks flush darker red at the mention of the box. He shifts his grip to hold it more securely, offering his other arm to Hive. "Get you home while I'm at it."
Hive grits his teeth, pushing himself off of the bookshelf only with a concerted effort. His hand grips the crook of Flicker's arm, his weight leaning into the younger man as they start for the counter. "Our house is. Pretty full of Magic cards. Wouldn't have pegged you for a nerd," he admits. "Let alone a serious one."
Joe laughs, actually out loud, at Hive's comment. "Why's that? Because I'm such a fucking sexy ladies' man?" Joe shakes his head, still chuckling. "Guys, I was playing Alpha when it first came out. I have /first edition/ shit in my apartment, right now." Joe leads the way up to the front and goes through the steps to pay and be able to leave. Curiously, his mind flicks through and comes up with numbers for exactly how much cash is in the till he's paying at, but dismisses the number after 'counting' it.
Hive's eyes narrow on Joe as he silently counts the money. He exhales sharply, leaning a little harder on Flicker.
Flicker's brows raise; he glances from Joe to Hive and then back once he's put the box on the counter. "Those cards are as old as me."
"Not saying much, you're pretty much a baby." Hive's eyes drift over Joe once more, then drop away. "Yeahno. Wouldn't have pegged you for ladies' man, either."
"Yeah, I'm definitely not a baby. I'm an ugly old man," Joe says, laughing again. Once the set is paid for, with $150 in cash, incidentally, Joe makes his way towards the doors. "Thanks again for the help, guys. My name's Joe, by the way." He holds out his hand to shake Flicker's and then Hive's hand, before accepting the box set from Flicker to carry out himself.
Flicker shakes Joe's hand, quick, his hand faintly roughened with newly developing callouses. "I'm Flicker. This is Hive." He nods towards Hive, who doesn't take the handshake, just /frowns/ at it. Scowl. "Joe. Yeah. Enjoy your --" He waves at the anthology, and then presses his fingers to his forehead again.
"Merry Christmas," Flicker says with a warmer smile. "Try not to get trampled, the stores are a madhouse." He curls his arm around Hive's waist, though the gesture seems more given out of support than affection as he helps Hive towards the door.
}}
}}

Revision as of 07:20, 27 December 2013

Game of Groans
Dramatis Personae

Hive, Joe

2013-12-26


Hive and Joe become best friends by engaging in witty repartee

Location

<NYC> Forbidden Planet - East Village

It's Thursday night and the Forbidden Planet comic book store has been open since early on Boxing Day. Everyone has been streaming in and out with their gift cards and certificates all day, but the evening is finally ramping up to the main event. Plenty of people (mostly guys, let's be honest), have been stocking up for a serious Magic the Gathering tournament. All types of games will be set up at the tables prepared around the store, all meant to play tournament style, with winners being awarded all manner of prizes ranging from rare singles, to packs and even a full box up for grabs.

Joe is here trying not to look too miserable. Any mind-readers present will be able to tell right away that he's riding the line between /really/ enjoying the game of magic, and wanting to play to win, but also /really/ not being thrilled at being in a crowded room full of people. He's sitting at a table he's managed to get to himself, but could easily seat 6 or 7 more people. He's taken up most of it and his sorting his haul from opening an entire box's worth of cards already. At glance, it looks like he picked out a very profitable box with several valuable, rare cards. What luck!

Hive doesn't look like he's enjoying a crowd much, either, but then he often looks like he's not enjoying anything. He is dressed in battered old canvas jacket unbuttoned over a Cornell hoodie, faded jeans, falling-apart sneakers held together with duct tape. His hands are shoved into his jacket pockets, and he's /glaring/ at the tables with a disgruntled look of irritation. Eying the players like they're a particularly loathsome obstacle standing between him and the shelves on the far side fo the room. He pushes his way past one table, stopping to drop his knuckles down in a heavy thump on Joe's. "Got back into your nerddom, then." He doesn't really look like he's paying all that much attention to anything, eyes half-lidded, lips pressed thin together, though his mind is (perhaps unfortunately) keenly attentive to the (perhaps unfortunately) crowded room. "-- Box is a haul."

"Yeah, it's funny, I guess," Joe says, looking up at Hive. The mental atmosphere in the room indicates a few disgruntled or jealous folks who've noticed the rarity of Joe's haul. Joe's own mind flicks to time he spent blinking cards between unopened packs, inside sealed boxes, masking the time it took as a superstitious ritual. "You know, when I was your age, I could hardly afford to play packs. Never had this kinda luck back then." Joe chuckles. << Fucking make my /own/ luck now >> is his idle, amused thought. "You competing tonight?"

"Mmm." Hive's eyes close the rest of the way, then open again, still lazily half-mast. "Helps when you're a fucking cheater, I guess." There's a considerable delay that precedes his reply, but it's blunt and heavy when it comes. His teeth bare, just a thin sliver in a sudden sharp smile. "Oh, you would not want that, I don't think."

To his credit, Joe masks his shocked, guilt-ridden mind behind a placid expression, betrayed only by a raised eyebrow. He starts to stand, but a twinge of pain in his left knee flashes hot in his mind, pushing everything else aside for a moment. He forces himself to laugh, "Yeah, a box like this? Got the black magic on my side." After a deep breath, Joe gets focused again, and he's scrutinizing Hive's face. His mind reveals some confusion about Hive's facial expressions, trying to reconcile the fact that /he/ believes that /Hive/ believes Joe is a cheater, but he can't figure out how Hive would know or come to that assumption. "I dunno man, I like a challenge. Maybe you're as much a cheater as I am." Joe shrugs. "Just a friendly game man. You beat me, I'll give you this legendary I pulled." Joe reaches out and places a finger on a card that retails solo for more than forty follars. "If you win, you just have to tell me how you beat me."

"Black magic, is that what they're calling it these days." Hive's hands stay in his pockets. A small upward tug pulls brief and twitchy at one side of his mouth. "I'd be completely as much of a cheater as you are. But that's why I don't play. No fun cheating at games I /like/. Plus," his brief-thin sliver of smile returns, "I'm not betting you with someone else's card you just stole."

Joe seems relatively relaxed as they continue talking about cheating, as he comes to the decision that Hive just made a lucky guess. Until, that is, he mentions 'stolen' cards. He stops and just watches Hive for a long moment, registering little things like his dominant hand, listing potential tells, etc without even really realizing he's doing it. "Whoa, stolen cards? What's that about man? Who's card did I steal?" Joe glances around, surprisingly subtle about it, and his mind betrays his trained, practiced criminality. He lowers his voice and nudges the chair opposite himself out with the toe of his boot. "What /card/ did I steal? Everyone here watched me open the packs." His mind flashes through the five very rare cards he swapped, and he continues to analyze Hive's face for any clues as to << what the fuck is going on here? >>.

There's another small twitch at the side of Hive's mouth. His lazy-closed eyes open a little wider, studying Joe's face a moment as his mind listens in on the other man's. He doesn't take the offered seat, but he does lean in, one hand rested on the table and his skinny-bony weight propped against chapped scuffed knuckles. He reaches for Joe's cards, rifling through the pack and dropping out those five very rare cards face-up on the table. He sets the rest of the pack down neatly beside them.

Joe gives himself credit for staying so cool and collected while Hive reveals what he did. Fortunately they're both being fairly subtle about the conversation so they don't seem to have drawn any undue attention yet. "These cards," Joe says, sliding them in a flourish, making them disappear and reappear in turn, using only genuine sleight of hand before fanning them out. "Came out of this box. Which I just bought with green American money." But Joe already knows this conversation is just for show. His mind flits through the various items in Hive's pockets until it lands on his library card. Joe's third eye widens at the mouthful of a legal name, but his face only betrays a moderate amount of concentration.

"What do you do for work, Jet?" << I know you can read my mind >> Unfortunately he can't hide the fact that this is a gamble. He /thinks/ Hive can read his mind, but hasn't actually figured it out yet. "Because I'd like to beat their offer." This fact is true. He's actually trying to figure out how much he'd have to offer the young man to join him in various 'interesting' business ventures. Joe has a very industrious imagination.

<< I can do much worse than read your mind. >> It's somewhat unfortunate that Hive's mental voice feels like an /attack/ even when he's simply making conversation; his words do not sound in Joe's mind so much as /stab/ themselves into it, sharp and gouging-hard. << And I will, if you call me that again. >>

Outwardly he's not quite so cool and collected as Joe, knuckles tightening into a hard fist, eyes narrowing, jaw tightening. "My name is Hive." His words aloud are much softer than the stabbing mental pain, a quiet tenor accented enough to be clearly Not From Around Here though past that it is harder to place. "What do /you/ do, when you're not scamming your way through competitions?"

"Ow, ow /fuck/!" Joe says, nearly toppling backwards from his chair. Joe is completely flustered and people are looking over at the two having a quiet conversation now punctuated with this one loud obscenity.

Over by the register a tall, gangly looking fellow wearing a name tag as an employee at Forbidden Planet, looks over at the two, frowns, but doesn't say anything yet.

Massaging his temples with a pained expression on his face, eyes closed, Joe leans forward to rest his elbows on the table. "Jesus Christ kid- /Hive/, whatever the fuck you want... My bad." Joe's mind flashes through his brief deal with with Wilson Fisk, and then being set up at his Off-Broadway show as the Amazing Zerah. Part of him actually really loves doing the shows, the part of him that resents the sick, twisted aspects of his personality. He reaches into his jacket pocket and produces a business card advertising his stage show. "You and I could take that show to a whole new level.

"Fucking white people can't even say my damn name." Hive does take the business card despite this grumbling, straightening up from his lean at the table to eye it and then shove it in a pocket. "Amazing Zerah are you for real. Tell me your costume has sequins." He drags out his own wallet, retrieving his own business cards. Rang Phueng Design. A website, a phone, an email. Office in SoHo. The name on it (Title: Principal Architect) actually /says/ 'Hive', too. Just Hive. "Already got a gig," he says, laying a card down on the table. "No trickery required. Can't con a /building/."

Slowly getting himself back together after the brain stabbing, Joe opens his eyes experimentally. It seems the sudden migraine is fading quickly, and he looks up at the young man who refuses to sit with him, regarding him for a long moment. "I'm for real, yeah. I'll comp you some tickets, if you promise not to fuck up my show." He grins, and shakes his head at Hive's description of his job. "Everyone's conning /someone/ man. Besides, I thought architects make bank." << You look one step up from homele- >> Knowing it's too late to edit himself, Joe clamps down on the thought anyway, and shrugs his apology. "Never met a mind-reader before."

Hive's mouth hooks upwards at one side, eyebrows hitching just faintly upward in time with a slightly interested widening of his eyes. "Huh. Yeah? I'm more of an eavesdropper than a meddler anyway. I bring a friend or two?" He exhales a quick sharp laugh. "Yeah. Yeah, okay, I guess everyone is." He doesn't seem overly offended by the mental comment, looking down at his threadbare clothing and taped-together shoes with a wry smile. "About to get evicted so I guess I am. Not over rent though. I pay /that/ fine. Just never bothered much with shopping."

His fingers lift, scuffing through his hair, fingertips running against the side of his head. "Never met one that /told/ you."

"Yeah, sure," Joe nods. "I'll leave four at Will Call under 'Hive'. Come any time." Joe watches the comment about 'nearly evicted' go by, and his mind briefly latches onto the news story about the lofts, but he doesn't consciously remember or make the connection. His mental self reveals a phenomenally sharp mind, but he's also still recovering from being brain-punched. "Oh shit... I never thought a'that." Joe shakes his head slowly and shrugs. "Well, siddown and play a fucking game with me." He holds his hands up at the side. "No funny business. I made a white deck and a black deck already. They're actually both decent. We can use your dice for life counters. You pick." He moves his foot under the table to nudge the chair out another inch.

"I've met a shitton of freaks, and a disproportionate number of them psionic as compared to any one other thing. Just try thinking /really loud/ weirdass shit on the subway and see who bristles." Hive regards the chair for a moment with deep suspicion, but then he hooks a heel against a leg to drag it out further. He drops down into it in a loose-boned slouch. "Not porn, though. /Everyone's/ got porn on the brain, it's never startling." He scrubs fingers through his hair again, then digs dice out of his pockets, rolling a d20 towards Joe and setting two d10s in front of himself. "Black. Gimme. No funny business." His teeth flash again in a thin sliver of smile. "Because I'll fucking /know/."

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