ArchivedLogs:Makes the World Go 'Round

Makes the World Go 'Round
Dramatis Personae Hive, Theo
In Absentia	2017-09-12 "It always comes down to who has the money."
Location <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. The weather's nice, at least. That's about all that can be said for this particular block of the neighborhood -- what was once a row of small businesses is now dilapidated, the lucky ones boarded up, the less fortunate gaping open at shattered windows and rotting doors, leaving their gutted and decaying innards exposed to the elements. The lone trash can at the end of the block overflows, with ordinary litter spilling out over a pile of large bagged trash that definitely wasn't regulation to dispose of here. The zombie plague hit all the city hard. /Some/ places recovered better than others. On the sidewalk outside one run-down building (a fading sign on the front reads, " am rin n ice, Au hen Th oo ", the rest of its lettering washed out to illegibility), one young man is standing. Rocking back on a heel, squinting with a growing grimace at the row of buildings in front of him. Hive is dressed in slacks and a neat dark blue button down, neither particularly pricey nor particularly cheap, shaggy hair half-fallen over one eye. He is in the process of rolling a cigarette, quick practiced motions, though after he doesn't light it. Takes out his phone, checks that, puts it away. Listens, if only idly, a near-constant background droning in the city, to whatever minds may be approaching. Grimaces deeper. Down the streets of the Lower East Side, a rather adventitious car hums its presence. On the opposite side of the windshield's reflection, Theo follows his GPS which inaudibly directs his hand across the steering wheel. "Proto, this is either a really good business deal, or a really bad one," he tells his robotic companion his thoughts. He drives around a wooden board in the road, a hazard that he suspects is the least of his concerns in this part of town. the bright red ferrari turns the corner, and slows as it approaches Hive. His mind has a distinctive difference from many. There is the sound of electronics that seem to be merged with his thoughts, and his thoughts are circumspect. The ferrari pulls several spaces down, not because the parking is crowded, but because it appears there is a construction dumpster in the most ideal of locations. The purring machine falls silent. "Stay here, okay? Send Donnie if I call. You know he still gets a little confused." The door opens, and out the pin stripe suit steps, navy blue wth a red power tie. The door shuts almost inaudibly, and Theo makes his way to where Hive stands. Is this him? That's now how he described himself. Then again, neither is the rest of this place. Hive's jaw tightens, brows pulling together at the electronic hum of mind. His eyes cant a sidelong glance in Theo's direction, lazily half-lidded gaze seeming somewhere less than alert. He tucks his freshly rolled cigarette behind an ear, head shaking. "Hope you're not looking for Thai food." His gruff voice carries a definite color of accent -- though hard to place quite where from. He nods to the broken down building in front of them. "Used you have some of the best larb in the city." Theo glances up at the shop, his thoughts turning mildly darker. How particularly annoying. "Not exactly," he says, slowing his pace and challenging the sign with his stare. "I was supposed to meet someone regarding a business project in a few minutes." He glances down the street one way and then the other. "I'm afraid I may have the wrong address, though." The address flashes through his thoughts in a manner that seems unnatural, not as if they are human thoughts, but accessing something else. A second later he pulls his phone from his suit pocket, and makes a motion as if checking it before replacing it. "That's what is listed here." His thoughts suddenly scrawl the thoughts, as if he is mentally speaking to someone. /I'm here, at 1200 Mathestein Way. Correct? Thanks!/ There is a certain closing thought at the end of it, as if completing something, but it is not a word. "This place looks like its seen better days. What happened?" "Zombies happened. Recession happened. New York happened, I guess. There was hella redevelopment money that poured in but -- this neighborhood, not so much." Hive's shrug is small. His thumbs hook through his belt loops. "It's probably mostly zombie free right now, though." His tone inches just a little toward reassuring. He's eying the smashed windows dubiously, though. For a moment the furrow in his brow etches itself deeper. "You here for that dude from Wardman, too? I'm pretty sure this is the address. They weren't kidding about needing some love." "You are here to meet him as well?" Theo asks. "Well, I suppose at least I have the right address. Are you here to discuss the staffing needs as well? They said they wanted to contract out some of the labor." He doesn't comment on the zombies, but it does put him on slightly higher alert. "I expected that he would want to meet at his office rather than at the project site." Another thought scrawls out similar to the last. /Not feeling really good about this one. At the location, it's not his office. Did you clarify that I'm not a contractor?/ The same punctuation of thought follows. "I think they want tear all things down." Hive removes his cigarette from behind his ear, waves it vaguely at the row of buildings. "Build something swank instead. I'm here for..." A small sharp chuff, a shake of head. "Designing something swank, I guess. God help me." He drops his hand to his side, cigarette held still between two fingers. "Are you texting them? I can hear that," is oddly casual, offhand even; the same small-talk tone as: "You handle the labor part of this, then?" "Ahh, Architect then?" Theo answers. He nods in agreement, and then freezes as Hive names that he is texting. He narrows his thoughts deliberately to a pinhead precision, and it doesn't take telepathy to know that Hive has his full attention, and the statement put him on guard. The sudden quietness of his mind is accented by a slightly sharp inhale before he continues. He seems to be processing something, but it's not quite as easily read a thought. "I'm sorry," he answers after a few moments. "You seem to have me at a disadvantage. You are?" His tone is not directly unfriendly, but there is a distinct caution that has pulled the air taught. "Architect," Hive confirms. He's slow to turn, looking Theo over a moment before offering out a hand. "It's Hive. Rang Phueng Design. Apologies for being uncomfortable." His words sound far more matter-of-fact than apologetic, though. "On balance, I generally figure letting people know," his other hand lifts to tap a finger to his temple, "is less rude than eavesdropping secretly. Are they even answering?" His eyes skim to the side, drawn by the motion of a rat scurrying out from the trash bags and into a building. "Because this is not how I wanted to spend my afternoon. Although I can't say fixing this block back up doesn't have some appeal." "Hive," Theo echoes, failing at looking relieved. "I suppose eavesdropping openly is better than secretly." But it is still eavesdropping. "He hasn't answered yet, no. What time was he supposed to meet you here? I am expecting that your appointment was designed to take place before mine, unless he wanted you to talk about contracting needs." He seems to be avoiding lingering on the subject of powers, and instead turns to the job for refuge. Hive's smile is a thin sharp slice of thing. A quick sliver of teeth, there and then gone. "Half a fucking hour ago," answered in kind of a grumble after a very quick handshake. "Effective Staffing. You're doing that job fair." Though his brows lift, it's not really a question. "You finding a lot of client companies around here?" Theo nods, "Yes," he says. "I am. There are some companies that have signed on. I am trying to make certain there are enough local jobs present. A few larger German companies have been eager to sign on, but many people don't want to move half way across the country for opportunities. Especially those who are in /our/ community. People like to feel they know where they can go to be safe. Construction companies can take advantage of several types of talent, they make good candidates." He glances back at the run down restaraunt. "Well, some of them do." His thought wanders enough that he might be heard wondering if Hive always listens to people that are near him, but then closes the line of thinking again. He does not ask aloud. "Yeah, I've had a ton of friends work in construction when not much else would take them." Hive lifts the cigarette, brows lifting again. "You mind?" His smile hooks up crookedly. "Do you always listen to machines near you?" Theo arches one eyebrow, refraining to comment on the cigarette. "No. I only listen to ones that I feel it is appropriate to listen to. Such as my own." The comment has a certain direct parallel that he seems to be making. "Mutants can do more than construction, those who have talents which lend them to construction should be paid accordingly. Me? I made 3 million dollars in one year through my talent. Now I take that money and I try to help others find out how their talents can be leveraged." He arches his eyebrows, "We deserve it as much as anyone else." "S'an awful lot of humming in your head for just your own --" Hive's tone is mild as his fingers flick toward Theo. "If I could shut it off, I would. Trust me, nobody's that interesting." He tucks the cigarette between his lips, extracting a cheap plastic lighter from a pocket to flick it -- several times before finally catching it to light his smoke. "So this whole staffing thing, it's some kinda /philanthropic/ gesture?" The tilt of his head is small, quizzical. Theo grins a little, and relaxes to the point that he seemed to be previously. Not relaxed per se, but not as tense as he was a moment ago. His mind still remains rather controlled, but his demeanor is more casual. "I used to be in that boat. You wouldn't want to hear what it's like if I am listening to everything. I imagine you'd like it even less since it would be on top of hearing what the people around you are thinking. I had some teachers that helped me learn to filter what comes in, it wasn't easy, but it was worth it. His mind does check the time on his phone. "Philanthropic would be generous," he admits. "I invested my money to make money, but money is not all I want to make. It doesn't take an education to see that the way we are treated is wrong. The X-men think that by heroic gestures humans will think differently. The Brotherhood thinks that there needs to be some sort of war to get our rights. They are both wrong. Every war in history was fought over the same thing, ultimately. Wealth. It always comes down to who has the money. If mutants have money, over time, we will get power. When we have power, we will get our rights. It's really that simple. There's no reason I can't make my fortune at the same time." He shrugs. "Sounds shallow maybe, while there is no great shame in being poor, there's no blessing in it either." He flicks his wrist with a point back to Hive. "So what about you? Has your talent helped you to come ahead in life?" "Doesn't sound shallow, it just sounds dumb as rocks. Anyone who tells you something's /really that simple/ when it comes to hella complicated social issues is either trying to peddle you a pile of bullshit or seriously fucking deluded." Hive's words come out on a stream of smoke. "Or you got some really white idea of the world. It's not always about money. Sometimes the money's an /excuse/ but money or no money, people still gonna hate. People still gonna /slaughter/ the ones they hate wholesale. Wars are tribal way more than they're /solely/ economic and even that..." Hive's head shakes. His eyes scrunch up, head tipping back toward the ceiling. "Anyway. I don't know what world you're living in, but there's /already/ a war. And might be true that you need money to fight one, that's for damn sure. But money itself isn't gonna buy your freedom." He flicks sharply at the end of his cigarette, smile returning, thinly. "Though I don't fault anyone for wanting to get a slice of that pie however they can." His roll of shoulder in answer to the last question is lazy, casual, half-a-shrug. "College helped me get ahead in life. Most of the only people wanting to shell out cash for mindfucking folks are not exactly people you want to work with." Though the look he casts Theo now is pensive. "I hope." Theo tilts his head back and looks across the bridge of his nose at Hive. His gaze is rather condescending. "No, wars aren't /soley/ money. But that is the tipping point. I contrarily have a very dark view of the world, though that doesn't sell well. You can't scrub clean the human heart. All people are evil. The question is only what vice is more powerful. People will hate, yes, but greed, on societal level at least, is more powerful than racism. War is a strong word for what happens here, considering how worse the oppression is in some other countries on our globe. It could become war, yes. It could be far worse. In the end, laws that get passed have to do with who has money to lobby for politicians pockets and for their campaigns. The strategy I see is not short. Hell, it might not even be within our lifetime. It is the natural course of things, I'm just trying to speed it up. People are impatient. forty years ago you wouldn't dare say you were homosexual in public, now it is almost considered 'cool'. Forty years before that, blacks and whites weren't even going to the same schools. What will this look like forty years from now?" Theo collects himself, and realizes he was getting a little warm as he spoke. "You'd be surprised how many legitimate venues are open to someone who can read minds. Business to business sales, for instance. If you can close a deal for a 100 million dollar merger because you know exactly what the other side is thinking and wants, what company would not want to pay for that? Not that I'd try to take you from something you enjoy." "Blacks and whites /still/ aren't going to the same schools," Hive answers with a snort, "and gay people are still beaten to death in the streets. You can tell me that war is a strong fucking word after they slice into your skull for a few years and murder everyone around you. Just because it's a war that you've /escaped/, doesn't mean it's not a war." His tone has slid from mostly-bland to sharper, gruffer. "I don't know what it'll look like forty years from now, but I sure as shit know your greed-is-colorblind-so-so-am-I crap may make a lot of mutants rich but it's just gonna leave the /vast/ majority of us just as homeless and shit on as we are today." He flicks at the end of his cigarette again, sharper now. "And I really /wouldn't/ be surprised, dude. You may have the fucking company, but I read the goddamn minds, so you can shove your smug-ass..." This trails off, into nothing more than an idle: "Huh." Mild. A rat has scurried back out of the adjacent building, this time carrying not trash but a very human-looking finger. As if this hadn't happened, Hive continues, more neutrally again: "I know what people /want/. You and I just got real different definitions of /legitimate/, I'm sure." Theo's fake smile drops. "They already murdered everyone around me," he says quietly. "I'm not blind to the way people are. My whole family was burned to death in an attempt to kill me. So don't think I am living in some fairy tale. I know what I'm up against." His posture is rather rigid now, and his eyes don't move. "I just choose to keep my mind focused on what I can do instead of throw a pity party for myself. I can't make everyone rich, but if mutants get power and can gain control of the system..." he stops himself, but the thought finished. Then it will be our turn. His mental defense has slipped, and there is a clear storm of angry thoughts. Most of them are not directed toward Hive, but there is a distinct annoyance and feeling of superiority. He closes his thoughts again, but it is clear that there is a rather complex plan in his mind. "Forgive me, I usually keep better control of myself." There is a look in his eye though, which hasn't left Hive's. He knows that Hive probably saw, and there's little he can do about it. Dryly: "You're forgiven." Hive's thumb is still flicking rapidly at the end of his cigarette. "And trust me, you're not thinking anything I haven't heard before." Kind of slow, kind of languid, he's sauntering just a short distance down the sidewalk to peer into the building next door. "If mutants control the system, then what? Since you clearly got all the answers, I'm dying to know." Theo chooses not to comment on his own thoughts to defend or deny them. He quotes the book of James instead. "Come now you who say, "Today or tomorrow we will go to such and such a city, spend a year there and engage in business and make a profit. Yet you do not know what your life will be like tomorrow. You are just a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes away." He shakes his head at the irony. "If mutants control the system? I don't know, the pendulum will probably swing. I can't say how far, I can't say how long. Who knows what the next division will be over. The cycle continues." He shrugs with wry smile at the futility. "There's no utopia in the future." He mirrors Hive slightly, though he is hardly languid. Each step, though it takes him no where, seems to be with a distinct purpose. He checks the time again, 3:19pm. Almost twenty minutes behind for him, and fifty for Hive. "I think this meeting isn't happening," he states the obvious. "On that, I think we agree. The future's probably going to be ugly. I just plan to approach it with my goddamn eyes open. You might be good with money, dude, but it would be good if you ever read a fucking history book. Maybe a newspaper. Actually pay some goddamn attention to what's going on on outside your weird-ass bubble where we left homophobia and racism in the past and anti-mutant bigotry is just the next step you can /buy/ your way past. 'Cause in the world most of us are living in, sure, those who can afford to buy into assimilationist garbage, maybe that works out well for /them/. The rest of everyone..." Hive's cheeks puff out, his head shaking. "I'm all about building a shiny new world. I just want to be real damn careful about who's getting left behind in the process." His eyes haven't left the (mostly broken-out) window that he's standing by. Eventually he lifts a hand, cupping it to his eyes to peer into the murk of the building. "Think you're right about /that/, too." A bit flatter, as he stares inside. "You probably don't want to look in there. Goddamn tourists. Who the fuck comes to this neighborhood unarmed?" He shakes his head, stepping back from the window with a small grimace. "Probably would have been a shit contract anyway. Dude clearly didn't know the area." Theo deadpans, and doesn't bother trying further explain himself. "You know, for a telepath, you aren't very good at knowing what a person thinks." Hey, if he can read my mind, I might as well say it. "Yeah, this guy isn't getting another shot at doing business with me." His phone vibrates. There's the answer. "He says that he's just so tied up and needs to reschedule. Yeah, there's a line I haven't heard before." He turns to start walking to his car. "Well, good luck at...being you, I hope your business goes well. I honestly do." "Yeah, I have this funny habit of listening to the words people /say/ instead of poking around in their brains." Hive puts his cigarette back to his lips, hands tucking into his pockets. "I got no doubt I'll see you around." He sounds exceptionally enthused about it, leaning up against the wall to dig his phone out of his pocket as Theo heads out.