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Pizza is just /the thing/ to do in New York. One does not simply go to the city without at least having a slice. Particularly from Lombardi's, a New York staple since 1905. Amadeus Cho has his grey Vespa parked outside on the street by the pizzaria in Lower Manhattan and is currently inside speaking to a very confused food server that looks dubiously at him.
"No, I assure you. You heard that right. Two pepperoni pies, please." The server, a woman in her twenties, just eyes him. "Sir, are you sure?" she asks him. "Of course! Whatever I don't finish, I'll take home." Finally, the server seems to concede to this and walks back towards the kitchen. Full pizzas here only come in one size and that's friggin' huge. Nonetheless, it doesn't seem at all daunting to the young man in the pinstripe suit. He does look just a touch out of place, however, given his age and what he's wearing.
As he sits there at a small table in the dining area, a high-pitched whine emits from his jacket and a fuzzy grey puppy head pops out. The little fella's maw opens so that he can yawn the most adorable puppy yawn ever. He isn't a dog, though, oddly. The little guy cranes up to excitedly lick Amadeus up under his chin.
*
The food is the reason they come and keep coming, of course. Smoky crust and thick, heavy cheese that melts upon the soft, yeasty interior turned black on the bottom by profane alchemy. Or chemistry, but New Yorkers probably swear up and down Lucifer himself would live out of a well-worn booth if he just got in.
Elizabeth strikes something of a daunting image as she emerges from the 6 station, pausing at ground level for a sense of her bearings. Around her pedestrians stream out in a flood of humanity, all moving with the restless impatience of city dwellers who know exactly where they're going. They seem to have some internal homing ability like a pigeon. Distressing as that could be, the Englishwoman manages to finagle directions from an annoyed businessman who turns courteous about ten seconds after registering she sounds vaguely like the Queen. It's that accent, and with some helpful pointers, eventually gets to Spring Street.
The lineup is scanty compared to peak hours, but still present. She slips to the back of it, no queue cutter here, and embodies proper diplomacy as it shuffles forward. Choices may be slim, but profound, and her puzzled expression is dented by a light pucker to her brows as she assesses the menus, such as they are. They might be written in Greek for all it matters.
*
Brick oven pizza is not quick, so Amadeus is left waiting for the time being. Not that he seems to mind. Although wary about where he is and his tiny friend hidden away in his suit jacket, he moves his hand down to the coyote puppy and lightly strokes at his forehead. "Good morning, lazy bones. Thought you were supposed to keep me company this morning." The words are kept low, but he seems rather calm with the puppy present. Animal companions have a way of doing that.
Naturally he'd be facing the door. He's paranoid and not one to leave his back exposed. When the tall, daunting figure that is Elizabeth causes him some pause and definitely merits a longer moment spent studying her. Lowering his eyes then, he goes back to cooing at the coyote puppy in a very soft tone and petting him. "Shhh," is sounded more than once, of course. Amadeus tries to keep as low a profile as possible, despite not being one of low profile at all at the moment.
*
First the business of deciphering the difference between a white pizza, a margherita, and some dubious additions of anchovies hold Elizabeth's attention. She narrows her eyes in thought, the face of a dozen magazine covers articulating a certain degree of focus usually reserved for snipping wires to an explosive device. In films or telly, at least. The line ahead of her stalls as a Brooklynite with an accent broader than Wyoming chews out the poor server for adding a double helping of cheese onto another pie.
The momentary shift in distraction puts her squarely on the soft conversation between man and man's best friend, or at least the cousin to man's best friend. Naturally fuzzy, floppy ears are known to turn even the hardest hearts to mush and render monsters into murbling puddles of compassion. Training might render her outwardly slightly more immune for about two seconds. Her gaze flicks up towards Amadeus, and she gives him a brief querying look that becomes conspiratorial when he starts crooning at the coyote pup. Floppy ears and wet nose will get a dog everything in the world. If no one else has noticed, the most she can do is grin briefly, a shared canine secret between them and maybe half the place.
*
Amadeus glances up at Elizabeth when her attention is on him and Kirby. As she grins instead of calling him out, he allows himself a small smile back to her. The puppy's glistening black nose and still-sleepy eyes slowly perk up. "This is not Kirby playtime," he whispers to the puppy. The puppy squeaks a little growly yip before he's gently pushed back down into his jacket with a smile. Trying to go back to being incognito, he turns his head from Elizabeth so that he can look out the window.
When he turns back, he does manage a bit of a wave to Elizabeth. "Hey," he greets her, presumably not sitting terribly far from the woman. There is some movement inside his jacket and another, muffled, yip.
*
Kirby playtime ought to be every time, but the rules of master to pet are adhered to. In the rigid structure of British society, class defines a similar set of tacit rules. Elizabeth saunters up to the counter when the bloke in front of her finally moves on, bellying up to a tiny booth meant for two and not someone of his particularly paunchy workman's build. That puts the Englishwoman on the spot, an impatient server waiting for her to put her request in. With a quirk of her lips into a piquant smile, she says, "Small margherita, please. I'll spare the master."
The server just stares blankly and scribbles something down on a pad, tearing off the paper. He barks out the price, and she hands over several folded up dollar bills produced from her purse. She hands them over, then slouches away to wait. Elbow curved around the end of counter, she lounges.
"Hullo," she offers kindly, a crescent smile in place. The yip earns a little laugh. "This seems to be quite the place to hide out."
*
If the woman senses minds, Amadeus' lights up like a spotlight saying 'Look! Here I am! Hey!' Perhaps a similar feeling to (if she has) encountering Bruce Banner or one of the Starks. There are geniuses and then there are those in a class of their own. The young man belongs to the latter category. At Elizabeth's words, he perks up again and settles his eyes on her. For a moment, he looks at her and bobs his head slowly in a nod. "Well, that's the beauty of daylight and public. People who know they're doing something wrong don't tend to like an audience." And then his gaze is ticking over her, taking in every last variable. He doesn't know her, but in moments he can get an idea of where she's coming from and why she might be here. The accent. Where's that from? Squinting a touch, he returns the smile with a challenging one of his own. "Are you seeking? I suppose that'd be the appropriate question, but what I don't know is why an international model is eating at Lombardi's. Don't you have a figure to keep or something?" The question, so brash. Looking suddenly sheepish then, he blinks at her. "Er well. Not that I think you need to. Because seriously…wow."
*
The latent senses around her are a constant funnel of information parsed by the immense weight of humanity, and whenever a bigger wave or a higher mountain stands out, it warrants further attention. Someone such as Amadeus literally punching her in the psychic face receives a deeper care, though she subtly shifts a shield into place if only to have a conversation without overwhelming mental feedback. "Is that so?" Elizabeth says conversationally, unable to repress her mirth. It brightens her blue eyes and hangs in a smile, around her tone. "The best heists are pulled off in broad daylight. The train robberies, politics, and those gentlemen who walk out the door in plain sight, no one the wiser. Otherwise we'd have no novels and scandals for the police to investigate."
The heady scent of tomato and baking bread is comforting at some level, but when Amadeus blows her cover, she merely arches her brows. "Isn't that a question to ask a girl! I'll let you in on a secret, we eat once a month and then subside on lettuce leaves the rest of the time. We can eat whatever we want. When in Rome, you know?" Her posture shifts, balancing on her heels, hip jutting forward and knee bent to ease the weight. "I might as well make this month's meal a good one. Some of these girls binge on coney dogs or doughnuts, even cake. Got to make the pleasure last, because it's all we get other than being rabbits." At that, she grins at the coyote pup. "Unlike some others around here."
*
Surface thoughts wouldn't be so bad. It's going deeper where it gets confusing. It isn't that people can't read his mind or get overwhelmed - it's merely that it's hard to understand how his mind actually /works/. The Mastermind Excello's mind just seems impossible. That can be distracting in its own right. When the coyote pup hears the back and forth between the two of them, he pokes his head back out to pant happily. Puppies do need air, after all. The little fuzzball just looks at Elizabeth. Amadeus just looks at her for a moment. Height, shape, weight…he can see all of the numbers surrounding her, calculating infinite variable with precision.
"That sounds miserable," Amadeus finally speaks up. Watching her for a discerning few more moments, he gives a shrug of his shoulders suddenly. "Unhealthy too. Given your body type, height, weight, and current exercise habits, you don't actually need to do that anyways. You could do a two-K run right now and call that taking it easy." Lips twist in a bit of a grin, but he goes back to talking. "He eats rabbits."
*
The confusion might be a welcome thing, a deviation from the bog standard brain that worries about parking, paying for the electric bill, the effects of the newspaper strike, and whether that wilder Spider-Man is responsible for everything dangerous in the background. She might poke a little further, but the rules of engagement are slightly different with young people who have happy coyote puppies lolling about. Provided she does not stand too far away, she might casually offer her hand the way a lady in the south or some aristocrat gives over her knuckles to be greeted by a personage of lesser social standing. This time, it's to allow for a sniff if something should happen. The careless gesture is her way of giving the animal a hello without drawing too much attention, and for all that the model lounges there, not everyone stares at her like a tasty slab of steak. She does have an easy way to her posture, completely comfortable, without much slack to slouch or shrug.
Amadeus has an estimation she nods in agreement with. "Doesn't it? The illusion of all those pretty images splashed everywhere leads you to believe a certain ideal, and everyone else who agrees with it thinks that's normal. A girl works for eight to ten hours a day for a few pictures, trying to pretend it's summer in January and winter in August. Believe me, they never get enough credit and I cannot blame some of the girls for being in a terrible mood. Not that I'm giving them a pass for being tosh prats, but I can understand." The hand withdrawn, provided puppy doesn't chew on her fingers, she lounges with a common ease. Being physically dissected, at least visually, doesn't appear to cause any annoyance in her. Others might be offended. Not so Glory. "Now, don't tell everyone it's effortless. It makes me sound like a damp squib, and nothing is worse than that. I put a lot more attention into such things to keep up with the competition. You have to. It's a dog eat dog world, I think you call it." American slang, completely incomprehensible.
*
The puppy scrambles a little in the jacket to sniff at the hand and then bathe it in puppy kisses in short order. Amadeus doesn't take the hand, but he does give a nod of his head in aknowledgement of both her and the gesture. "Eh, well. It's not like I've met that many super models. I wouldn't know." Rolling his shoulders back then in a shrug, the young man considers her quietly for another moment. "I didn't say it looked effortless, just that I think a couple mile run would be nothing for you." Another moment is taken to consider her words before he finally comes to a conclusion. "People are terribly, is why. Not in a 'Dear God, I hate everyone' way. Just…they're terrible in the way that humans are terrible. And no, I'm not exactly excluding myself."
*
Puppy kisses are accepted in return for a fondle of ears, a gentle rub of cheek and snout and jaw. The friction of those insatiable animal thoughts rubs against Elizabeth's own mind, and she smiles at the eager, adorable creature. "They're a breed apart. Much like everyone else. Oh, hullo, handsome chap you." Then she has to worry about a napkin eventually, but nothing concerning about the present. Still no one seems to complain about Kirby poking his head out, but then they probably might not even if half the Italian mafia strolled through. "I've made a point to go running by the Hudson at some point. A great river full of sights has to be interesting. I'm told that Manhattan is nice, but everyone stays in Central Park. I think they might assume I was running away from a robber if I went on the streets." Her gaze lifts though, and her brows arch. "People are terrible? They can be, if it's a glass half empty view. They are full of capacity for hope too. The engineers who create new ways to feed the hungry, the doctors with their treatments and medicines, the people who strive and think. But most of us just want to get by."
*
Kirby seems content enough at her letting him kiss her hand a few dozen times before he withdraws back to let the two talk, shifting his adorable puppy eyes from one to the other in turn. Amadeus quietly considers as she speaks, taking in everything from vocal patterns to tone and everything else. His brain is starting to get tired, but fortunately enough for him there are two pizzas on their way out from the kitchen by way of his waitress. His face lights up with a bit of a smile as she approaches and he casually pushes the pup head back down into his jacket. Both pies are set on the table and the young man rubs his hands together, large cheshire smile on his face. Fuel. Still, that fuel will have to cool off before it'll be of any use to him. "Pretty hard to 'just get by' when people won't leave you be," he says. While he doesn't necessarily bring up The Hulk, he is in mind when he speaks the statement. "Look at the crap that mutants get? How placid do they expect mutants to remain when the status quo is creating their subculture through fear? And how long before they're so alienated and kept separate that they only exist in their own echo chamber made of fear? It's like I said: People are terrible."
*
Elizabeth doesn't join the table, still loitering with all the classic ease of a dame used to posing for cameras and being cool enough to get by. Her order hasn't popped on part due to the heavy lineup before she got and more patrons queueing behind the counter suggest the ovens will stay fired up to produce their clam pizzas for quite some time yet. That serves well enough for her, a chance to communicate about anything but work on occupational topics and a narrowly defined range of issues accepted. When he says 'won't leave you be,' her expression becomes mildly inquisitive. "Are you saying the average person won't be let alone, or you yourself? I am still coming to terms with the social issues in this country, which admittedly are rather concerning." Race riots are a thing du jour, and the news lights up with the latest scandal from Alabama, Texas, New York, Virginia. "There has always been something of an underlying layer of fear. Those in power use it to stay in power and suppress anyone who might challenge the social order. We've seen it too, in England, many times. France is a case for it, the monarchs losing their heads and then years upon years of instability since. Mutants and segregated minorities make for complex questions, and harder answers. We have to change, and change is a frightening prospect. No one wants to hear the land they built their house on is changing, even if that means good things. New lawn and new fence? That sounds great but not for all the construction and maybe, some of these people have to think, they're going to tear down the neighbours' house and put up an apartment tower with many more neighbours." She shakes her head a little. "But if you think they're terrible then it is very hard to want to do anything with them, or put any value on them. Universally bad doesn't allow the same starting point for how you treat them."
*
Amadeus doesn't seem to mind the woman not joining the table, but her question does raise an eyebrow. Once the waitress is gone again, he lets the puppy free if he wants. Kirby settles down inside the jacket for now, curling up into a little fuzzball. "Not everyone. Just people who seem like they'd be a threat to the status quo. It isn't an unnatural way for people to act, but it doesn't make it less shitty." Again, he lifts his shoulders in a shrug and his lips twist to a smirk. More pizza is shoved into his mouth then, this time chewed before he continues. "Like you say. I mean - at one point the people of this country rebelled over the idea that they shouldn't be taxed without representation. How can you call someone who can't vote a citizen with civic responsibilities?" Rolling his eyes then, he gives a wave of a hand. "I don't know. I don't feel bad about calling people assholes. Not that I'm some sort of misanthropist either. Just more likely to keep my head down and not get involved. Hopefully that keeps working out." With a huff of breath then, he goes for more pizza. The young man's appetite might just be…alarming.
*
"Ah, I kept faith with the Queen rather than having a fit and throwing perfectly good tea in the harbour as a form of protest. It doesn't matter how dashing a figure the Marquis was, or how compelling Jefferson, I take a bit of wounded pride in how bitter all those gents in Boston were. Riled and ridiculous, though a sign of the times." Elizabeth's English accent requires a bit of this transatlantic diplomacy and defense of a mad king in a troubled time. Maybe. She does watch with fascination as Amadeus devours practically a whole dish of pizza like a wolf, chowing down at a rate barely seen before. She mustn't have a younger brother or forget what teens and young men do. It's rather like watching locusts. Her lips part in a wordless sense of watching a strange wonder. Maybe the fuzzy puppy can forgive some of the shock present. "The problem doesn't have an easy solution. In some ways, maybe it does. I have long had a dim view on the will of the mob, but Churchill has said a few choice things about them. The best argument against democracy is a five minute conversation with the average voter, and such." She turns then, nodding to the woman who brings out a box with a large circle of margherita pizza in it. Clearly they don't think she can eat this by herself and maybe they are right. "I don't think you will have the choice of dodging consequences and involvement, as invariably these things catch up with us. Would you rather just be floating in the refuse on the waves or above them?"
*
Amadeus has disconnected.
*
Amadeus has connected.
*
"Ah, I kept faith with the Queen rather than having a fit and throwing perfectly good tea in the harbour as a form of protest. It doesn't matter how dashing a figure the Marquis was, or how compelling Jefferson, I take a bit of wounded pride in how bitter all those gents in Boston were. Riled and ridiculous, though a sign of the times." Elizabeth's English accent requires a bit of this transatlantic diplomacy and defense of a mad king in a troubled time. Maybe. She does watch with fascination as Amadeus devours practically a whole dish of pizza like a wolf, chowing down at a rate barely seen before. She mustn't have a younger brother or forget what teens and young men do. It's rather like watching locusts. Her lips part in a wordless sense of watching a strange wonder. Maybe the fuzzy puppy can forgive some of the shock present. "The problem doesn't have an easy solution. In some ways, maybe it does. I have long had a dim view on the will of the mob, but Churchill has said a few choice things about them. The best argument against democracy is a five minute conversation with the average voter, and such." She turns then, nodding to the woman who brings out a box with a large circle of margherita pizza in it. Clearly they don't think she can eat this by herself and maybe they are right. "I don't think you will have the choice of dodging consequences and involvement, as invariably these things catch up with us. Would you rather just be floating in the refuse on the waves or above them?"
*
"I wasn't alive at the time," Amadeus says with a laugh and a shrug. "It's a fine ideal to want representation if you're being taxed for it. It's the blinding hypocrisy that frsutrates me." What can one do, though? That's the unspoken question. Him? He could do a lot, but he does not seem inclined to save the world. What he does do is shrug again. While she talks, he eats, destroying an entire pie by himself and then letting out a small belch afterwards. "So what? Every system of government is easily toppled. It's always the people at the bottom that suffer for it. People who didn't get a say." A pepperoni or two gets fed into his jacket as well over the course of the feast, but he does try to limit Kirby's junk food intake. "And then we go down two roads if I get involved. Either trusting the powers that be with a lot of power or defying them to come up with other solutions. The former probably gets a lot of people killed. The latter gets me branded a communist, a terrorist…whatever. So yeah, it's complicated. It's best if I don't at all. Can't lose if you don't play."
*
"People get a say most of the time. Most systems of government are bad ones, except we can't find one that works for however many millions we've got living here. It was easy for a few thousand men in Greece, or Rome, or wherever." Elizabeth carries the box and doesn't tuck in to her pizza, which would more than suggest she is planning to dine elsewhere or eat exactly one piece, throw out the rest, and start a riot that ends with her thrown into New York Harbour. And she would deserve it completely. "How is it a bad thing to trust the powers that be, and put checks and balances on their involvement? Isn't that how the system works, over here? You don't have people with unquestionable amounts of power, and the other forces balance against one another. It's also not like there aren't entire divisions that exist only to keep the others in line. Court and the police, your legislature." That's Congress, Glory. But she uses what she has. "Defiance may not be the only way. You know there is a middle path between these things. Or you can sit back and let someone else steer but that means it's not okay to complain if you don't like the outcome, you know? You do lose if you don't play. Your choice is taken from you, as it happens."
*
The young man shrugs again, reaching for a slice from the other pie now. It's devoured in short order like the rest of it. Really, it's a wonder Amadeus iss so skinny as he apparently eats like a pack animal. "The powers that be decided it was a good idea to not only develop, but use nuclear weapons." He gives her a flat look, but doesn't push the issue for now. Instead, he waves a hand at her again and sighs. "I'm not defying anything either. As far as I'm concerned, none of this craziness has anything to do with me. I've got more immediate stuff to worry about." A more helpless shrug is given then before he more slowly reaches for another slice of pizza.
*
"The powers that be developed cannons in an age of swords. We developed iron and steel after bronze, which keeps an edge badly. Human technology and human ingenuity aren't going to stop. We come up with better ways to destroy one another but we also have vaccines for diseases, and electricity with good sanitation. The old ways are not always the best ways," Elizabeth points out gently. There is a suppressed reaction to the nuclear weapons, but it might be hard to notice. Still, it's there, in the cold slip of thoughts and the languid, icy pulse of her heart beneath the surface. "The craziness has everything to do with everyone. I think the McCarthy trials happened because too many people said 'It's not my issue.' How many people died in Axis Europe for the same reasons?" She shrugs her shoulders. "Suit yourself. But one day the trouble will come. Make sure you're on the side you wanted to be and not one chosen for you. Good luck, sir. I don't think I caught your name."
*
"That's not what I'm talking about," he says with some measure of frustration. "Unlocking tha atom was one of the greatest feats in human history, but what was it used for?" Amadeus shakes his head a touch and breathes a sigh before taking yet another slice. "Where were the checks and balances then? Sure, maybe you work with the establishment sometimes, but do you give full disclosure? Do they get pissed and alienate you for not giving full disclosure?" He gives a gesture towards her with one hand while holding the slice in the other. "Imagine the power of some of these mutants in the hands of the establishment and tell me with a straight face that that's a good idea."
