ArchivedLogs:Checking Out a New Friend

Checking Out a New Friend
Dramatis Personae Shelby, Doug
In Absentia	2013-01-26 A trip to the library results in makeovers and possible setups.
Location <NYC> NY Public Library - Midtown East
Guarded by two lions nicknamed Patience and Fortitude, the main branch of New York's public library system provides a space for New York residents to do more than just check out books. The reference library holds thousands of works, and the reading room is a majestic work of architecture in its own right. The computer lab and free internet access is available to all who need it. There's something grand about being able to walk into a massive room with a vaulted ceiling three stories overhead, filled with gleaming wooden tables and immense glass windows that would do as well in a cathedral as a library. It's not unlike getting to pretend you're a king or queen for the day--especially when one's days are taken up with ducking cops and trying to stay unfrozen or unkilled. Case Study: Shelby of the many layers, sausage-legs carrying her down the broad central aisle between tables. There are a few books tucked into the crook of her arm and her coat is unzipped, which is a sure sign that she intends to relax for a little while. Another sign would be the dingy hacky-sack she's bouncing in her hand. The beans inside click softly as she bounces it, and bounces it, and-- "...fuck." That's right, she misses the last catch and it hits the smooth marble floor. Had it fallen straight, she could have picked it up and carried on with only a few dirty looks her way but the angle is wrong. The sack goes skidding across the floor and underneath an occupied table. It's soon followed by Shelby herself, books dropped up top and head ducking down below so she can reach for it. "Watch your...fuck, watch your feet. Sorry!" There is a marked lack of pretend royalty of the occupants of the table; a thin girl with neon pink hair and a nose ring draped in boredom over a stack of books and a blonde young man in glasses and a Columbia sweatshirt that is doing a good job of ignoring his tablemate's sighs. It helps that his attention is on the laptop scattered among the piles of books there. It also helps that he has headphones in, fingers flicking over the keys in a clattering frenzy of industry. "Let's just go, Doug," the girl whines, reaching up to tug at the cord in the blonde's ear, getting his attention and a dirty look. "If you want to go," Doug says, pulling the earphone from the ear closest to his companion. "Just go. I'm not mak--eep!" The blonde scrambles to keep his books from mixing with those suddenly piled on the table, and jerks his feet back as someone goes ducking under. He gently pulls the right earphone free, and bends to peer under the table, moving his feet again helpfully. "Um. Did you lose something?" "Hacky sack!" Shelby is so -cheerful- about invading someone else's personal space. The escapee is discovered under the chair to Doug's left. She grabs it and scrambles backwards on hands and knees, springing up somewhat breathless beside the table. The troublesome item is displayed in the palm of her bandaged left hand as proof that she wasn't being a lech or anything. "Got away," she explains with a grin--before distraction is provided in the form of the other girl. More specifically, by the girl's hair. "Holy -shit-, I love that color. Did you do that yourself? Manic Panic?" She uses her toe to hook a chair leg and pull it out, providing a place to sit. Her books are here, why not? Doug nods at the explanation, offering a small smile for the girl when she produces the offending item. "Just checking," he says lightly, and taps a couple more keys on the keyboard. The monitor shows a skeletal framing of what might be a monster, or a relief map of Guam. It's hard to tell, at this stage. The blonde shifts, and sits a little closer to the screen, already seeming to forget about the newcomer, despite her joining them. Tap, tap, then a frown as the pink-haired girl reaches over and closes the computer firmly. "Rude much?" she asks the blonde, rolling her eyes at the new girl with a 'boys' sort of sigh. Questions about her hair get a bright smile, and she reaches up to tug at her locks with a wrinkle of her nose. "Yeah! Thanks. I did it in our bathroom," she explains. "My real color is so mousy, y'know? So I change it pretty often. I'm thinking about blood red or maybe purple, next." "Our bathroom looks like a Pollack painting," Doug mutters as he winds up his headphones. He winks at the new girl with a sly smile, though, and tilts his head in his companion's direction. "That's Anwyn," he says. "I'm Doug." "He's just my roommate," Anwyn explains helpfully, earning a dark look from the young man. "Well, it's true. We don't date or anything." What -is- that? Shelby's just leaning over to get a better look when the lid is shut and Anwyn's rude inquiry leaves her slumping down like a chastened pup. Oops. It takes only a second to realize her mistake though and she brightens quickly enough. "Tell me about it," she chirps, pulling a lock of her own dull gingery hair forward from beneath her hoodie. The end is wagged at the other girl. "I wish I could pull off purple...but I could maybe do pink, it's..." There is a rich and pregnant pause while her eyes cut between the two. Trouble in paradise? But no! The wink gets a grin. "No idea what that is but it sounds cool, anyway. I'm Shelby." Her head tilts as well, warning of an amused question soon to come. "...okay. So all business, no pleasure, huh? That's cool. I mean, if he's gonna hate on the hair..." "Purple would be hard, with your coloring," Anwyn agrees, giving Shelby a critical look. "But pink would be good! Maybe something softer than mine." She bends, then to pull a bag onto the table and begin digging in it. "I know just the shade," she's saying as she extacts a magazine and beginning to flip through it. She glances up to grin at Shelby, digging an elbow at Doug's side. "He just hates the way the sink looks after," she says, unbothered by such things. "He's a neat freak or something. Not, y'know, anal or anything." "I just like things clean," Doug says in his defense, tilting his head in an attempt to read the spines of Shelby's books. "Pollack was an artist who was famous for his splatter technique," he explains distantly, pulling out a pair of glasses and slipping them on unconsciously as he tries to get a better look. "Which is a pretty apt description of how Ahn abuses our bathroom sink. What are you reading?" he finally gives up and asks, righting his head. There is a theme to Shelby's book choices: the first is "Into The Skin: The Ultimate Tattoo Sourcebook", serving as a foundation for "Tattoo: A History" and "Bushido". She explains them with a distracted, "Just some shit for this thing I'm working on. How's someone get famous for just splashing paint around? That's kinda dumb." Surely Pollack would be furious if he could hear her. Right. "But clean is cool," she goes on to say, in the breezy manner of someone who rarely concerns themselves with such mundane details. "Not that there's anything -wrong- with anal. If that's your thing." The joke is delivered without looking up, because she's recently discovered the joys of deadpan delivery. So Shelby just remains outwardly focused on the magazine--and it isn't all feigned, because Anwyn knows how to make a pitch and Shelby is biting. "This what you guys do? Read hair magazines and..." she trails off with eyebrows raised, allowing one or the other to fill in the gap. "I have no idea," Doug admits, offering a wider smile that actually shows some teeth. "Something about the composition. Art is kind of lost on me, unless it's computer-generated." He motions to his laptop as he says this, fingers twitching as if he might sneak it open under Anwyn's distraction. But he's examining the books once they're turned his way. "Huh. You going to be a tattoo arti-- HA!" Deadpan delivery gets a bark of laughter from him that earns some serious hissing from nearby readers, and gains the attention of his roommate, finally. "You're going to get us thrown out of here," she warns, even as she's sliding the magazine across the table in Shelby's direction. It's folded back to a picture of a pop singer with hair the color of cotton candy. "That's the color that'll look good on you," the girl says confidently, then answers the question with a giggle. "Hardly. I actually work in a coffee shop in Chelsea, and Doug is a freshman at Columbia. Hair's just a hobby of mine." "More like an obssession," Doug says playfully, using Anwyn's good mood to actually slip his laptop open again, bringing up the skeletal structure. "I keep telling her to enroll in a cosmetology school." He taps a couple of keys, and the structure is covered in a skin that reveals it is monster, not Guam. "What do you do, Shelby?" Negative attention is just as good as the positive stuff and with Shelby getting -both- after her joke, she's happy as a clam--but she fakes good behavior by at least covering her mouth as she snickers along. "Nah, they only throw you out if you keep it up or if some dick complains a lot," she assures Anwyn, reaching for the magazine afterwards. The picture earns considerable interest as it's tipped this way and that. "I might have to do this. I mean, not me, I'd fuck it up something awful but I know a guy. This is pretty sweet, thanks!" The magazine is set on the table and flattened out so that Shelby can leaf through the rest of it. "Chelsea? Huh, is it...what's the name. Montague's? I know a chick who works out there, s'nice." Her attention is divided between pictures and Not-Guam, back and forth. "I'm not a tattoo artist. More like, um. Homeless bum," she adds, her grin making it difficult to discern whether this is truth or fiction. "But maybe one day. What's that?" "I wish I worked at Montague's," Anwyn says with a wrinkle of her nose. "The place I work in is a dump called The Grinder. Which I think is stupid, because you wouldn't believe how many people think we're a sandwich shop." She rolls her eyes at the memory of said ignorant people (or perhaps management), and leans forward, almost over Doug's computer to tap the picture. "I think it would really look good," she repeats. "Really striking." Doug grins at Shelby's question, and rotates the laptop after Anwyn retreats so that the girl can see the screen better. "This is a Groar," he says. "It's a monster I'm working on for the video game I'm designing." He grins a bit shyly, and ducks his head. "I, uh, like to mess with computers a little." "He's, like, /crazy/ with the computer skills," Anwyn interjects, pulling a bit of her hair forward to inspect it as she sinks back in her chair. "Like, seriously mad hacker." "Why don't you apply or something? I know Mel's like, -always- working her ass off and tired, they could probably use the help. I think, anyway." Shelby drops her voice to confide in a stage whisper, "And you could help her with her hair and her makeup. She -so- needs a spa day." Not that Shelby is entirely certain of what constitutes a spa day but it sounds nice. With a grin, she taps the page of the magazine. "You mind if I take this? So I can show the dude?" While she's waiting on a go for magazine-stealing, her eyes swing over to study the... "Groar? Huh. You like, got the muscles in there and everything." Which is -fascinating-. Especially for someone who determines movement based on things like that. Say, when they want to make it realistic, the way the Groar turns its head to stare out of the screen. "Damn, that's fierce." "Really?" Anwyn sits up at the information, her eyes lighting up. "Hey, thanks! I'll do it. And I'm always down for makeovers. If your guy can't help, let me know, and I can do it for you." "Oh, yeah,' the blonde answers, grinning a bit as he examines the screen. "People want it super-real, these days. They'll ream you if it's not -- " Doug is frowning deeply at the computer screen when the Groar moves, fingers tapping the keyboard with accusatory force. "Huh. That's weird. I didn't..." he wrinkles his nose, and furrows his brow, shifting closer to the screen. "What do you mea...that's not..." he FROWNS, now, and types a bit faster. "C'mon...." "Oh, crap," Anwyn says, offering Shelby an apologetic look. "He's entering Glitch Mode." Shelby doesn't really want to pass on a makeover but she's a little distracted at the moment--this is funny! No further attempt is made to hijack the beast in the making but she does watch, eyes sparkling dangerously and a laugh trapped behind a bitten lip. "Yeah? Is Glitch Mode bad? If you throw your laptop, Doug, you're gonna -really- get thrown out of here," she warns. The magazine is closed and idly rolled between her hands. La la la, nothing to see here, just an innocent girl into hair color... Except Doug's efforts seem to have goaded the Groar into sitting--and then pawing up in a canine "beg". "Tell you what, if you want, I can totally name drop you to Mel and see if she can help. If it works, makeovers seem like a fair trade, huh?" Shelby goes on, picking up the thread of the earlier conversation. "--son of a bitch," Doug mutters when the Groar sits down, and his fingers are really thumping the keys, drawing a dirty look from the next table. "I don't understand...the code..." the blonde reaches up to rub at his temple, furrowing his brow even deeper as the monster refuses to comply. A few more of these attempts, and Doug is standing suddenly, and giving his laptop THE BIRD before he's stalking off into the stacks, muttering darkly. Anwyn watches the whole interchange with a bored expression before turning to Shelby with a bright grin. "He'll never throw that laptop," she says sagely. "It's, like, his best friend or something. Glitch Mode just means that he's forgotten anything but that computer exists." She looks off into the stacks. "He'll be back, when he cools off." The offer gets her attention back to the girl at the table. "Oh, hey, I'd appreciate that," she says, digging through Doug's laptop bag to produce a piece of paper that she scribbles a phone number down on. "I appreciate it," she says, sliding the paper towards the other girl. "That's my number, if she'll go for it. Or if you need help with your hair." Oops. It's all fun and games until someone's furious with their hardware. Shelby doesn't think to hide the sudden flash of guilt that claims her expression when Doug marches off. She watches him go and by the time she's turned back to Anwyn, amusement has slid over the more telling emotion. On the screen, the Groar relaxes back into its former untampered with stance. "Gotcha. I know some folks like that. Here..." Shelby tears the paper in half and gestures for the pen to scratch down her own number. "No prob. I can't promise nothing but Mel's good people, y'know? Real sweet. And hell, if she can't help, you can always still just turn in an application, right? If working's your thing," she says with a return of her grin. "I might take you up on the hair thing. Don't think I've had it cut in...god, years, y'know? You could go crazy with it, if you wanted." Anwyn's eyes narrow speculatively at Shelby before she smiles widely, and bobs her head. "Oh, for sure! I'll stop by and fill out an application tomorrow, but a good word can't hurt, y'know?" She runs her fingers through her hair as she peers at the other girl's hair. "Oh, wow. Really? I do great haircuts. I cut all my friends' hair. I did Doug's!" she notes, pointing as the blonde re-joins them. Doug doesn't look much happier than when he left, but he now has a couple of dated-looking code books under his arm, and he drops them heavilly on the table. "You did Doug's what?" he asks, FROWNING again when he sees the Groar in its static state. Then he's sliding back into his seat, typing furiously. "Well, that doesn't make any sense," he says, apparently to the laptop, as he types. "Did Doug's what?" he repeats. "Hair," Anwyn says, with a roll of her eyes. "Shelby might let me do hers." "Oh," Doug says in a distracted voice. "Yeah. She cuts good hair. You should let her." Then he's sighing, and throwing his hands up, off the keyboard. "Okay," he fumes at the laptop. "Have it your way." Then, the problem Solved, he turns back to Shelby. "So, is that your whole gig? Homeless bum?" "Oh, totally. I mean, if they hear your name before they see it...what do you think? Shave it all off?" Shelby helps the creative process by reaching up to shove her hood back. The hair beneath is, to put it plainly, a scraggly mess. There are split ends on her split ends, which she demonstrates when she lifts a little to hold it for inspection. But before the beauty seminar can go further, Doug is there. They say confession is good for the soul--maybe not so much for the body, given the expression he's wearing. Shelby's instinct for self-preservation keeps her from commenting on the laptop or its contents, for now. Better to smile like an innocent bystander, which she does. "I busk," she clarifies, "when it's not too cold out or whatever." Her covered hand is lifted, dropped. "Summers, I do those big chalk drawings, y'know? Like, the 3D ones? Alice down the hole and all that." Anwyn sucks air in between her teeth when the hair is revealed, and *tchs* as she peers at it. "Nah," she decides. "You don't have to go all Anne Hathaway in Les Mis with it, but we could take it down to a pixie cut, like she wore at the Golden Globes." She leans forward to flip through the magazine and finds a picture of the actress at said event. "With that cut, and the pink hair, you would /totally/ look hot." She seems excited about the idea, flipping between the pictures. "/Super/ hot." Doug seems impressed by the information on Shelby's means of support, and he lifts his eyebrows, leaning forward. "Chalk drawings? Like in Mary Poppins?" He grins widely. "That's really cool. So, you're like a real artist and shit." He wrinkles his nose. "I wish I could actually draw. I can just do stick figures, on paper. I do much better in an electronic medium." His gaze flicks to the bandaged hand, and he frowns. "What instrument do you play?" "I dunno about -real-, since I kinda cheat." And that's all Shelby will say about that, because grinning is good. She grins back at Doug to encourage it. "Sticks figures are still drawing though. I mean, hell, there's folks out there making good money on the internet with stick figure comics. And I think I'd probably break shit if I tried that." She gestures again to indicate the laptop and the mysteries it contains therein. "I'm pretty good with a guitar, decent with a banjo or ukulele. Really, I do whatever brings in the tips...oh -hey-." She is successfully pulled away from shop talk by hair talk. "That's pretty sweet! Doesn't look like I'd need to do much with it either, huh?" "Cheat?" Doug's all over that, his eyes dancing. "What do you do? Trace 'em?" He chuckles, and taps his laptop gently, as if fondly apologizing for his temper. "Computers aren't too hard to work with, for that kind of thing. If you want, I can show you how to use a scanner, and get some of your work on the internet. Maybe someone will see it and make you famous." He grins, and taps his temple meaningfully. "You could be an internet superstar, like the Beeb." "It would be /totally/ easy to keep up," Anwyn agrees. "And cool in the summer! You know how humid it can get." She seems interested in the superstar talk, and she brightens. "And I could be your stylist! That would be cool!" They've both hit on something -hilarious- because Shelby gives a sudden sharp laugh. "Oh god. Please, no...last time someone told me I'd be a superstar, shit went downhill fast. You don't even know. I don't think I'm supposed to get famous or anything. But, uh...the hair, sure. I like it. I mean, who's gonna say no to being super hot?" The scanner, maybe less so. The teenager shifts in her chair and reaches for the hacky sack to fidget with it. Bounce, bounce. "I don't trace, exactly. Just, uh...well." They're both so nice! Could it be she's developing a conscience? It must be. Her eyes cut sidelong at Doug. "I'm sorry for fucking with your monster. That's kinda what I -really- do. Just...move shit around. Pictures and stuff." Both roommates seemed momentarily stunned by the revelation, Doug blinking slowly and Anwyn's mouth hanging open slightly. The silence would be deafening, if it weren't for the fact they're in, y'know, a /library/. There's just the sound of rustling paper and the occasional cough from somewhere. "Oh, my God," the pink-haired girl breathes, her eyes lighting up as she leans over her room mate. "You're a mutant? No shit?" She smiles, and wrinkles her nose. "That. Is. /Awesome/. I knew you were cool." Doug shifts, and runs his hand soothingly along his laptop. "I /knew/ it wasn't the code," he says, before he offers a smile. "That was pretty slick." He stretches his torso to peer over Anwyn at the screen. "That's kind of a neat thing to be able to do. Does it work on photographs, too? Like in Ahn's magazine?" Shelby is braced for the outcry that she's certain will come--only to be disappointed. Or perhaps more relieved than disappointed. "Yyyeah," she says, better than pleased with Anwyn's compliment but still caught off-guard. "I'm working on trying not to mess around with it. I mean...assholes, sure. But you guys are pretty cool too, y'know? I shouldn't have screwed with your whatever. The code stuff." Somewhere, Melinda might be suffering a brief moment of satisfaction without understanding why. "Slick...slick dickery. That's what I do, hey?" Shelby likes it! "Any kinda picture. Drawings, photos. It's why I had the tattoo books, I'ma ink up now without having to spend the cash. You could have a Groar on your ass if you wanted, Doug." "We're totally cool," Anwyn says. "There's a guy who comes into the shop who's a mutant. He has these tiny feathers along his hairline. I don't know his name, though." She shrugs, and wrinkles her nose. "But a person's a person, right? It doesn't matter what they look like or what they can do." "Well, there are some who are scary," Doug says slowly. "But the very few I know I've met have been pretty decent people." He frowns at the explanation of the books, and tilts his head. "How does that work? You can actually transfer them from one surface to another?" He shakes his head at the offer, pulling up his shirt sleeve to show off a small line of tiny numbers inked on his forearm; a string of ones and zeros. "I've already got the ink I need,' he says. "But thanks." "I'll /totally/ take a free tattoo," Anwyn says, lifting her eyebrows hopefully. "Like, something with flowers." Flower tattoos speak to the Japanese style, so Shelby leans forward to pull that book off of the stack. "It can be scary," Shelby agrees, "even just figuring out you can do this shit. And then when someone uses it the wrong way..." This must be what evolution looks like--not only of DNA but also of attitudes. She's shaking her head at herself while she's flipping through the pages. But she's not so engrossed that she can't spare Doug's tattoo a glance, though it leaves her looking puzzled. "That's it? Kinda small, huh? What's it mean?" Shelby's stopped at a page decorated with a giant opened chrysanthemum. Coincidence, that it's the same shade as Anwyn's hair? While the teen is grilling Doug, the flower flips open and begins "swimming" with its many petals, sliding from page to table on a course to Anwyn. It even flows over the laptop along the way, briefly painting the keys bright pink. "It says 'Cypher' in binary," Doug says, pulling his sleeve back in place. Shelby's stunned reaction gets a mild frown, but the blonde lets it lie. "A friend of mine in high school saddled me with the name, and I liked it enough to keep it." He grins, and leans forward to watch the progress of the flower across the table, wincing slightly at the temporary decoration of his keyboard. "That is pretty amazing," he says when the flower passes him and moves towards Anwyn. "But, won't that leave an empty space in the book?" "That is /so/ fucking cool," Anwyn breathes when the flower nears her. "I wish I was a mutant and had a cool power.' Then she's pivoting, and hiking up her tank top. "Can you put it in the middle of my back?" She looks over her shoulder. "Like a tramp stamp?" "Cypher? Hey, that's cool. Better than the one I had when I was a kid." Which she -won't- share. Because. "And yeah," as can be seen at a glance, the page now a clean and empty white, "but I'm not like, bending the pages or anything." That being a worse sin for book lovers, right? Shelby taps her finger against the table and instructs Anwyn, "Put your hand down so it can crawl over." The flower is floating jellyfish-like at the table's edge and the girl's forehead is rumpling as she concentrates on keeping it animate. It is a focus that keeps her from glancing around to see if anyone's interest has been piqued by Anwyn's antics with the shirt. "It might tickle a little." "Oh, I had plenty of the other kinds of names, too," Doug says with a chuckle. "Maybe that's why I liked this one so much. Because it was the first cool nickname I had." He watches as Anwyn complies with the instruction, his own gaze flicking up to gauge the reactions of those nearby. Luckily, this is New York, and Anwyn would have to be doing a table dance for it to garner any /real/ attention. She's just pulling up her shirt; no big. "That's a shame, though, that the book has an empty place. You can't duplicate an image?" His fingers twitch before sliding to the keyboard, where they begin tapping out something. "I mean, do you work with pigments, or the actual /image/? Because if you're working with the inks, it stands to reason you could possibly just make a copy by moving the topmost layer." He shrugs. "The original image would be faded, I guess, but it seems like something you could maybe do?" Anywn has nothing to offer but a soft giggle when the flower begins to crawl over the back of her hand and up towards her shoulder. "Nah, I'd have to draw it twice. It's the picture, see? There's guys who can do light, or color, but for me it's the whole thing. I can spread it around if it's already there, make it bigger or smaller. But..." Although he's snared her attention with the talk of layers--mostly because she doesn't quite get it. "Never tried to split them though. Not -that- way." Better she not begin now, however. Shelby chews on her lip as she concentrates on Anwyn and the swimming flower. The transition from table to skin was a little dicey, leaving her frowning, but once she's made that leap it goes smoothly. Up the shoulder, a lap around the neck and then down the back to spread in the tell-tale curve...of a classic tramp stamp. "There," Shelby says with great satisfaction. "Huh," Doug seems surprised that mutant powers come in such variety and similarity. His eyebrows lift as he watches the flower make its lap and settle. "Is that hard, to do that?" he asks, furrowing his brow. "I mean, you seem pretty intense when you're moving the image. Does it hurt?" He finishes whatever he's typing, closing the laptop before anything can be seen. "Or do you just need to concentrate really hard?" Anwyn is busy inspecting her back over her shoulder. "Holy shit. That is cool," she gushes, dropping her shirt back into place. "Now I /have/ to do your hair to say thank you." The questions draw a somewhat sheepish smile. Shelby has to confess: "Usually it isn't that hard but I only just figured out how to make them move from one thing to another, y'know? It's like...I dunno, taking a bike off a sidewalk onto gravel? It feels different. Back when it started, I used to get these bitching headaches and big stuff, like...murals or whatever, I can't do anything -but- concentrate when I do those. First time I tried to do a billboard, I got a nosebleed. That sucked." Then she's beaming as Anwyn declares the effort worth it. "Awesome! I dunno how long it'll stay but I can always slap on a new one if it washes off or whatever." In other word, thanks for being her guinea pig. Doug frowns, and looks over at Anwyn, who's already got her phone out, and is trying to take a picture of her lower back. "You just figured out how to do that?" he asks, unable to keep his voice from sounding impressed. "That was pretty cool." The mention of headaches gets another frown, and the blonde reaches up to rub the side of his head. "I get migraines," he says sympathetically. "But I don't have any mutant powers." He frowns. "At least, I don't think I do." "Unless you count being a computer freak and some weirdo who understand a hundred languages," Anwyn says without looking up from her phone as she posts. "Dude can speak to /anyone/. We went to the U.N,, and it was embarrassing. He nearly started an international incident." "That wasn't my fault," Doug says with a huff. "The Greek ambassador shouldn't have tried to open his remarks with a Bernie Madoff joke. I just pointed that out." He grins at Shelby, and pats his laptop proudly. "Through the headsets of the entire assembly." "The other day, yeah." Shelby doesn't preen over it though, just absently rubs her hand and shrugs. "I'd been trying for awhile. Guess brains need exercise just like bodies. Here." She reaches out for the phone--being a giving, generous sort of person, she volunteers to snap the shot for Anwyn. And while she does so, she listens to the story of the Greek ambassador and the U.N. with amusement--and a little bit of confusion. "So you can hack computers -and- speak a hundred languages? That's a lot, dude. You...made your computer talk to all the U.N. computers? Sorry, like I said, I'm shit at computer stuff. But that seems like it'd be kinda hard, huh?" Click, click. "You could tested, y'know? I know a dude." Doug nods. "I guess mutant powers are just like another muscle you have to exercise," he says. "If you want to do something new, you just have to keep at it until the muscle learns it." He grins, and ducks his head shyly at the girl's confusion. "Um...I have a knack for languages," he says. "If I hear enough of one, I can make out what's being said --" "And speak it," Anwyn interrupts, taking the phone from Shelby and grinning at the picture. "It's freaky." "It's not that freaky," Doug protests. "People would say the computer stuff was weirder," he nods at Shelby. "It's not /that/ hard getting computers to talk to each other. Even if some of them are stubborn. Just have to find the right code, and it's like unlocking a door." He seems equally shy and proud of this ability, but Shelby's offer has him frowning. "Tested? Tested how?" He leans forward, lowering his voice and looking around with a small furrow of his brow. "You mean a genetic test?" "That's not a knack, dude, that's like...a superpower," Shelby not so solemnly informs Doug, trying not to laugh. "I mean, I'm a freak and even -I- know that. Maybe it's -because- computers have languages too? Right? If they talk to each other. So you can speak human, computer...we should see if we can find some dolphins or something for you to talk to. Maybe Martians?" Okay, so she's -probably- teasing him. "That -is- awesome though, I wish I could do it. And yeah, a test," she goes on, lowering her voice as well, "I guess like a blood test? See if you've got the gene. I bet there's tons of mutants out there who've got it but don't know they do 'cause whatever they do isn't flashy." "Huh." Doug seems a bit stunned by the realization that his ability might be something more than aptitude. "I just thought I was good at it," he confesses. "I mean, it doesn't seem as fantastic a power as yours, or one of those guys who can actually fly." He seems to be in agreement with the 'not knowing about flashy powers' sentiment. The thought of talking to dolphins or Martians gets him chuckling. "That would be useful," he says. "Maybe I could single-handedly thwart an alien invasion or something by talking them out of it." Anwyn is beaming, even as she posts Shelby's picture of her new tattoo on whatever social media she's plugged into. "That would be so cool, having a mutant for a roomie," she says, thumbs flying over the screen of her phone. "That would /totally/ raise my street cred." Doug laughs, and holds up his hands. "I guess that settles it. How can I resist the chance that I might boost Ahn's pop index?" He taps the table with a finger, and lifts it to point at Shelby with a grin. "Do you have to set it up, or is it some sort of clinic-type thing?" He waggles his eyebrows. "Do I need to know a pass phrase or something? 'The phoenix rises at midnight' or the like?" "Maybe you -are- good at it. I mean, Einstein wasn't a mutant." Shelby pauses. "Probably." That may not have been the best example. She starts over. "Either way, it's pretty sweet, being able to talk to anyone, right? And hell, New York's got a ton of folks who talk different. People'll be all over you...maybe even more if you -aren't- a mutant," she adds with a glance at Anwyn. The other girl's enthusiasm -is- a match for her own but Shelby's own sparkle dims a little. "Right now, we're not super popular, huh? But hey, once we rule the world..." There, she's grinning again. "Nah, it's just this guy I crash with. I could give him your number, if you want. Or just stab you and bring him some of your blood?" "That's what makes it so cool!" Anwyn says, looking up from her phone and beaming at Shelby. "It's clandestine, like in Casablanca. And all of my friends are mutant-friendly. They think like me -- people are people." Doug smiles a bit, his brow furrowing at the explanation. "I'm not into that 'rule the world' business, but it would be cool to know. I mean, even if I don't have an actual power, it'd be nice to know if I at least carry the gene." He lifts his eyebrows at the offer, and holds out a palm in a staving-off gesture. "Ah, no thanks. You can just have him call me." "Is he cute?" Anwyn wants to know. "I could do with a bit of cute." She gives Doug a knowing sidelong glance before lifting her eyebrows at Shelby as if to say the question isn't necessarily for her, then bends back over her phone, giggling at the text that pings just then. "Clandestine," Shelby repeats with visible delight. "I fucking love that. It kinda rolls off the tongue. Kinda like "joke" does. Joooke." This is said with a pointed look at Doug--poor Doug, both of the ladies teaming up on him. "And fuuuunnnnnny." Fortunately for the number exchange, there is a piece of paper right there with one number already on it. She slides it over so the new one can be written down for passing on. "The doc's pretty easy on the eyes," she goes on to say, more amused than she -should- be. "He'd probably like you." A dramatic pause ensues. "Doug." It doesn't take a mutant power to read the teasing he's getting, but it might help. The blonde blushes furiously at the ribbing from the pair of females, and coughs, busying himself with writing his number down for the girl. "You can keep my number, too," he says with a bashful grin. "I mean, since we're friends and all, now. You can call me and junk, if you want to hang out or whatever." The comments about the doc threaten to set his face completely on fire, and he stares at the table top. "Well," he says in a voice that doesn't quite reach steady, "I guess that's good. I mean, I try to get along with everyone." Oh, look! there's the corner of his laptop. Maybe it needs a good picking-at. Beside him, Anwyn just snickers, not trusting herself to look directly /at/ the bright-red blonde. "Oh yeah?" For that, Shelby will knock off the teasing--surprised, perhaps, and a little pleased as well. She has a glance at the paper before it's folded and slipped into a pocket. Then it's time to play it cool because blushing is the -worst-. "Pretty awesome, walking into the library and getting to check out friends instead of books. I mean..." Alright, so she needs to work on her cool act a little more. Taking a page from Doug's methods, she busies herself with closing the book she'd stolen Anwyn's tattoo from. Plop, back on the pile. "Should I get my hair colored first, Anwyn? Before you chop it all off?" "Hey, I'm always up for making friends," Doug says, the color in his face returning to normal as the subject shifts. "I mean, it never hurts to have as many friends as possible, right?" He grins, and lifts his shoulders. "And Ahn's about two and a half makeovers from you being her BFF, so I'd say we all made quite a haul today." Anwyn looks up at the question, and offers Shelby a wide smile. "It's easier to get it colored first, then cut," she says with confidence. "But you should come over before that, so I can give you a good shampooing and a hot oil treatment." She looks back at her phone, and makes a distressed noise. "Shit is that the time? I gotta bounce, or I'll be late for work. Call me, Shelby!" she says as she grabs her bag and throws her phone inside. "It was /super/ nice meeting you!" And with that, and an airkiss for Doug, she's /gone/. Doug watches her leave, and grins fondly after her. "She's not kidding," he says to Shelby. "She'll have me hunting your number down, if you don't." It's a good-natured warning, and he leans back in his chair. "So, what's this doctor's name?" he asks, the blush rising faintly as he asks the question. "I mean, so I'll know who he is when he calls." "That makes it a good day, for sur--I will! See ya!" Shelby shifts gears easily enough, going from relaxed conversational to chirpy goodbyes in a blink. Before she falls back into her chair, she pushes it back from the table and partially turns it to make chatting easier on the neck. "Hell, I'm not gonna risk passing up a free makeover. Once things settle down, I'll definitely give her a shout. You too, if the doc doesn't beat me to it." She's captured a lock of her hair and is smoothing it down between her hands, trying to make it lie flat. Just an idle time-wasting bit of fidgeting, while she studies Doug and his blush. A grin slowly surfaces. "Damn," she says for no reason at all. "First name or last name? Last is Saavedro. Doctor Saavedro. He's a...what do they call them? Works with genes? Jenny-something." "Sweet," Doug says of future phone calls. "Ahn will love that. She hoards friends, you know." He chuckles, and wrinkles his nose. "Doctor Saavedro," he repeats, the name tripping easily from his lips. "I'll remember that. You mean he's a geneticist?" he asks, nodding. "That sounds about right, if he's developed a test for the mutant gene. Is he a mutant, too?" Shelby inspects a spray of split ends at close range. Her lips purse but she looks back at him when he mentions hoarding. "So long as I don't end up locked in a cage or anything. I'm kinda allergic to bars," she jokes...partially. "I dunno if he developed it but he told me about it. If you're gonna get anyone to test you, it oughta be him. He's a good guy. Like, -really- good. Not a mutant but he's like Anwyn, y'know? People are people and all. Shit, he lets me stay with him and I barely knew the guy when I asked him if I could." "Naw," Doug laughs. "Our apartment doesn't have the room for a cage, and neither of us make enough to feed captives. You're safe." He leans forward to flip his laptop open, and begins typing. "Well, that's good," he says. "That he's a good guy. I'm sure there's folks out there who would use a test like that to make trouble, somehow." He frowns, as if trying to remember something. "But cute is good," he says, shaking his head to clear it, then his eyes widen in realization of his statement. "/Good/. I mean good is good. Shit." He looks like he might crawl under the table, and he leans to peer at the screen, reaching up to adjust his glasses (and possibly block his face). "He sounds like an all right guy. How long have you been crashing at his place?" Shelby makes an exaggerated show of relief, complete with huge sigh and a look of thanks towards the cloud-painted ceiling. "Thank you, God," she intones before righting herself. "And yeah...he's not like those doctors. I was pretty lucky. It's been...Jesus, since before Christmas. Like, forever." She idly twitches her captured hair back and forth through the air, quirt-like, and regards Doug with poorly hidden amusement. "Y'know, you're -allowed- to like dudes. Kinda like how you're allowed to like chocolate ice cream, or bacon. It happens." "Wow. He got a nice place?" Doug's questioning seems distracted as he looks at something on the screen, then another flurry of typing shifts it back to the Groar. "Being a doctor, he probably does, yeah?" The observation gets another blush, and he cranes his head to quirk a grin at the girl. "I know that," he says, wrinkling his nose. "I just...don't want to be one of those guys who's all about looks, y'know? I mean, don't get me wrong. Cute is nice, but I also prefer guys who aren't assholes." He lifts a shoulder, and begins making the Groar mimic the actions Shelby had put him through earlier. "World's hard enough without people being shitty on top of it." "It's okay. Hot water, the stove works..." Among normal people, that probably means no. Shelby leans forward and props her arms on the table to watch as he begins Grouring again. "Looks are important!" she claims. "Sure, nice is important too, and he -is- nice, but you want something that's not gonna make you gag when you wake up next to it, right?" Poor Iolaus. He, like Melinda earlier, should also be suffering an emotion for no discernible reason--but this one would likely be dread. "So the number thing, that -wasn't- you asking me out then? Just to be sure?" she adds, widening her eyes to innocent dimensions. Doug's smile is sly, and he shifts his gaze to roll his eyes in agreement with Shelby's assessment of the importance of looks. "Well, yeah. Okay. I'd prefer not to wake up to something that scares me every morning." He chuckles, and leans back as the question is asked, his own eyes widening. "Oh, um. Well, no. Not like /that/, anyway." His blush is pinker, this time, and centered mostly in his ears. "I mean, yeah, we can go out to a movie or grab some food, but I probably won't be sending you sexy texts or anything." He grins, then. "At least, not ones that are in earnest." Shelby watches with great interest as the blush develop in increments and finally gives in to her own grin when his appears. "Good. I pay by the minute, it pisses me off when I lose money to dick shots," she remarks. "You don't even know how much that happens with straight guys. Seriously. Minding your own business, and bam. Penis." On that note, she pushes her chair back and stands up to reach for her books. "I should go see if I can sneak these into the bathroom so I can ink up before heading back to the doc's. But I'll definitely pass on your number, okay?" Doug makes a face. "Ugh. Guys our age are kind of disgusting," he says. "Gay guys do that, too. Only there's more that they want to show off." He shudders theatrically, and winks, pulling off his glasses and stuffing them in the collar of his sweatshirt. He moves his things into a neat pile, himself, and nods. "Sounds good," he says. "I'm in class most days until 2, and I have a night class on Wednesdays, but he can leave a message. Or he can text me. I route those to my laptop during classes." He smiles, then, and holds up a hand. "It was great meeting you. Call me, and we'll grab coffee or something." "Seriously," Shelby agrees, more than happy to shudder along with him. The books are held cradled in her arms and she is set to go, once the tremors fade. "I'll let him know! I gave Anwyn my number too, if you're feeling neglected or whatever," she adds with another grin, before setting off in search of a lady's washroom. Art heist, here she comes.