<NYC> Lower East Side
Historically characterized by crime and immigrant families crammed into cramped tenement buildings, the Lower East Side is often identified with its working-class roots. Today, it plays host to many of New York's mutant poor, although even here they are still often forced into hiding.
"It really isn't my day," Jack sighs to himself. "or night. Whatever," he grumps. Dressed in just jeans, a dirty hoodie, and a 'borrowed' pair of gloves and scarf, he's standing on the sidewalk near the Evolve Coffeeshop. In hand, he's got a business card from Happy Cakes with the address to the cafe written onto it. The teen had only learned of the cafe yesterday and had hoped to stop by in hopes of finding something to brighten his mood after his day. But the odds were not in the invisible teen's favor. He got lost trying to navigate the subways and arrived past closing time. With another sigh, Jack's shoulders slump and he looks slowly around the street. He needed to find a place he could sleep until the morning, hopefully somewhere warm. He just didn't know where to look yet, this being his first trip to this area of the city.
Past closing time, perhaps, but the door to the cafe -- which is definitely closed, and dark, and empty -- is opening! And a figure emerging to lock it back up again. Jackson is much more warmly and /brightly/ dressed than Jack, black skinny jeans that are laced corset-like down their outsides in /glittering/ silver ribbon, knee-high shimmery blue boots that are very chunky-stompy-buckly, a metallic silver jacket over a soft blue v-neck sweater with silver dragonflies threaded into it. Glimmery makeup, black with a rainbow-oilslick sheen, on his nails and lips. Mismatched colourful armwarmers -- or at least one armwarmer; his other hand is in some kind of splint. A blue-purple-green scarf. There's a messenger bag slung over his shoulder, black with a mechanically wingy logo on it that reads FreakAngels; he slips his keys back into this after locking up the cafe, rubbing his hands together as he turns aside. Despite it being dark outside, the middle of the night, he's still wearing /sunglasses/, huge and mirror-lensed.
One hand tucks into his pocket as he turns aside from the door, his splinted one held unconsciously semi-protective against his chest as he moves away from the door. "Hmm?" Maybe Jack wasn't talking to him but it's automatic. "'pologies, sir, did you -- say a -- hm?" His accent is /thick/, a syrupy-heavy drawl of the /deep/ Deep South. His pierced brows are knitting together over top of the sunglasses, looking around like he's not /quite/ sure a) who was talking and b) if they were talking to /him/.
Jack jumps when the door opens, tensing up. He wasn't expecting anyone to come out this late. He tries to keep his head down to keep under his hood from being seen even if it's dark. It's just habit with Jack. He looks back towards the cafe and frowns. The books are all he sees at first and being spoken to makes him jump again. Of course when called 'sir' Jack looks up and then around as if expecting to see someone else. He's never been called 'sir' before and it just feels weird. "I uhh...what? Are you talking to me?" he asks, looking towards Jax.
"I -- um." Jax has to stop and think about that a second, turning his head to glance around the street. A moment later he turns a quick-warm smile on Jack, a little lopsided. His arm curls a little tighter against his chest, shoulder hitching in a small shrug. "Oh, gosh, I -- guess I am! I think? I -- was you talkin' t'/me/? I jus' thought someone was talkin', sir, 'pologies. If you wasn't. Been a long day I'm jus'. Maybe a little outta it, y'know?"
"I uhh," Jack shifts a little awkwardly. "I wasn't...I...I was just talking to myself. I was looking for that cafe and..." he trails off, slowly looking up the rest of the way. When he gets a good look at Jax, the look on his face is priceless. Or it would be if his face could be seen. He may be a homeless guy but even he's caught enough of the news to recognize Jax. "Aren't you..." he pauses a beat. "wait...I guess that makes sense since that other guy was at the bakery," he mutters. "Oh, sorry. Yeah...it's been a long day."
Jax shakes his head, rubbing his palm against his cheek. /His/ face isn't invisible, but behind the enormous sunglasses a good deal of it is covered up regardless; it makes it hard to discern very /much/ of his current expression as he's turned towards Jack, though there's a rather long pause before he speaks again. "Wait, m'sor -- I mean, aren't I wha -- what other guy? What bakery? You were lookin' for this place? 'pologies, it ain't gonna be open again for a couple hours. Are -- you --" He bites down on his lip, fidgeting slightly uncomfortably on the chunky soles of his boots. "Was you lookin' for somethin' in particular?"
When he realizes he's looking up, Jack lowers his head again. He shifts awkwardly as he listens to Jax. "Sorry," he murmurs. "I um...I was looking for this place. I was at this bakery, Happy Cakes...and I met the guy that owns this place and he said it was welcoming to people like me and I got lost on the way here and..." he trails off, shrugging. "Um...what time does this place open?"
Jax's uncomfortable fidget is getting worse, a twitchy restless rocking from heel to toe. His teeth click against one of his lip rings, hand lifting to scuff against brightly-coloured scruffy hair. "Shane. Shane, you met -- he's my son." Jax, admittedly, looks barely out of his teens himself, but -- He takes a breath, his fidgeting sliiightly calming as his smile returns. "Oh, oh, um, seven? Wait, no, tomorrow's Sunday, t'won't be open till eight. It is, though. Welcomin', I mean." His hand drops from his hair to turn upward, fingers spreading in midair -- and then vanishing, disappearing till there's just invisible-nothingness at the end of his arm. "T'folks like us. Good coffee, too."
Jack feels back when he notices the way Jax is fidgeting. He looks back up once Jax tells him Shane is his son. "Does being a mutant come with a pass to the fountain of youth or something?" he asks, trying to joke. He nods a bit when he gets the times even if he doesn't have a way to tell time on him. He blinks a few times at Jax's vanishing hand before laughing quietly. He pulls his hood back to reveal the whole lack of a visible head thing. "Now I can't decide what sounds better, the coffee or the place."
Jax laughs, dipping his head as a sudden blush deepens his cheeks, only half-visible in the yellow streetlamp light. "Oh, gosh, no, not hardly. M'kids is all adopted, Shane ain't hardly -- there's only barely six years 'tween us." His nervous fidget actually /stops/ when Jack pulls the hood back, a relieved breath exhaled. He rubs at his cheek again, his hand reappearing as he does. "Oh. Oh. Oh you /really/ ain't there. I -- I thought maybe I -- was so tired I was hallucinatin' or. I /feel/ light?" he explains, awkwardly. "I mean, lightwaves. I can feel them. Or I -- I mean with you I couldn't feel -- sorry," he apologizes sheepishly, fluttering fingers in the air as he ducks his head, embarrassed. "It's real good coffee, though. An' I'm kinda a junkie, I know good coffee. -- I'm Jax, by the way." He steps forward, offering a hand -- his left, nontraditionally, given that the right one is in a splint -- out for a handshake.
"I figured. About adopting, I mean," Jack remarks with an unseen smile. "Just after meeting that guy...I mean Shane...he owns a cafe and he doesn't even look older than me," he shrugs. The teen rubs the back of his neck as Jax explains his power. "Sorry...I'd turn it off if I could," he says, feeling bad he'd made the older man uncomfortable. He shook Jax's and nodded even if the motion couldn't be seen. "I'm um...Jack. I can't say I know much about coffee but I can definitely appreciate a warm drink."
"Oh, no, it was my total -- don't worry 'bout it I just. Long -- night." Jax shakes Jack's hand firmly -- his own hand, calloused-rough and scarred -- is /fiercely/ warm, an odd heat to it that feels somewhere beyond feverish. "Gosh, yeah, 'bout this time'a year it's. Beyond welcome. I -- mm." For a moment Jax hesitates, waffling, teeth sinking down against his lip as he reaches into his bag to snag his phone and check the time. "You got a couple minutes? I mean, if you got a couple minutes I could grab you somethin'. Quick-like. Probl'y nothin' fancy. Coffee. Cider. Ain't exactly protocol but I got keys an' it so happens," his grin is quick and crooked, "that I got an in with the owner."
Even with the glove he's wearing, Jack can feel that heat. He makes a surprised little noise but he isn't botherd by it. He looks curiously at Jax when he checks his phone, hoping he's not keeping him from anything. "Oh...umm...I've got all the time in the world," he replies awkwardly. "Anything is fine, heck...I'll take scraps."
Jax tugs keys back out of the flap of his messenger bag, moving back to the door to unlock the cafe again. "Maybe not so much scraps," he says with a warm laugh, "I was thinkin' more like maybe some hot cider an' some soup if there's some left. I'll see what we got, aright?" He pushes the door open, holding it for Jack. "But Shane'll be back in at eight an' there'll be /actual/ brunch here then."
Jack stares a moment and then smiles. "Oh man...thank you so much," he says as he follows the older man inside quickly. "You have no idea how awesome this is," he says, starting to feel a lot better about the day.