Logs:Information Overload

Information Overload
Dramatis Personae Avi, Helo, Naomi	2023-01-29 Erm … so what do I do now?
Location <XAV> Grounds - Xs Grounds
Xavier's School is situated on grounds as luxurious as the mansion itself. The tree-lined drive brings you up to the lush green sweep of front lawn and the wide front porch with its bench swing, often frequented by students studying in pleasant weather. The large oak tree in the front yard is home to a tire swing, installed long ago beneath the sturdy old treehouse. The lawn rolls out all the way down to the thin rocky pier at the edge of the glittering lake. The water stretches huge and wide off into the distance, the boathouse a small blip at its shore. Along its bank, forest stretches dense and shady to one side; to the other cliffs start to rise, high and rocky, providing trails for hiking or climbing, for the adventurous. “‘Hello’?” The teen suppressed an irritated sigh. “It’s pronounced ‘Hee-low’,” was his response. He managed to look like it was no bother - and normally it wouldn’t be, but he was tired and jet-lagged and … well … “Good to meet you, Helo,” the woman held out her hand. “I’m Kate and I will be driving you up to the School.” Helo took her hand and flashed a smile in response. It was better to be kind than not … mostly. “Good to meet you, too. And it’s kind of you to do so - drive me, I mean.” It was better to mind one’s manners when one does not yet know the lay of the land. “Though I have to let you know that I won’t be giving a tip, today.” The driver raised her brow, smiling but obviously wondering at his statement. The lad gave a shrug and he even blushed; Irish skin with red hair meant blushing was pretty much half of his life. “I’m as broke as a Dunny Dog with no teeth and a bad leg,” whipping out some random saying with a heavy Irish accent appeared to have an effect on Americans; some would look at him like he was charming. Others looked at him as if he were simple. “Though I did save my sarnie from the flight. It’s warm, though,” he grinned. “Best I can do.” The driver shook her head with a smile. “I would never separate a young man from his … ‘sarnie’,” she didn’t look at him like he was charming or simple. Maybe she was just used to smart-arsed teenagers? “Put your bags in the trunk,” she was obviously not some kind of servant who was going to do that for him. “It’s a few hour's drive, but we’ll be there by noon for your meeting with one of the faculty. Any questions you want to ask before we set off?” Helo cocked his head as if thinking, pondering if he had the courage to ask. He decided he would. “You got any snacks in there?” The drive was long, and though his body was yelling at him to take a nap in the warm car while he could, his tightly strung nerves had too firm a grip on him to allow that. The driver - Kate - was amicable, but didn’t make much idle conversation. Maybe she could tell he was tired, or that he was scared as hell. She did have snacks though. “And here we are,” Kate said, as the heavy iron gates of the famous ‘Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters’ swung open and she began a slow drive down the long driveway. Helo’s heart was hammering. He was quite sure his face was flushed, but that was just a well-educated guess (also; it was) and he repeatedly wiped his palms on his trousers as they got ever closer to their destination. ’Mutant School’* he thought to himself. Soon he was standing in the sun just off to the side of the main entrance, holding his two bags (which contained the entirety of his possessions … so not much), shaking Kate’s hand, this time in farewell. “Best driver I have ever had,” he rummaged into his pocket and pulled out a chocolate bar, holding it out to her. “Tip?” Kate gave a small chuckle. “That’s my favourite, actually! Just like the ones I had in my car … keep it, for now. You can owe me.” They shared a short laugh. “Are you sure you don’t want me to wait with you? I don’t mind.” “Ah, no,” he replied, trying to put as much confidence in his voice as possible. “They said in the letter someone would meet me, a student or teacher … I’m not sure. Either way I’m happy to wait and enjoy the sun.” Kate gave a nod. “Wear sunscreen,” she ordered, and then she was off. When the car had left his vicinity, Helo took a long breath. He was trying to orient himself, but how was that supposed to be possible? One day he was in a little town in County Donegal and now he was in America about to be taken into a Mutant School! He might as well be in Narnia for all the sense any of this seemed to make. But right now, he just had to wait a little while and hopefully not throw up. Baby steps. The young man currently loping up the lawn definitely does not look like a faculty, and, also, doesn't much look like he's here to give a tour. It is mild today for December but Avi still isn't wearing enough for the chill afternoon, mesh shorts and sneakers and thank g-d at least his shirt is long-sleeved, albeit a lightweight performance wicking material that is probably not offering much by way of insulation. There's a sheen of sweat beaded on his umber skin and glistening at the sharp-trimmed edges of his tight black curls, damp splotches at his pits and down his back; the basketball still tucked under his arm doesn't leave much guesswork as to what he's been doing recently. He pulls up short as he nears the building, eyes widening and a bright smile spreading quick across his face. "Boy my eyes was bugging out my head just about that much when I got here too like -- I'm always tryna guess, is it the freak thing or is it like shit this place is mad fancy? I guess some folks come here used to fancy but --" One arm -- knuckles scuffed up and dotted with dirt and a few very small flecks of blood from some recent encounter with pavement -- flings out wide to encompass the rolling grounds around them. "You know there's a whole-ass swimming pool? Horses? And that ain't even the half of it. I'm Avi, by the way. You just pull up?" Just now pushing open the door onto the front porch is -- well, also not a faculty member, though the odds of this person actually being some sort of greeter are much higher given her approach direction, the Xavier's branded clipboard tucked under her arm, and the foldable luggage dolly she wheels behind her. Naomi is maybe, possibly, overdressed for the mild weather in a thick, oversized hunter-green fleece pulled over what looks suspiciously like a grey sweatshirt. Thick wool socks have been pulled up over bottom of her jeans, though at lease she's wearing regular sneakers and not winter boots. Her braids are tied up out of her face, sunlight glinting off the polished jet-black scales that cover her forehead and cheekbones. "Avi, you tryna steal my job?" She's smiling, no heat in her tone as she approaches. "Only got it like five minutes ago, bet Mr. Summer's won't even notice. Who, sorry, hi, Mr. Summers was s'pposed to come down but he's -- there's some sort of -- I'm just supposed to get you situated 'til he's not busy -- hi, I'm Naomi." The stuttering half-sentences are aimed squarely at Helo, the last accompanied by an outstretched hand. "You're Jack, right? Welcome to Xavier's." Despite his nerves, despite the situation, despite the whole internal turmoil he was experiencing, Helo actually couldn’t help but grin as Avi approached him, talking with so much enthusiasm and energy; something like that could almost never be not infectious. “That’s a whole lot of fancy!” he agreed, his eyes sweeping the scenery around him. “If I didn’t know what this place was, I would have thought I’d been dropped off at palace, so I would!” Avi’s energy seemed to batter his nerves down to a more comfortable level, and the smile he sported was not entirely forced (though it was still … he didn’t know … not yet) He extended his hand. “I’m Ja…” he cleared his throat, face flushing. “Helo; my name is Helo. It’s good to meet you.” His accent was heavy; Donegal-Irish. Some of the people he had met from America even had trouble understanding him at times. Being from Donegal, he was definitely dressed to reflect that, sporting a green rugby shirt, plain jeans and shabby trainers. He looked more like he was ready to play in he mud than walk around a place like this. Helo’s head turned as another student approached. She looked a little … official, though too young to be a teacher. Maybe she was a prefect or something. He also took note of the way she explained why was here and not Mr Summers, though he couldn’t think of any reasons that wouldn’t be reasonable. What sort of things could a teacher at a super posh school even get up to? Too much algebra?! As she moved out of the shadow of the school building and into the sun, Helo’s dark blue eyes widened as he saw her … her … Her skin was scaly! Like a snake. He actually took a small step back a moment; he could not hide his reaction. He had never even met another mutant before, and this girl’s mutation was very much … undeniable. Helo forced himself to stillness, averting his eyes. He felt ashamed at himself for doing so. Instead he just forced himself to respond. “That I am,” he said, at last. “But … erm … I don’t really like to be called that, you know? I mean no offence, like,” his cheeks were almost as red as his hair. “I prefer ‘Helo’, if you’d be so kind to er … make a note or something.” He realised he was being weird, and though he thought he would never talk about home, he found himself saying. “The only folks that called me ‘Jack’ were the same ones as spat on me because I’m a … I’m different.” Helo realised he was talking about being ‘different’ to a girl with scales! He looked away. “Erm … so what do I do now?” What an awful first impression to make. "Woah! Where's'at like -- Scottish?" Avi hazards a blithe guess at Helo's accent. "Long way from home, anyhow." He's stepped just a little closer, eyes just a little squintier, focusing harder on Helo as the other boy speaks. "You know," he confides, "I ain't even so sure it's not a palace. Professor Xavier seems like he could be straight outta some kinda Arthurian story. You'll meet him eventually I'm sure, he's like, extra fancypants. -- Heyyyyy." His eyes, now, are darting between Naomi and Helo. "I'ono, they pay you for rolling out the welcome wagon? Maybe I'mm'a slide in on that too. Otherwise s'allll yours." His smile doesn't exactly fade at Helo's staring, but it does get just a smidge tighter around the edges; he's unconsciously taken a step closer to Naomi, pulling his shoulders a little squarer. Despite the subtle protective shift in stance, his tone is still just as cheery when he continues: "I'm sure folks here will call you whatever you want to be called -- Helo is way less silly than some things people try to make stick the second they have powers. OH damn I missed a trick I shoulda been calling myself Busta Rime this whole damn time. From here out, though, no more Avi." Naomi pulls her hand back to grab the pen and scribble something on the top sheet. "Pfffft I'on even think it count for extra credit." There's a little less of the light-hearted air in her tone now, though she's gamely trying to continue like her smile didn't falter when Helo stepped back, like her face didn't fall for a second when Helo looked away. "Yeah, you ain't the only one ditchin' their government name. Or the only one with a 'difference' it's practically a requirement for admission. How you spell that, H-E-E-L-O-W? You got pronouns you wanna add on too? We good 'round here with the theys and thems if you want 'em." She is very much studying the form in front of her now. "Oh, I brought a thing, didn't know how much luggage you got, so we can do a tour from here to the dorms and you can get settled if you wanna or do more tours with me and --" she glances sidelong at Avi, rolling her eyes but with a good-natured smile returning to her face "-- mister Busta Rime. Ain't that one trademarked already?" “Yeah, it’s like that; ‘Helo’,” he clarified. Though to her next question, he raised a brow. “My pronouns?” It was quite evident he had never been asked that question before. In fact, he had never even heard that question being asked before outside of the internet. To his mortification, his mind seemed to go blank, and a wave of panic shuddered through him. He never felt more like a backwater country Irish mick when he answered. “I guess I’m a … boy.” Was it possible to blush oneself to death? The feeling of nausea returned to the pit of his stomach as he listened to her talk about ‘government names’ and her confirming his realisation that this really was a mutant school that was full of mutants and that scales for skin was not the only thing he would see that was going to unnerve him. It was probably a mixture of Avi’s enthusiastic jokes and Naomi’s accent (he wouldn’t have been able to say where it was from, only that it had to be ‘southern’. Shit. He was fucking this up. He had intended to be cool, charming, and collected. Instead, he felt completely on the back foot and he was rattled enough that he truly knew then that no matter what he thought he knew about mutants from the news and such, and from his googling of this place and the people who came here, that he was not at all prepared for the experience. ’Breathe, Helo,’ he said to himself. ’Go with it. Gonna need more data on this situation.’ “Well, this is all I have,” he said, at last (he felt like he had been silent for an eternity, though he hadn’t … had he?) patting his modest briefcase. “Coming here was kinda a hurry job.” As he spoke, with a level voice and with a smile, his eyes never seemed to land on Naomi properly; he might look at her clipboard, or glance around to take in the building and sunshine, and he would grin at Avi. “It was kind of a hurry job getting here,” he said. “Though it’s Ireland I’m from, though not a bad guess. I have heard that a fair bit since I landed here … Busta. The name is grand, so it is! Suits you, mate.” He picked up his suitcase; an easy task for the burly lad; he had the typical broad, rugby build. Plenty of meat on top of hard-earned muscle. “A tour sounds grand, as long as I get to ask all the dumb questions you have probably heard before!” Then he glanced back. “You coming too though, right, Busta?” He really hoped the answer would be ‘yes’. He really liked the quick-talking ball of energy guy and at least having another normal-looking person along for the ride might make him feel less uncomfortable. Avi shakes his head with an exaggeratedly-disappointed click of his tongue at the news that Student Ambassad-ing does not pay the big bucks. "Hey look if Busta Rhymes wants to come pick a fight with me I'mm'a grab his autograph first and then put a real chill on his lawsuit attempts. Give him some time to cool off, think it over." He doesn't quite have a pundog-like grin on his face but it's a near thing. He's trotting up the mansion steps now, shoulder bumping Naomi's lightly in passing. "Naomi been friends with me long enough now to have some stupid-questions armor." He holds the door open for the others now, propping it against one sneakered heel. His dark eyes flick to Helo's scant luggage, then back up to the other boy's face. "Woooo-ah okay so you new-new. I mean, to America and all? Hey, what's one New York thing you really want to do?" "He/him then," Naomi says, half to herself as she writes it down. Glances over at the bag, then up at Helo's averted gaze. Leans the dolly up against the side of the building. "I'll 'member to get that, probably." Naomi groans at each pun, but her smile widens as she goes up the steps, into the foyer. "Ain't no stupid questions if you mean 'em. Avi just got a gift for being ridiculous." She spins around now, walking backwards into the entranceway. "The city is so cool there's a bus that run down there pretty regularly, way more mutants live in the city. Only freaks in Westchester that don't go to school work here." As they walked into the school and out of the sun, Helo's eyes began drinking in every detail; his gaze switching this way and that, as if he were entering some kind of ancient holy site; everything was so ... grand! But he still managed to speak up. "That I am; super new. To be honest with ye, I never even left my county back in Ireland before, so this is very new to me!" Then he thought about the question Avi had asked. "I never even thought about it before, because I never imagined I would have had a chance to visit this place! It's something I would have to think about." Then a thought occured to him. "Actually, me brain seems to have dragged something up ... you think I'd be able to see the Stonewall Inn? I heard a lot about that place and looked it up online. That would be pretty grand to see." It didn't click in his head what this request might insinuate. "I gotta say, I'm a little surprised they would let people our age loose in New York city!" There was actually a twinkle in his eye. The potential for mischief and mayhem must be off the charts! He would seriously have to think about what he could get up to first. They carried on into the building. "So ..." Helo cleared his throat and then actually lowered his voice as he said: "This being a 'mutant school', and all ... do they teach us how to do ... stuff? Like 'mutant stuff'? It was remarkably clear that Jack 'Helo' Messier knew absolutely nothing about being a mutant. The way he whispered the question, there was no excitement in his voice; it was very much more as if a regular human was asking in a 'let's see a freak show' kinda way. Was he imagining Hogwarts? "Do we have 'mutant classes'?" And that question was not asked in a humorous way; he was completely serious. "There's this coffeeshop in the Lower East Side that's like, mutant central -- Oh!" Avi's eyes light up as they enter the opulent grand foyer, "-- and this whole neighborhood up in the Bronx now, Freaktown, it's like an entire village of us, it's wild. These badass mutant bikers run the place." His brows furrow just slightly at Helo's request. "The what? I'on know that place but I'm sure we could find it --" He's already plucking out his phone to google. His brows hike up as he reads. "H-- uh." He is, at least, temporarily distracted from the newly scrutinizing appraisal he is giving Helo by the continued questions. "Hey, if you do a class now it's kinda a mutant class by default, isn't it? But naaah they teach math and history and, you know, the regular school shit. If you're really struggling powers-wise your advisor should be able to hook you up with a coach but that's, like, extracurricular." He leans in a little closer to Helo, slightly hushed with his follow-up: "There's this whole other mutant school out there, though, they teach real proper mutant shit. Like, how to be a superhero and all." Naomi, to her credit(?), does not need to Google Stonewall for her scaled brows to hike up — maybe it’s for the best that Helo refuses to make eye contact with her. “Some of the required classes are kinda mutant classes, like, Psionic Self Defense is pretty freak-community specific y’know?” A slight pause, then she adds, “Oh for the required courses you should try to hold off on health ‘til Mr. Holland is back, he runs the, uh, cool version.” She turns around and leads them up the staircase, down the hall to the connection to the dorms. “They ever say where their school at to you?” Naomi’s voice also lowers, slowing down just a bit to pull alongside the boys. Helo’s brows raise as Avi mentions this ‘other school’. Of course, even in the backwaters of Northern Ireland, it is impossible to get away from news of mutant superheroes. And though his father would turn the channel immediately if any of that came on, Helo did his fair share of googling. But, no matter what he knew he could do (or what he thought he knew he could do … it was confusing as hell), he didn’t for one moment equate himself with anything he saw. And there was the barrage of information in the few sentences the other two spoke that Helo was trying to process. A town for mutants? A whole town? He was glad when they slowed down at the top of the staircase. Helo hadn’t said anything as he listened to the exchange. Also … ‘Freaktown’?! What the fuck? He took a steadying breath, even as his pulse rose. He cleared his throat and asked: “The cool version?” he enquired, wondering who this Mr Holland was. It wasn’t the question he wanted to ask, but then, he had no idea where to start. This school, that town, powers, superheroes, Psionic self-defence … Holy shit, gotta keep calm. He dug the hand that was not carrying his suitcase into his pocket because he knew that if he were to let it hand by his side, it would be shaking. But he wanted to know the answer to Naomi’s question. "Where -- oh snap they never said, I just assumed they got some super secret campus that moves around as wild as they do. Just boom open a door now you're in Japan boom now its the outback boom back to New York." Avi punctuates these booms with excited fireworks-motions of his hands, fingers flashing open and closed. The basketball drops from under his arm on the last and most enthusiastic of these, prompting him to stop and stoop to grab it. "-- oh yeah," he adds, just as brightly, "Mr. Holland's kiiinda weird but also definitely the most badass teacher here. He bakes bomb-ass cookies and teaches sex ed -- the good version not the wait till marriage to have hetero sex or else you'll get syphilis and die version. He's been in jail a hot minute though, he's so badass the feds think he's a terrorist." He stops, rocking back on his heels and idly starting to dribble the ball he's been holding. "Bruh you look mad freaked, this is a lot. -- Naomi we got time for a pit stop? Maybe like a soda or snack, lil breath before the whole palace tour?" Naomi looks a little disappointed at Avi's hypothesis. "I'onno I think it's a real school not like, a pocket dimension school." She slows down on pocket dimension, rolling the second word around with distaste. "They gotta be somewhere." Only now does she look back at Helo. "Oh -- uh yeah we can just -- the rec room is up here there's prolly snacks and Coke and couches --" There's an embarassed flush bleeding out from underneath her scales, darkening the light-brown skin of her cheeks. "Sorry." Instead of slowing down, Naomi sprints ahead to get the door to said rec room. When Avi talks of this ‘Mr Holland’ being in jail for being a terrorist, Helo’s mind flits between a kind of horror and a fascination. “Why would they think he was a terrorist?” he asks, with some trepidation. He wants to ask ‘did they put him jail because he was a mutant?’ or ‘who did he hurt that put him there?’ or ‘do they hate us that much?’ When the energetic lad hooks on to Helo’s nerves, he feels a flush of embarrassment, but also a kind of relief, and when he glances over to Naomi, who offers an apology, he feels a sting of guilt. This girl is being kind of hell to him and he has yet to look her in the eye. “It’s okay,” he offers. “Though a little break would be grand … thank you.” He follows along, dragging his suitcase. The thought of a coke makes his throat suddenly feel impossibly dry; maybe his body is trying to figure everything out along with his mind, and his body is seeming to tell him that a cold drink would help. Stepping into the rec room, he looks around at all the ‘stuff’ in there. The consoles, the pool tables, the snacks, the … everything. For a second, his mind stops whirling and he looks at that room like he was 10 years old and he had found the gateway to heaven. “Fuck me,” he breathes. But it’s a short relief. He needs that drink. Forgetting his manners he lets go of his briefcase and marches to a large refrigerator. “This where you keep the drinks?” he asks the obvious question, because of course it is, though all he can think of is taking a drink of the sweet, blessed, sugary crap of a cold coke to force the nausea from him (a lot of hopes were being placed on this can). He doesn’t even acknowledge the rest of the room by this point. There could be a hundred people or none; his vision his tunneled. When he opens the door to see a plethora of drinks and cold snacks, he kneels, face to face with a row of cans and bottles of varying types. When his eyes lock on to that familiar red, he reaches out and time slows down. The fizzing in his head is familiar and foreign all at once. A feeling he has had for a few years and is entrenched in him, but alien in that he does not yet understand it. There was no ‘Idiots Guide To Telekenisis’ that he had ever found during late night dates with google. Helo wanted a coke, and so … The release of tension was immediate, but it was a short relief as the sharp pain of a can smacking into his face as it flew out of the refrigerator, bypassing his hand and making contact with his cheek. It was not that hard a hit, really. It would do no damage to his face (other than maybe a bruise, but time would tell on that). Helo looked down at the array of cans and bottles; maybe five of six that had heeded his mind’s call and now lay scattered around his knees. The nausea was gone, and his shoulders near sagged as his body relaxed and he let out a long breathe as if he had been holding it in for hours, For a few seconds (maybe less), he felt good. Then he lifted his head, dragging his gaze from the cans and over his shoulder to Naomi and Avi, realisation of what he had done dawned on him. But what it meant? He had no idea. What he wanted to say was ‘what is going to happen to me now?’ or maybe even ‘help’, and maybe his pale face (his Irish blood meant he could go from beet red to the whitest white in a split moment), but instead, with a shaky voice … “you guys want anything?” "Probably cuz of all the terrorism he did," Avi replies easily. "He broke into like, a million top-secret government facilities, but that was only 'cuz they were torturing mutants in there. So like bam-pow-" He's just starting to demonstrate, by way of air-punches, perhaps what his mental conception of Jackson Taking On Prometheus must have been like -- when the cans fly out of the refrigerator. His eyes go wiiide -- he's shooting Naomi an admittedly amused look before rubbing his own head sympathetically. "Yeeeeesh -- you didn't do yourself any damage there, did you? That kinda thing, they'll probably help you get a lock on here. Don't worry, until you've actually blown up your dorm you're still doing way better than some kids here." He's holding out his hand, fingers beckoning, for one of the recently shaken-up sodas. Naomi seems much less at ease about mutant torture jails than her friend. "Avi..." Is this prelude to a request, or a warning? Naomi's voice doesn't tremble, exactly, but she sounds almost fragile. "Ain't that a bit much -- jeSUS --" Her train of thought gets interrupted by the flying cans, the yelp more of surprise than of any fear of collision. It's enough of a surprise, though, that both boys can see the eerie green glow in Naomi's eyes when they look her way, fading as her pupils round out from the sudden narrow slits they became. She looks back down at the paper, clears her throat once before asking, quietly -- "Is there any Sprite?" Helo had needed that release. He hadn’t even realised that this building of tension within him was more than just nerves and his mind trying to adapt to everything that was happening. And moreover, the reaction of his two companions both surprised him and brought another wave of relief. They hadn’t recoiled in fear; they hadn’t decided to throw rocks at him (there was a precedent), and indeed they had been … well … cool. But Helo finally looked Naomi in the eye, and if he had been unnerved by her before, then what he had glimpsed only brought more apprehension. What did glowing green eyes mean? What had just happened? Could he ask? He was still kneeling with the cans and bottles at his feet. When Avi held out his hand, Helo glanced down, grabbed a can and held it out to him. “Coke,” he said (a little lamely). “Though I would be careful when you open it, Busta.” He managed a smile. Then: “Sprite,” he realised he was near staring right into Naomi’s eyes. The conflict within him was such: She was being very kind and understanding. She also had scaled and her eyes did a weird glowy thing … and those pupils. They brought to mind the eyes of a predator, and within him there was a reaction that said: ’be fucking wary’. He looked down. “Sprite,” he repeated, forcing something he hoped would be a casual tone to his voice. “Well, I’m afraid my brain didn’t pull one out, so you,” he took a can from the refrigerator and stood, holding it out to her. “Get a fresh one.” Helo was afraid of her. And what about Avi? The energetic lad whose grin and laughter seemed every present and a comfort … what could he do? Helo had no idea. When Naomi had taken her can, Helo quickly put the ones he had “removed” from the refrigerator back, closed the door and looked down at the can that had assaulted his face. It was a coke. Cool. But now he felt more relaxed, he felt more confident. “Well, I guess you've seen what I can do .. or can barely do,” he grinned. It was a bit tentative, but it might have been the first one that reached his eyes. “What’s the … erm … etiquette - I dunno if that is the right word. We ain’t fancy talking back in my part of Ireland,” he wanted to roll his eyes at his own ramblings. “Like, is it rude to ask people what they can do? Like … their powers or abilities, or whatever you call them? I don’t want to offend anyone,” he didn’t realise his eyes had flicked to Naomi at that. Helo had other questions that he mentally put on a shelf and marked it: ’Important’. Terrorism; torture. Had Naomi shut Avi up so as not to scare him? How much did they know? How much did he not know? Helo opened his coke and was duly met with a short spray after its little journey through the air, smacking his cheek, and he took a long drink. Surprisingly, the drink didn’t solve many of his problems; but it did taste damn good. Avi winces, head ducking apologetically. "Sorry," he does actually sound contrite, "My cuz was -- I forget this isn't, like, just a normal part of everyone's --" This thought stumbles off into just a shake of his head. He takes the can from Helo with a bob of his head in thanks. He's just starting to drum his fingers on the top of the can when he tenses -- brief but noticeable -- at the glow of Naomi's eyes. Perhaps forgetting now the ordeal the can has just been through he pops the top instead, an undignified squeak coming from him at the predictable eruption of soda that follows. He drops his (fairly soda-spattered) basketball to the ground, wiping his hand against his shirt. "Eesh -- uh! I mean, different folks gonna feel different ways, you know? Some people are just dying to show off and some people don't want to talk about it. Outside of here you definitely shouldn't ask -- lotta people want no attention paid ever to the fact they're mutants. In here, I think it's okay to ask as long as you don't make a fuss when people don't tell you. You badger someone about it, you aren't likely to make a friend that way." He's swiping his tongue along the side of his hand as he stoops to retrieve his basketball, getting at least a little of the stickiness off. "Dang. Well, I was overdue for a shower anyway. Hey, s'been nice meeting you -- Helo, right? I'll see you 'round." When Helo meets Naomi's eyes, he can see the fear return to her eyes when they resolve into human shape and regular-green-colour once more. She looks down quickly, scribbles SODA-KINESIS?? on the side margins of the top form. "Thanks," she says, not yet opening up her can. Looks up, head still bowed, and snorts when both boys are Attacked By Carbonation. "Boy you a mess, go on now, me 'n Helo gonna be just fine after drink break." There's a sink -- Naomi heads to it, rips off some paper towel and dampens it before approaching Helo. "I think," she says softly, holding out the make-shift washcloth to Helo, "we'd both be more comfortable if you held off asking me 'til you get used to my face." No heat or judgement there -- Naomi's tone is carefully light, a touch apologetic, and a little resigned. Helo nods as Avi offers the advice; he takes it in eagerly. He needed to know the rules of this new world and he would take all the information he could get. “No need to apologise, Busta,” he grinned. “I appreciate the heads up. Been good to meet you. See you later.” He was glad he had made a friend, he had a feeling he would need one (at least one!). At Naomi’s words, his eyes widened and he felt a wave of guilt and embarrassment, had it been that obvious? He also felt a twinge of fear; he had no idea what her powers were! For all he knew she could set him on fire or punch him through a building! As Avi bounced off, he met her gaze for a moment, face flushed and unsure what to say. How do you explain this? How do you tell someone you are afraid of them? Or that they make you feel uncomfortable? “Naomi, I …” Helo cleared his throat, feeling his face burn. “It’s just … you …” he sighed, frustrated as well as everything else he was feeling. “I don’t know how to explain myself without just sounded like a bigoted piece of shit. I mean, this is all new to me; I never even met a black person until yesterday when I went to the airport, let alone other mu- … people like us.” Turns out he was struggling with that word. “I’m really sorry. You’ve been really kind to me and I …I’ve been … turns out I don’t just have powers over pop cans, but also being a dick.” If he looked at her that way then others must have, and worse? Helo had stones thrown at him just at the rumour of what he was. What had she faced with her mutation being so visible? “S’fine.” Naomi’s tone remains careful, but this is a little firmer than before. “Boy I know someone like Avi would be a better welcome wagon but you got me, an’ I know that’s a lot.” She shakes her head, pushes the damp towel into Helo’s free hand. “You ain’t the first, you won’t be the last, and that sucks but I’m used to it. I can’t make you get with it, y’know?” She steps back, hugging the clipboard tightly to her chest. “It’d be real great if we could just get you through today, okay? After that you can take all the time you want to get your head around —“ she draws a circle in the air around her face. As Naomi circled her face with her hand, Helo’s insides seem to knot up in a crunch of shame. People had thrown rocks at him because of the rumours they had heard about him. He had no physical mutation to tell the world what he was, and still he had been kicked out of the society he had lived in his whole life. Helo’s scratched his head. He had never been more uncomfortable in his life. “‘Get through today’”, he echoed. “Yeah, of course. You have been … you’re …”. He sighed in frustration at his own inability to articulate his thoughts. “I’ve just never been around people with … that have …” he took a breath and gathered himself. “I don’t know what it must be like for you, and I’m sorry that I am acting like idiots [which he pronounced ‘ee-jits’] you must have had to deal with before. I mean … I got the shit kicked out of me for being what I am, and I look normal.” Helo looked up with the misplaced confidence that he had managed to bridge a gap between them. “I know it takes time and soon I probably won’t even notice how you people look.” He even managed a smile. The change in Naomi’s expression is almost imperceptible — when she smiles back at Helo it’s only a smidge tighter at the corners, the scales around her temples obscuring how the smile doesn’t really reach her eyes. “Oh, bless your heart. Sure bet you won’t, soon enough.” The Georgia in her accent comes out suddenly thick. “Now — if you good — let’s get you settled up in your room. Probably gonna take you a minute to get used to your new home.”