ArchivedLogs:Step Up, Step Back

Step Up, Step Back
Dramatis Personae Hive, Jack, Melinda	2015-07-14 << I'd let this alone if I were you. >>
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. A balmy summer day has eased into a pleasant summer night, and despite it being a Tuesday plenty of people are out taking in the fine city air. Some of these people have started congregating in groups of two and three across the street from the front door of Mendel Clinic. Some of those so congregated have picket signs: from the simple 'NO MUTANTS' (with or without struck-through circles and stick figures by way of illustration) to 'Absolute Power Corrupts Absolutely' to the somewhat perplexing 'Mutants Go Home!' and the brutally honest 'Give us back our COFEE!' Two pairs of police officers have also arrived, one staying near their patrol car and the other chatting with the soon-to-be protesters. Hive is not carrying a picket sign. He is instead carrying a canvas from which drifts the spicy scents of Vietnamese food, as he saunters -- well, he /was/ sauntering towards the Clinic. He has stopped, though, brows hitching upwards as he eyes the signs, and looks down towards his bag of food. Back up towards the Clinic. Back over towards the signs. His lips purse in mild consideration. There's a rather acerbic thought that spikes sharply -- not just through his mind and that of his companion but through the minds of /everyone/ gathered outside the Clinic, as well: << ... home. >> Sort of curious. Sort of amused. << Where exactly do you imagine mutants /come/ from? >> Jack's only passing by the Clinic today, on his way to other parts of the Lower East Side. Specifically he's thinking about heading down to the Commons and asking if some people he wants to talk to are around. In jeans and a very light hoodie, he's got his head down and hood up as he walks. When he sees the congregation of protesters up ahead, the invisible teen just sighs. Most of the signs get him frowning invisibly but the one about the coffee has him tensing. That's got thoughts of Autumn and DD popping to mind, Jack hoping they're both still alright even if he isn't sure yet they have an actual connection to the coffee crisis. He tugs his hood quickly to make sure it isn't going to fall but freezes mid step when that thought hits his mind. << ...the hell? >> he thinks, looking around. << Mutants are from Mars and mundanes from Venus. >> Melinda mulls over, the thoughts popping into her head rather quickly. She stumbles to a stop when she realizes that Hive has stopped, her lips pursing as she eyes the crowd. "Shit. Should we call to... get... um, them to come out and get dinner?" She glances down at the canvas bag at her side as she wraps an arm around it protectively. She wets her lips a moment later and then opens her mouth to speak again, but nothing really comes out. << Coffee... come on... it's just coffee. >> You know, her life blood. Fear and anger ripples through the gathered malcontents. The protesters look to one another, wide-eyed, and start muttering. After various profanities, "did you hear that" predominates, followed closely by "telepath" and "where'd that come from?" One of the police officers has started talking to his shoulder, he's asking for backup from the freak squad. Yes, in those words, though that does not seem to appease the protesters within earshot of this. A small knot of people in the heart of the crowd, however, seem somewhat less surprised than most. They organized this protest, and they fully expected something like this. From one of their minds comes a subtle probing, feeling out the source of the telepathic message. At the same time, a young woman carrying a sign that reads 'Keep New York Human' jabs an index finger toward Jack. "Hey, maybe it's this one! Look at him trying to sneak in here!" "/Just/ coffee." Hive echoes this with a small twitch of his lips, a small huff of breath short and sharp through his nose, bony arm slinging loosely around Melinda's back beneath her shoulders. There's an almost lazy mental flex; a stretch of mind reaching out to coil around the police officers, abruptly make them remember business they had Elsewhere. The Freak Squad can handle this anyway, right? Totally their department. Hive pinches at the bridge of his nose when the woman jabs at Jack, though. He detaches himself from Mel's side, tucks a thumb into the pocket of his ragged-hemmed corduroys. "I was just," he speaks up clearly, his own (very much not-New-York! though past that it's hard to /tell/ quite where his bastardized tongue hails from) accent enunciated more crisply than his usual lazy-gruff grumble, "wondering where, exactly, you all think mutants should go home /to/." His mind, meanwhile, is probing back. Less subtle. A sharply curious poke, searching out that feeling that presses at his. << ? >> Jack eventually spots Hive and realization slowly dawns on him that he was the source of the telepathic words. It's a few moments after that when it clicks that the protesters heard it too. He sighs, thinking there's about to be trouble. The invisible teen doubts this particular crowd would be very open to anything involving telepaths. And then suddenly there's a woman poking his way and Jack curses under his breath. He takes a step back, wondering if he should run for it...and where he'd run to. Hive stepping forward gets a breath of relief from Jack and he glances at the crowd before taking another step away from them. Just in case. "Okay, okay, so it's kind of important, but not ... this." Mel leans close when Hive wraps an arm around her, turning her face toward him, expecting some other type of response. Her brows knit when she watches him pinch at his nose. Her hand reaches up and reaches out for the canvas straps of his bag, freeing him, if he wants. She lingers back a step, but follows after him, frowning now. "I am not sure you're supposed to be riling them up." The ire of the crowd is rolls like a wave toward Jack at the accusation, Also wave-like, it does not deflect at once when Hive steps up to own his comment. A few shout half-hearted slogans at Jack or Hive (or both): "go home, mutie", "get out of my head", "fuck you", and the like. The woman who had pointed Jack out is still yelling at him, though not very coherently. The few who actually make direct reply to Hive's question blurt out things along the lines of "just get outta America" or "back to hell" or, from one sour-faced man, "you all belong behind bars". But, at least for the moment, most of the picketers seem more confused than anything else, and few of them mark the police's casual departure. The other mental signal seems to evaporate when Hive prods back, like smoke parting around a questing hand. Then, *segments* of a thought crops up in turn in a number of minds throughout the crowd, like message pieced out of letters cut out from a magazine: << I'd let this alone if I were you. >> "But those of us who are citizens? Natives? New Yorkers? Where --" Hive trails off, head tipping slightly and his dark eyes shifting to Mel briefly. He relinquishes the bag without fuss, fingers opening loosely and his eyes slightly wider as though he did not remember he was even holding the food in the first place. << Are (we) riled? >> This time only to Melinda, quiet and a little distant. It doesn't seem to be a flip question, the softer mental touch by all evidence completely sincere. His eyes turn back, directed now somewhere past the crowd to the door of the Clinic, still; his /mind/ is darting in light skimming touch across the minds of the people gathered, though. Flitting from one mind to the next to the next in bright inquisitive /chase/ to follow after those segments of thought -- each mind it crops up in hooked into his network with barely a thought. << /Are/ you? >> returns the curious query, mental tendrils starting to spread wider through the minds of the crowd. << (Me/us)? >> In Hive's mind(s), not much of a distinction between these concepts. The confused ire of the crowd, now, seems to roll -- past him, through him; perhaps he doesn't notice the shouting, anymore, with this new curiosity to pursue. As the yelling continues, Jack tenses up and has to bite his lip to keep from saying anything back. "I'm not in anyone's head," he mutters, doubting anyone heard him or is paying attention. He does his best to keep his face...or rather lack of one...from view so he doesn't make things worse and starts making his way closer to Hive. He's nervous and one of the hands in his pocket is gripping his phone, ready to press the panic button if need be. << We've got a crowd. Could become a mob. They aren't happy. Riled mob not good. >> Melinda watches Hive as he steps away, licking her lips again. She presses her lips together once more before she turns her face toward the crowd. "Look, he's just a kid," she raises a hand toward Jack, "and he's not doing anything. Let's just... relax. Take a step back. Calm down?" Her brow remains furrowed as she places both bags onto her shoulder, her other hand pushing the straps in place. She looks over at the Jack once more. "Here. Why don't you come over here with me." She holds a hand out for him to take. "You're terrorists and anarchists," cries a man in an impeccable beard and fedora, "New York don't need you." He doesn't really believe what he says; he just wants to see someone get hurt. At least two of those who shouted answers to Hive are working their way toward him, though they do not come close enough to touch. A tired-looking man with a scowl that looks at home on his face breaks away from his group and shuffles toward Melinda. "And what kinda freak are you, then? Take your invisible kid and get outta here." In the distance, the police sirens ring out, dopplering toward them. << No. >> The thought crops up in a mind Hive has already absorbed. Then it moves on to another, and another, in each case feeling as if it arises completely of that mind's own volition and thus Hive's. << But it is fascinating, isn't it? The sheer variety of ways one mind can intersect with another. You won't find me here, lad. >> << Relax, >> Hive agrees with Mel, though it's a somewhat distracted kind of agreement. << ... step back. Calm down. >> And just like that, the crowd is doing so. In somewhat uncanny /unison/ -- the shouting dropping off into silence, the entire group taking a synchronized step back. Not just the protesters, either. Passersby on the sidewalk. The cars driving by have stopped. People waiting to cross the street at the next intersection over. A couple two blocks down trying to hail a taxi. Even Jack and Melinda for a brief moment -- just quiet. One step back. And quietly throughout this, those mental fingers are still spreading -- and spreading, and spreading. Hive's eyes are slightly unfocused, his posture lilting and unstable. << (maybe not)(/here/) >> is a softly whispering undercurrent in reply to that thought beneath a murmured agreement: << Fascinating. >> "Sir, how about you back away from the lady?" Jack speaks up whe he sees that older man shuffling towards Melinda, moving to put himself between the man and Melinda. He starts to say something else to here but then he's suddenly finding himself quiet and stepping backwards. There's confusion in there, Jack's unseen eyes flicking in Hive's direction with a little annoyance. No comments from the unseen though. There's a sharp inhale from Melinda when she realizes what is going on. She doesn't fight it, but relaxes into, easing into a quasi-familiar compliance. She remains still for a moment, taking it in, before turning her eyes toward Hive and studying him. When he looks unstable, she wills herself to go to him and support him, lest he fall. Then she waits to see if her body follows suit. "Okay, kid," she utters quietly as she finds herself able to skirt around Jack, "we should head inside while they are all nice and calm." Food bags clattering against her side, she slips her shoulder under one of Hive's arms and straightens him out before manhandling him toward the clinic. << Going to have to call Tove. Tell'm it's going to be a long night. >>