1963-06-15 - Anger or Aggression?
Summary: Sean finds himself sitting with Armando and Ayasha- and ends up with a bruised jaw for his 'troubles'.
Related: NONE
Theme Song: None
darwin garrison ayasha 

There were only so many places to get a decent burger on this side of town. Sean stepped through the front door with the idle tinkle of bells, the haze of cigarette smoke engulfing the young man even as his own fading ember was smashed into nothing on a passing table. He drifted through the tendrils of gray, his blue eyes quietly surveying the other patrons with a calculating intensity, high cheekbones fixed in a fox's grin even as he swept in a seat at the bar and waited patiently to be seen.

He didn't have to wait long.

Perhaps it was the custom tailored jacket, or his charming smile, but the waiter's frazzled nerves drained into the palm of his hand where they twisted through weaving conversation and pleasantry into a smile.

"There now, you're so much prettier when you smile, Dollface." He purred, putting in his order for a burger and fries with a tall Cola. And when she had been sent giggling on her way, he reclined like a king would in against the plasticized leather, orienting himself among the chaos of the lunch hour.

Armando steps into the diner in quiet- dressed rather nicely for someone who is so obviously a mutant. He gets gazes, and looks, but he's been here before and always paid his tab. He's never caused trouble- so, for now, he's not given the heave-ho by the staff. He takes a seat next to Sean at the bar, smiling quietly as the waitress appears. "Coffee, please." he orders- just a drink and nothing more.

Often seen around Columbia University, Armando might be a somewhat familiar figure to Sean- although typically, Armando spends all his time in the library reading. Armando offers a quiet smile to Sean, along with a nod of his head when he looks his way.

Sean looks through him. After all, there were a gaggle of women tittering away at the nearest table. Occasionally he would catch the eye of the mother hen in the group, and through a flash of teeth and something a bit more subtle; perhaps the tilt of his head or the way the light hit his perfectly slicked hair, she returned his smile. He was hardly threatening, especially with the striking contrast now sitting beside him.

Of course, they had plenty in common, but Sean wasn't about to mention that.

As the waitress leaned in to refill Armando's coffee, Sean's lean figure flexed and practically poured into a casual lean across the counter. Her space sufficiently invaded, he plucked the pen from her breast pocket and clicked it into life with a grin.

"'Scuse me. Need to borrow this."

And while she initially managed some significant affront, the longer he lingered, the less offended she looked. By the time he had reclined back into his seat and taken out a packed laboratory notebook, she was blushing and beginning to giggle.

So close, Armando couldn't help but be within whatever pheromone cloud that Sean exudes- however, unlike every other person currently in the diner Armando was under a constant state of evolution. Hormonal changes from outside sources were no different than drugs to him- he simply and unknowingly evolved beyond chemical marker affecting his brain. He watches Sean take the pen, and watches as the woman's face changes from somewhat offended into a blushing, giggling goo. Curious, all the while. He adds cream and sugar to his coffee, quietly stirs it and begins to watch Sean do his thing with those featureless white eyes.

The scrawling pen inked out a fresh series of notes, a small volume reflecting studies of aggression and modeling aggression for children. His hand was quick, the notations he made obviously reflecting an internal debate instead of studying for a test, the pages flipped back and references noted until suddenly he stopped. And waiting there, pausing with the pen in mid-scry, his attentions slowly came to rest on the /thing/ sitting next to him.

He blinked and looked around. Everyone else near them had gone about their business, his presence suddenly meaningless, uninteresting. In fact, he was as notable as the chair or the counter he leaned upon to the general passerbys. So what was it about this individual that changed that.

Sean suspected it had something to do with his grey skin and luminous white eyes.

"Ah, can I help you?"

His tone was brusque, inconvenienced and dismissive.

"I think I've seen you around Columbia, haven't I?" Armando asks, as he takes a slow sip of his coffee. People were certainly paying attention to Armando- and it wasn't entirely positive. Still 'it' wasn't bothering anyone, and the waitresses seemed to recognize him and weren't overly bothered. "Its interesting the effect you have on people." he notes, "I mean, I just watched poor Carol there go through at least ten different emotions in short order." he says, before taking another sip of his coffee. "I'm Armando." he offers by way of introduction.

She pauses at the entrance. quietly doffing gloves before lifting her hands to pull down that scarf round wide her face and pry those goggles up out of her eyes. These days you're typical greaser might not be so warmly welcomed, but well leather jacket and shit or not? She ain't no greaser, made all the more evident as she pulls off her helmet and makes her way to the counter. Bones and beads wound around her neck in a lovely choker, silver and turqoise rings and even a neat little beaded bracelet on one wrist. A neat blue men's plaid shirt worn beneath with the sleeves left rolled up, it's the sort've getup that gets attention even without her own distinctive skin tone. That'd be the one and only folks, Ayasha is in the joint.

She dips her head down to get a cigarette lit, before tossing a few neatly folded bills on the table. A mute order the waitress accepts with a faint smile and a nod, a regular you might say. Only then does she let that gaze drift. Armando gets a glance as well as the man next to him, unusually disintered then considering appearances. Order made, place scoped out for the wrong sorts of people. This little Indian tugs free a tome from her messenger bag and sets it on the counter top, before leaning in to give it a study.

An eyebrow could not possible raise higher than Sean's arched in that moment, as he weighed the question. Of course he had probably seen Sean. While the man had a habit of threading through a crowd with little more effort than a sharp needle, he also commanded a room if the situation required it. Then again, he endeavored not to run in the same circles as somebody like Armando, which means the other mutant recognized him from a time when Sean did not want to be recognized. His calculating mind was rolling through the possibilities, and didn't like any of them. To compensate for the realization he was without a significant defense, he smiled. When he spoke again, his tone was disarmingly polite,

"Oh? Yes, why hello. I think I recognize you. Although, it's difficult not to, if you pardon me saying so. Sean Garrison." His hand extended in well-practiced offer of a handshake.

The entrance of another patron escapes his focus for the moment, most of his efforts spared by attempting politeness now focused upon getting the others to ignore the fact they were conversing. He couldn't be seen with Armando, at least not in a recognizable way.

"A pleasure to meet you, Sean. And yes, I do understand." Armando replies with a quiet smile. A polite thing. He sips his coffee again once the hand has been withdrawn. "What are you studying?" he asks, sounding genuinely curious. "I'm not a student, myself, but I've gotten permission to study in the library." he admits, with a quiet nod of his head. "Its a nice campus. A lot of nice people, too."

Armando looks over towards Ayasha when she appears, curious how someone might take her entering the establishment. Still, for now, its not his business- but she is certainly eye-catching in her own way.

There are a few hushed comments, a few raised brows as the relative strangeness of the joint seems to crank up to 11. Some alien looking fucker and a little indian in riding leathers, yeah high strangeness at this hour no less. Not that Ayasha seems to mind, nor the few rude whispers from the odd Patron who decides to see themselves out. She's entirely too distracted with her book, and well her meal isn't long in coming. It's also absolutely nothing like what the menu offers, distinctly not your typical diner-faire anyway. Theres a mixture of steak, fried eggs, bellpeppers and cheese mixed together and set in a little coarse bread like little tacos, served aside a lump of thick toast topped with fried egg. The whole thing is slid out beside a mug of coffee and a pack of brightly colored cigarettes, and that finally is enough to break Ayasha of her studies for the moment. Offering the waitress a little wave.

The Cook in the back gets, well that's sure as hell not English. The Biker and the Cook exchange a few words, before finally the pair shave a wave and a smile and she finally gets to tucking into her meal. Like she's going to complain about the food from a Apache cook, the only one she knows of in all of New York? Hell no tiny woman or not she digs in with gusto and apparent abandon, making a pleasant little hum as she savors.

This used to be a nice place, or at least he would opine in different company. As it stood, he was trapped between some odd ghoulish bloke who was completely immune to his wiles and a woman who looked like she could out eat, out drive, and out step him if he ever got on her bad side. Sean adjusted his cufflinks and considered canceling his order, but that's when the burger arrived with a smiling waiter willing to offer him another pen.

"Psychology. Ah, though this is more personal interests than schoolwork."

The notebook was closed, either to obscure the subject matter or simply because he was about to eat. His jacket shrugged off, the burger seized between waiting hands for consumption, and a side glance to the other individual as he commented before taking a bite, "Do you work or?" He let the question hang, obviously wondering what individual has the freedom to simply 'study' with their day if they were able-bodied and employable.

"Odd jobs, mostly. I was recently offered a position though for something more permanent. I'm looking forward to it." Armando says with a smile, as he takes another long sip of his coffee. "Most people are uncomfortable employing me, unfortunately." He chuckles at the interaction between the cook and Ayasha- smiling to himself. Apparently someone understood what was being said and found a little humor in it. "Psychology is an interesting subject. Do you prefer a Freudian or Jungian approach?" he wonders next of Sean.

Sean blinks in surprise as the other actually engages him in subject matter, be it basic. The prejudice was known, and deserved no commentary, the man mulling through a bite before measuring his response. Despite his reservations, he found himself engaging, curiosity piqued. "Neither, if I'm being honest. While their theories are fanciful and easy to discuss, I'm more interested in proven results. Pavlov and Watson deliver. What's the purpose of analyzing source emotions, when what we truly are interested in impacting is the behavior?"

Whatever effort he had been exerting was spared briefly as his mind distracted, the conversation quieting at the surrounding tables as individuals were no longer distracted from the strange sight. A single finger was raised, as Sean took a long swig of Cola and then lit a cigarette. His burger lay half eaten at his elbow, calm exuded in his posture as the first long drag was taken and the conversations resumed around them. After all, what was so notable about those two at the counter speaking?

"Well, almost all modern psychology is based on their initial practices. Even Doctor Fuller's text on the genetics and behavior have some throwbacks to those initial schools of psychological thought. Although, with the uptick in mutations I'm sure his work will be getting a great deal more interest in the coming years." Armando offers, taking another long pull on his coffee. "I suppose its a questions of which came first- or what causes the behavior in question. What if the behavior is sourced by the emotions? Say, anger- taken and held for a long period of time, never released. How can you treat one without the other in the end?" he shrugs, "I'm not a psychologist, though. Just an interested party in education." Armando says, very aware of the changes going on around them- someone who's used to being stared at almost always notices when people stop staring and talking. Its all very curious- and somewhat unusual. "Really, I was just curious your take on it- seeing as its your field of study."

Frybread tacos, is not to be taken lightly. This is heavy, heart faire and the Chef's touches of goat cheese and cayenne only increases just how terrifyingly good this is. Discussion of Psychology and so fourth, well it's mostly ignored for the moment. Attention straying only as far as her tome, well and her cigarette. Leaning off to the left mutely as a patron reaches across to tip the waitress, before well centering back up. Not that she bothered glancing over her shoulder, so who really knows exactly how much attention she's spreading around here?

While the carton was out, he extended the box in offering to the other man, leaning back in his chair after the offer was either declined or accepted. It didn't affect his opinion of the man either way.

"Anger is aggression. I would personally postulate that when we consider it in that context, nobody holds onto it for a long period of time. That's simply fanciful idealization of humanity. The doors you don't hold for a person with their hands full, the parking spot you take from another waiting car, even the casual way you stride in here and take coffee in public instead of private. It's aggression; leaking out around the edges of every person. But-"

Another long drag, "-It's not really my business to care about how people feel. I fix it. And I'm quite good at that." A cunning smile lit up his features, and he looked quite like a feline with a mouse between its front paws.

Armando's brow-ridge rises slowly at Sean's statements- and he does not take a cigarette. "Hunh." he begins, shaking his head quietly. "I disagree. There is nothing aggressive about entering a diner and buying a cup of coffee. Your statements assume a state you can't assume." he notes, "However, given your statement, I can assume that you don't much like that I've chosen to sit next to you and drink my coffee or that I've decided to engage you in conversation." Armando looks back to Sean with that difficult to read expression- its the eyes. Featureless and white. It was impossible not to feel like he was staring at you. "Prejudiced opinions are certainly not properly scientific. Furthermore, Anger is not aggression. Anger does not immediately equate to hostile or violent behavior- a readiness to attack or confront. One can be angry- and have *no* desire for violence or harm to another. A mother who's angry at her child for breaking her favorite vase most likely does not wish her child harm.." With that, he switches languages to speak to Ayasha, speaking in that native tongue- without even an accent, surprisingly. <"I apologize for interrupting your meal, but I'd like to prove a point. Would you mind faking a laugh? I'd rather like him to think we were talking about him behind his back.">

It takes a moment for Ayasha to peel her attention away from, well both her meal and that book. Somewhat owlishly peering after Armando for a moment, before a brow slowly lofts and she descends into snickers. Which gives way to genuine laughter, and well she doesn't so much have to fake all that much either. Even the cook feels obliged to join in for a snicker or two. "Always a pleasant surprise to find a man who speaks Cheyenne, Who taught you our language hm? Haven't heard such a good little tease in my own tongue in a great while."

The reaction was measured as one may balance their checkbook if they never questioned the balance in their account. Certainly these words meant something to the man speaking them, but for who Sean was, the opinion of the mutant beside him ran like oil on water. The ash fell from his cigarette into the waiting tray, and he preened.

"Oh it's entirely scientific, I fear. Early studies already suggest that the genetic mutations that make you look like that are exceedingly rare. The species is dividing, evolving in some opinions and de-evolving in others."

A pause for the laughter to titter away, a subtle twitch in his jawline as he snubbed out the cigarette before glancing between the two.

"Many will get left behind."

The conclusion to his thought was purposeful as he stared quietly down his nose at the dark-skinned woman, flashing a charming smile that was all teeth and no kindness. Shouldering back on his jacket, he pulled loose a wallet that did not want for bills and left payment with a handsome tip.

"It was a real pleasure, Armando. Always nice to meet another scholar."

And the way he said scholar implied he thought the mutant would never be anything more than a fixture in a college library. With that sentiment communicated, he turned to go.

Armando replies with good nature, "Honestly, I only learned it once I heard the two of you speaking it. Its something of a gift of mine." The grey-skinned mutant offers with his own chuckle. "But goodness, this guy is a big jerk. I wonder what he'd say if he knew I wasn't white, on top of being a mutant." He then changes back to English, smiling quietly over to Sean. "Oh, yes, a pleasure of course. An interesting meeting, to be sure. Good luck in your studies, Sean." he shakes his head- before smiling to Carol. "Could I have a refill of my coffee, please, Carol?" he asks, "Thank you." he says, polite. He doesn't seem that bothered by Sean's statement. He's used to such backhanded compliments- he went to school with so many people just like Sean.

"I'm Armando." The grey skinned mutant returns to Cheyenne to speak to Ayasha. "Its a pleasure to meet you."

Armando replies with good nature, "Honestly, I only learned it once I heard the two of you speaking it. Its something of a gift of mine." The grey-skinned mutant offers with his own chuckle. "But goodness, this guy is a big jerk. I wonder what he'd say if he knew I wasn't white, on top of being a mutant." He then changes back to English, smiling quietly over to Sean. "Oh, yes, a pleasure of course. An interesting meeting, to be sure. Good luck in your studies, Sean." he shakes his head- before smiling to Carol. "Could I have a refill of my coffee, please, Carol?" he asks, "Thank you." he says, polite. He doesn't seem that bothered by Sean's statement. He's used to such backhanded compliments- he went to school with so many people just like Sean.

"I'm Armando." The grey skinned mutant returns to Cheyenne to speak to Ayasha. "Its a pleasure to meet you."'

"Left behind, goodness I should certainly hope so. Don't you have some white Jew from the middle east to pray to, or burn women for? Don't come around acting like you're owed anything, You're just another immigrant like all the rest."Ayasha offers a bright smile, only half turning from her seat to nod towards the Mutant off to her side. "At least some of you Johnny-come-lately's had the tact to learn the language of the lands who invaded. Now hurry up and leave me behind, so I can get back to my day and you can get back to poisoning the wellspring of your own decadent civilization." She doesn't rise, but well she doesn't really need to does she. Not with the bulge in her jacket, which may or may not be a pistol made all the more apparent with the specifics of her posture.

Finally Ayasha lets that gaze drift over towards Armando, before switching back to her natice language. "I expect he'd lose his mind, but take heart. He is weak, let us see if he does not give us cause to take his scalp. Figuratively or otherwise."Pausing there to softly snuff out her cigarette before turning her full attention back to Sean. "Come now white man, do my words anger you enough to strike a woman or will I need to be the one to start this fight?"

"I find myself at a loss for either of those things, m'dear."

Came the curt reply, a smile on his lips even as the other patrons had gone quiet, very quiet. Something in the air made the gut churn, a fear so pronounced that it was almost palpable. Of course, it had already been floating around in a muted cloud as soon as the grey-skinned mutant walked in. It had amplified when the woman strode through the door and so defiantly took her seat at the counter. All Sean had to do was to echo the feeling, encapsulate it in small little suggestions, chemicals that brushed against the senses and warned the two at the counter were dangerous.

"How many bullets do you have, Squaw? Enough for sayAll of us?"

Certainly those farther away were only spectators, nervous but not underneath whatever sway he exuded. The men seated closer though, who saw themselves in that suit and slacks, that blonde hair and disarming smile, they were beginning to stand.

"Listen, I don't want any trouble. Not everything has to be a fight. After all, anger isn't aggression."

Armando sits back, quietly watching as things unfold. His coffee is refilled. He adds a little cream and a touch of sugar, before returning to his quiet watching. «"I'd be careful now. He's wealthy and quite white by the looks of him, and I'm afraid I don't have the money to bail you out of jail if things turn sour."» he says, before taking a long sip of his coffee. He hasn't stood, and he hasn't made any aggressive movements- "Come now, lets be adults about this." he says, "There's been enough violence in the past few weeks." he says, growing nervous. "Let us behave civilly." he suggests. "Nothing good will come from this- for anyone." Darwin's gaze falls onto Sean. He stares at the man. Quiet and unreadable, wholly unaffected by the change in pheromones in the air.

She stands, which is probably a bad sign. At five foot two though, well lets be honest she's hardly intimidating. "What you don't want, ain't got shit to do with what you find. Lets see how smart you are with that jaw wired shut, and nobody else to fight your battles for you."There isn't really a visible windup, no discernable telegraph. She moves like lightning, and well the punch isn't exactly clean. That said she's knocked out bigger men with her empty hands before, so that roll of dimes held in her fist? Yeah she may or may not just shatter Sean's jaw along with knocking him out, but then again it's the little ones you have to look for right? Either way presuming she manages to land that first blow, knocked out or otherwise well she's not going to be inclined with stopping there. She's heard Armundo of course, she's just not listening. Well.. not anymore anyway.

Though sharp-tongued, the man possessed no instinct for fighting. Thus the blow landed. Hard. There was a very audible crack as his head rocked back under the impact, staggering into the waiting hands of the men who his abilities had poised to attack in his stead. Now, he wincingly used them to brace himself, a hand raising as he paused for long enough to press the joint back into place. There was a sickening pop, another wince, and he pulled out a handkerchief, spitting a wad of blood into it and one very white tooth.

"I think you'll find some of us have more elevated means of fighting."

It hurt. A lot. And he made no effort to smile through the pain, pulling on his jacket with a wincing motion that revealed he was still seeing stars. All the same, he chewed out, "Although I don't expect your kind to rise to them."

Underneath the pain, there was something lingering, baleful and calculating. No, he wouldn't strike her now. But the expression guaranteed that if he ever got the opportunity, she would beg for his mercy. And with that, the door closed in his wake and he took to the street.

Armando sighs, resting fingers to the bridge of his nose as he watches that stunningly hard strike hit Sean in the face. He can't help but admit a certain amount of joy in watching the racist prick get punched in the face. "Oi. This isn't good." he says, shaking his head quietly. He drinks his coffee quickly, and throws some coins onto the table to pay for the liquid.

<"He totally deserved that, but we really shouldn't be causing trouble like that.> Armando says, with a shake of his head. <"People like me are being murdered in the street for things like this. I gotta go. Look, thanks again, but really- he's just another cracker jerk. We have to be better than this- better than *them*."> He sighs quietly, and gives a weak smile to Ayasha, "See you around."

She seems inclined to continue, until a shout comes from the kitchen behind her. Theres a snort, and finally a roll of the shoulders before she returns to her stool and gives her fist a little shake. Content to switch back to Cheyenne for the moment it would seem "I'm not one of you, I'm one of me."Comes her intial response, before tossing some bills on the table and snagging her gear. "Then murder them -back-, look at me. Ask yourself how well live and let live worked for my people. The white man only stopped slaughtering us when we took up arms and spilled their blood. Yield all you want, you'll only die as on your knees."Then again, what did that big Cherokee cook call her? "Uhahnaageyv", which doesn't have a direct English translation really. A furious woman, or something like that of some sort right? Anyway she throws on her gear with practiced ease, before throwing a leg over her bike with a sigh and kicking it over. "Fight and die on your feet, or yield and die on your knees. Your call."

Armando shakes his head quietly, "You can't know how wrong you are- they can't kill me and I'm not a murderer." he says softly. "I never will be. There are better ways to move forward-" he says, "But I wish you nothing but luck and health." he says, as he begins to walk down the street in the opposite direction.

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