ArchivedLogs:Derailing Plans

Derailing Plans
Dramatis Personae Dex, Jackson	2013-12-21 '
Location <NYC> Tompkins Square Park - East Village
Small but popular, this tree-lined park is a perfect centerpiece to the eclectic neighborhood it resides in. Home to a number of playgrounds and courts from handball to basketball, it also houses a dog park and chess tables, providing excellent space for people watching -- especially during its frequent and often eccentric festivals, from Wigstock to its yearly Allen Ginsberg tribute Howl festival. Sitting on top of a bench -- not on the bench part itself, but seated on the backrest with boots on the seat, sits Dex, in his heavy winter wear, but the hood is back. He's partially huddled, some kind of object being protected curled inside one arm against his chest, or favoring an arm injury by keeping it close. His eyes are out on the park in a vacant, distant expression... or lack thereof, on this darkened afternoon, as the winter sun gets lower. Jackson tends to be rather eye-catching, and today is no different. Vividly bright in asymmetrical blue fringey skirt worn over excessively /shiny/ metallic leggings, faintly sparkly purple Doc Martens, a black sweater shot through with shinier silver threads. His hair is bright lime-green, makeup sparkly purple as well. He's got his phone out as he makes his way through the park, swiping off a quick text message as he heads for home. Dex calls out but it's weak and the distance is too larget at first; fortunately it looks like Dex placed himself well to simply wait a bit and try again. He opts to lift free arm and wave a little bit, unsure if he'll attract Jackson's attention or not. The waving does draw Jackson's attention, almost immediately; getting just off a shift as a security guard has left him perhaps more than even his usual state of /alert/ to the other people around him. His brows raise, single eye shifting to focus on Dex; there's a very slight press of lips that follows and his gaze moves immediately /away/, scanning the area around Dex for a very long moment before he actually approaches. He studies the boy's face, slowly lowering his hand to return his phone to the messenger bag at his hip. "You look terrible. Have you seen a doctor recently?" "Yeah, went to the clinic, fixed me up some," Dex says, without bothering to try to climb down yet, or perhaps he just likes his perch. He sounds pretty deadpan about the experience. And looks extremely pale and exhausted, perhaps, but doesn't have any obvious wounds. He's still holding his left arm in tightly and awkwardly, though, defensive, but it doesn't tighten or move due to Jackson being closer. "Also hi," Dex says, simply. "I came to sit to see if you'd come by," he adds. Jackson's eye flicks down to Dex's arm, but then back up to his face. He rocks a half-step backwards, weight shifting onto a heel. "Why?" is his only simple response. "I remember you talking about understanding what you can do, control," Dex answers. "Anyway I had an idea. And I decided I should talk to somebody before I did it, in case things don't go well," Dex says, more slowly, as if trying to collect all of his thoughts into something coherent. "Talkin' to somebody first is prob'ly a good idea." Jackson's thick Southern drawl is slow, too, though his just sounds -- careful. Cautious. His head tips slightly back, eye searching the darkening sky. "Why me? Why don't you talk to somebody at home? Folks who actually /know/ you seem like a better call for potential mishaps." That seems to weaken Dex a little bit. "Well I only know a few people with abilities. And what if Gramma tossed me out? She'd think that I was responsible for --- No, no, no." Dex automatically hugs the arm closer, and there's a quiet little weak noise from that location. "I don't know what to do," Dex says, with some frustration. "Never mind," Dex says. There's a slow tightening in Jackson's jaw, his arms crossing against his chest to curl fingers tight against the opposite biceps. He draws in a long breath, holds it a second, and lets it out just as slowly. Then a second. Around /him/ the dim evening light seems just a smidge darker than the rest of the park. "What are you plannin' on doing?" Dex squints just a bit at the light, but isn't sure, and says nothing about it. "Well, I was-- well first," Dex shakes his head, "This first," Dex hurries, and uncurls his arm a bit too quickly, but mostly to show what he has. It's a tiny calico kitten, smudged with dirt, and while it doesn't look dead, it moves, and cries a little-- that probably doesn't mean a lot since Dex is present. But Dex insists anyway, "I brought my proof. He was dead, somebody dumped him. I saved him." Dex isn't being mean to it, he has a washcloth he's got around it. "Not a zombie. He's /alive/," Dex finishes, as if that were the most important part of bringing it, and he actually has some inflection on his tone, maybe worry. "See? Isn't he." Jackson glances down at the kitten, but only for a second. His shoulder shrugs quickly, head giving a small shake. "How'm I to know? You puppet corpses around. Could be alive. Coulda never been dead t'start. Could just be you pullin' its strings. That still," he says evenly, "don't tell me nothin' about what you're /planning/ on doing?" Dex doesn't like that, and he draws in the kitten with some of a scowl. "But he's breathing, he--- ...Fine," Dex says. "Forget the kitten, then," Dex says, clearly unsure how to continue when his proof didn't work out. "I want to save a person. I think the zombie part is the problem. So I'm going to get into the morgue," Dex says, starting to work on climbing off the bench. Jackson takes in another breath, and then lets it back out slowly. "No." For a moment that's all he says, head shaking once. "I mean, I sure can't stop you, but I ain't gonna help you neither. Past times I've met you you ain't done /nothing/ but --" He stops here, pressing his lips together and closing his eye briefly. "I talked about understandin' what you can do, but there's right and wrong ways t'go about that. And even if you /can/ bring someone back to life -- breaking into the morgue to play God for some stranger who may not even /want/ it --" He shakes his head quickly. "That ain't your right an' I ain't gonna be party to it." He reaches into his bag, digging in a flap until he finds a receipt -- groceries, largely uninteresting -- to print a name (Jax) and a number in spiky neat writing on its back. He folds the paper in half, not actually /giving/ it to Dex so much as just setting it down on the bench. "There are people who can help. People with a whole lotta experience helpin' mutants figure themselves out. You feel interested, you give me a call. But I ain't toying with people's lives for it." "I just explained that the /point/ is to find out what I can do. I don't WANT to go to the morgue; and I wasn't going to break in: just collapse and not move," Dex says, getting an edge of frustration. He doesn't really emote or get emotional, as if everything was just kind of dampered or fogged. "That's the best I had, trying to find some positive to this awful thing I do," Dex continues, as if fighting against emotions that are getting strangled. "I just want to know who I am. So sure, tell me about helpy people, if it's better-- is that on the paper?... Because I get it-- I may be better off destroyed, if things get much worse. Maybe I'm worse than a zombie. But I gotta know, somehow." "/My/ number's on the paper." Jackson doesn't sound like very much except faintly tired, his weight shifting back slightly. "An' you don't seem like you're murdering nobody, so you definitely ain't at zombie level. I don't know what you're on about, though, I sure as heck didn't say nothin' about you being better off destroyed. Alls I said is toying with strangers ain't the way to experiment." "Well, if my ability is evil, then destroyed... maybe. But... I tried to stop zombies from being crazy. I couldn't do that, all I can do is make them truly die... and I don't want to do that either. I do still think I saved this kitten, whether you believe me or not. It didn't deserve to be in a dumpster," Dex murmers, more quietly about the kitten comments. "If I can save somebody like the kitten, that didn't deserve to--... yeah. I guess I didn't really think about if I SHOULD. Just if I could." Dex moved from the top of the bench to sit on it properly, but does take the paper scrap. "But I'm interested in people that can help figure this out, if I'm not gonna be a science project." "You ain't gonna be no science project." Jackson says this rather emphatically, his hands tensing again around his arms. "An' there ain't no such thing as no ability that's /evil/. Evil takes intent. Abilities is just genetics. S'what you /do/ with them that matters. An' sometimes people do kinda draw the short straw there. Have abilities where it don't seem like there's much positive /to/ do. But whether there is or ain't your /ability/ ain't evil. S'the choices you make that define you." His teeth click down against his lip, wiggling at the lip rings there. "You in school right now?" "Supposed to be, but I haven't gone since my family, um." Dex stalls out on continuing that remark. "And I was real sick for a while after, so I was out for that. That still happens, so I'm... I don't know. It didn't seem to matter much anymore, and I think they'd send me away, looking like this." Jax's gaze settles thoughtfully on Dex's face for a moment, but despite the curiosity that briefly sparks there he doesn't press. "I know a place that'll take you. An' help. Figure out about your abilities. Won't care nothin' for how you look. But, I mean -- you're a minor, I think; can't go off an' enroll you in school without talkin' to your legal guardian about the switch. We don't hafta say it's cuz you're a mutant if you think they wouldn't respond well to that, though we do /also/ have a fair bit of experience helpin' kids navigate lettin' their families know." "I don't know. She mostly just watches TV. I guess I could tell her if I left out the 'dead' part of things, I don't know what she'll say. Maybe nothing, she's not really... friendly anymore," Dex says, but puzzles on the other part of it. "So-- It's a school in this city for mutants? If there's no dead things there, that'd be nice. I feel them all over the city," Dex says, in a way that suggests that he doesn't like that factor, but pats the kitten's washcloth covered blob a little. "If y'feel animals s'well as people I'd guess there's a fair few dead things everywhere," Jackson answers with a look down to the kitten. He tenses noticeably at the word 'city', jaw tightening again. "Not in New York, no, just outside in Westchester. Winter break just started, so there ain't gonna be no classes till after the holidays, but I could talk t'the administration, arrange a time t'take you down and see if s'a good fit for you." "Well, okay. I'll put off my morgue appointment," Dex says, in a way that suggests he tried to joke but without much tone it might be hard to weigh it. "I don't have any paper---- but could just put my name in your phone," Dex suggests. If Jackson is willing to take it, Dexter will give his full name, as well as his cell number. Jackson slips his phone back out of his bag, adding Dex's full name and number to his contacts. He nods, holding the phone tightly in one hand. "I'll talk to the school when I get home. S'holidays comin' up, things likely t'be kinda hectic -- could arrange a day 'tween Christmas and New Year to go see? Then if you're still interested, you can start after break's over, always takes a bit to get back into the swing of things after New Year anyhow." The kitten has started to really mewl pitifully, and Dex awkwardly tries to sooth it. It's noisy, in it's shrill little way. But he seems to be paying attention. "A week... okay. I will try to heal up during that time so I can think better," Dex says a little hesitantly. "But will they need me to demonstrate that I'm a mutant?" Dex asks, but nods anyway. "No. Won't need no kinda demonstration," Jackson assures Dex with a small crooked smile. "Jus' need to talk t'you, see if the place is a good fit. An' --" He hesitates, biting down at his lip again. "Try to avoid messin' with bitey dead things, meantime? S'just -- a boatload of trouble." Dex shakes his head no, "No, if I'm healing up I won't touch any other dead things," he says, as if that were part of healing, or that messing with dead things drains him in some way. "...I really did revive this kitten," he insists, as if that were important to him to convey. He stands fully, pushing the paper into his pants pocket. "That's good," Jackson says. "I mean, if you really can do that there's good to be done with it. Just --" He draws in a breath, taking a step back. "Just gotta figure out the right way to go about it." His fingers drum at the edge of his phone. "I'll be in touch," he promises. "Soon." Dex nods at that. "Doesn't do any good to revive it if he dies again," Dex says softly. "Bye, Mr. Jax," Dex says, starting to head back away down the path, with a stilted, frozen-up sort of pace, but seems to get a little better as he gets going. "G'bye, Dex. Y'take care." Jackson doesn't move, at first, teeth still wiggling at his lip ring and his brow deeply furrowed as he watches Dex start to go. He swallows hard, straightening up and slipping his phone back into his bag as he finally turns to head back towards his apartment.