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Shattered windows, cracked concrete, ruddy-colored stains in the pavement. Something clearly happened in this section of Chinatown, and recently, too. It's doubtful anyone would guess the truth of the matter or even believe it if they were outright told, but for most people, the details don't really matter. Only the way the damage has disrupted their lives and livelihoods.
It's why Tyrone has come back. The damage to the ramen shop had been extensive, and he'd felt terrible for being unable to do more to prevent it — which means that, in this predominantly Chinese neighborhood, there is a young black man with a broom helping clean up outside the shop, sticking out like a sore thumb.
*
Strolling down the block, arms folded defensively over her chest, Kitty definitely looks out of place. With a scarf wrapped around her neck, and a large oversized faded t-shirt and faded blue jeans, Kitty Pryde is a weird juxtaposition of summer and winter. Her curly brunette hair, curlier thanks to the recent NYC humidity, bounces as she moves. The shoulder bag thrown across her body acts as an invitation to potential muggers, but she pays it no mind, just continuing in her stride with little thought.
Absently, her fingers toy at the scarf at her neck, playing with the fabric and its effort to conceal. Her eyebrows draw together and she tilts her head at the young man cleaning up outside the restaurant. While it's unusual, it's not so unusual that it makes her stop. She issues him a small nod in greeting and intends to continue on her way.
*
Tyrone glances up from his sweeping to see a young lady looking his way. Wearing a scarf. In summer. He doesn't intentionally mirror the tilt of her head or furrow of her brow — it just kind of happens. Not that he has room to talk. The black hooded sweatshirt he's wearing has to be absolute agony in this weather.
As she moves to continue on by, he offers her a shy smile… then, a very hurried "W-w-watch your step," and a wave towards a bit of broken glass he hasn't quite gotten to yet. The stutter makes him wince.
*
Kitty most definitely isn't watching her step. In fact, despite her often-held assertion that she isn't clumsy, in fact, she has a bit of a clumsy streak. The glass beneath her feet is enough to cause the young Miss Pryde's shoes to slide instead of catch the pavement.
The slip doesn't take much, and in mere seconds, Kitty is creamed on the cement. And while, when she falls, she knows she could phase, she chooses not to — mostly because mutant-ing out in front of strangers never bodes well.
She groans. Loudly.
She presses her hands to the ground to push herself up, but ends up sitting on the scarf, tugging it tighter, warranting a very uncomfortable inhalation of breath, and prompting her to lay down again. Swelling is never fun.
*
He tried. As soon as it's clear that she is in for a spill, Tyrone drops the broom. He's not quick enough to catch her or anything, but he's kneeling by her side quickly, eyes wide in concern.
"Shit!" is about the only thing that comes out without some degree of a stutter. "M-miss? Are you okay?" Tyrone starts to reach out, then takes his hands back with an uncertain grimace.
*
Groaning from her spot on the pavement, Kitty just stars up at the sky. The few clouds she can see offer enough of a respite to manage a shy smile. "I… I'm okay," her voice comes out raspy and weak. "Honest." She flashes him her teeth. Again she pushes herself up, only to wince once the scarf has pressure applied from her body weight.
Her hands lift and tug the scarf down, exposing the bruising around her neck as she does so. Sheepishly, she attempts to save face, returning it to its spot on her neck. "No harm," she murmurs softly.
*
The rasp to her voice has Tyrone's brow knitting together in concern long before the bruises are exposed. He notices them and his expression sobers, but he does not stare — his eyes are back on her face pretty much immediately. He chews on his lip for a moment before he nods once. "N-no harm," he confirms, cracking a small smile.
Tyrone straightens back up and offers her both of his hands. "Sorry. I t-tried to warn you, b-but…" He trails off, gesturing up at his own face as his lips twist in frustration. "…you sure you're g-good?"
*
"No harm, no foul," Kitty confirms with a lopsided grin. She accepts the help up and nods once, "I know. I heard after the fact. I'm not always the lightest on my feet, I mean sometimes I'm the lightest on my feet, but other times I fall and then feel ridiculous because everyone sees it and it hurts and I'm just not that sharp when it comes to walking almost like I just learned yesterday — " evidently Kitty is a bit nervous. Probably because she felt exposed.
She clears her throat. It hurts to talk. "I'm good," she finally confirms. Her eyes flit about the area, "Quite the mess.."
*
It's alright. She might be babbling a bit, but the odd smile from Tyrone suggests he finds it charming. Once he's helped her back to her feet, he gives her shoulders a quick dusting off before stepping back with a satisfied nod.
"Last n-night was a… a b-bad night." Tyrone casts a quick look around and purses his lips, considering his options. "…d-don't take this the wrong way, b-but can I buy you a drink?" he asks, turning back towards Kitty and shoving his hands into his pockets. "T-to apologize."
*
The assertion has Kitty straightening. Her chin lifts and she looks at the building, "I can see that," her voice but a whisper. "I think it was a bad day all around," her expression turns pensive. The question following the disclaimer earns Tyrone a smirk, and she falls on her go-to, "You don't — it's not — i mean, it's really not your fault. Unless you purposely put glass there…"
There's a mischievous twinkle in her eye, "If you did that then I'd say you owed me two. At least." She chuckles lightly and then presses her hands over her eyes. "Alright. One drink. But don't get funny ideas. I'm sort of seeing someone." Kitty Pryde, ever the upfront.
*
"S-somebody owes you an ap-p-pology," Tyrone notes in a perfectly reasonable voice, a little glimmer of sheepishness in his eye. "M-might as well come from m-me. So." He holds up a finger and flashes a toothy smile. "One d-drink. Lady's choice," he insists, silently hoping that the lady's choice is not very expensive. He doesn't exactly have… income.
Abruptly, he remembers his manners and extends a hand towards her, looking more than a little embarassed for taking so long to think of it. "Tyrone. Or j-just Ty."
*
There's a shrug at the assertion, "I think that the apology should probably come from my feet. Because. They owe me. Big time." Her eyebrows lift with good humour. "Just juice." Pause. "My throat is kind of sore." Why ever would it be sore? Who knows?
She accepts the hand and gives it a solid shake, "Kitty." Pause. "Uh. I guess Katherine, technically," she frowns slightly, "but call me Kitty. Please. Everyone does."
*
Oh, good. Tyrone can afford juice. He smiles broadly and returns the shake, his free hand coming up to briefly clasp the brim of his baseball cap in his fingertips in a sort of salute. "Kitty. One juice it is." He takes a moment to retrieve the broom and prop it up next to the ramen shop's door, then he's back at Kitty's side and dusting his hands off with the front of his sweatshirt.
"I d-don't actually know the n-neighborhood that great," Tyrone admits, craning his neck as he casts a searching look up and down the street. Market, market, gotta be a market… "…and I c-can't read, like… any of this. B-but it can't be that hard to find some j-juice out here."
*
"Yeah, never spent much time in Chinatown, myself," Kitty admits with a small smile. Her hands tuck casually into her pockets, and she falls into easy paces down the street. "You know, it's really not necessary — " she's objecting again. Because that's what she does. Object.
"So, how'd you get roped into clean-up if you're not from around here?" she asks idly as she falls into step with him. Her eyes flit about the signs and she notes, "I'm not good with Mandarine or Cantonese. If it was Japanese, I could probably discern it, but I'm useless language-wise here."
She sucks on the inside of her cheek. "What brings you out this way then? New to New York or just Chinatown?
"
*
"Didn't. They d-don't know I'm here," Tyrone replies easily, thumbing over his shoulder at the shop as he follows alongside Kitty as they make their way down the street. "They were gettin' shook d-down for protection money. So they left town for a b-bit. Just wanted 'em to come home to something b-better."
He stuffs his hands into his pockets and keeps an eye out as they walk, looking for little markets or restaurants that look open. Or at least less destroyed. "J-just Chinatown. I live in the Kitchen. Been there for…" He trails off, thinking. "…t-two years, I guess?"
*
Kitty frowns quite openly. "Geez. Tough break." Her chin lowers and her eyebrows furrow together. "That's unbelievable. Are they okay? We could.. we could contact the police..?" it's almost a question, and one that has Kitty's arms hugging herself. "Not that they'd do anything anyways." The young Miss Pryde has become increasingly disenchanted with government security.
She shoots him a stitch of a smile and a nod. "I know the area." Her head ticks back towards the North. "I went to Columbia for awhile. Registered at NYU now." Not that she's likely to get to class with all of the injuries she's been incurring lately. "Do you like the Kitchen?"
Her lips twitch, "Been away from New York for a bit — save for the last month and a half. Had… things to do." Rescue her father. Protest in Louisiana. Get kidnapped. Things.
*
The question of whether or not the ramen shop owners are okay gets Kitty a quick nod and a reassuring smile. Tyrone doesn't even say anything at the note about calling the police — just drops his head enough to look up at her from under the brim of his cap, his mouth twisting into a very wry smile as she vocalizes his opinion all on her own. "I don't trust the cops," Tyrone murmurs, and it's one of the only things he's said where he hasn't had to make any kind of effort not to stutter. That sentiment is one he can express as naturally as breathing.
"The Kitchen is… it n-needs help," Tyrone replies with a shrug, reaching up to lightly scratch his cheek. "The city l-likes to pretend the people there d-don't exist. But it's home now. The bad's real bad, but it has a lot of good, too."
*
"I have to admit, I haven't really spent much time there," Kitty offers with a flicker of a smile. "Not because — " she lifts a hand defensively, only to explain, "I'm not afraid or anything. Just to be clear." Her eyebrows draw together. "Very little scares me." Her hands drop back to her sides. "I just haven't had reason, I guess." Her eyebrows draw together tightly. "I'll check it out someday."
"I lived in Westchester when I lived in State. And commuted a lot. NYC proper has a lot more to offer. Although, Westchester has its merits." Cloak is issued an easier grin. "Where did you live before the Kitchen?"
*
Tyrone actually laughs at the defensiveness and tries to bump her with his shoulder as they walk. "It's okay. We d-don't have much in the way of d-destinations," he notes with a wide grin. "Don't go out of your way or anything. Most folks are j-just passing through. Or stuck."
There's a brief bit of hesitation at that question and Tyrone's eyes go back to searching for juice. He swallows. "…Boston. I-I'm from Boston."
*
"Boston," Kitty repeats warmly. "You still have family there?" She manages a toothy grin and then offers, "I'm from Deerfield Illinois. Also known as nothing-happens-here-Illinois. I'm pretty sure that's why my parents like it so much." Her grin broadens.
"They don't really like change," she muses quietly. "It's a wonder they immigrated here right after I was born. And they changed their last name. Evidently Prydeman was too Jewish." Her eyebrows lift, and she notes, "And they don't like change much. Not in any way." She bumps against Tyrone's arm this time, "I bet Boston is a bit more progressive than nowhere's-field-Illinois."
*
"Some family," Tyrone replies quietly, loosely curling one arm around himself. His tone is… not exactly non-commital, not quite evasive, but close.
Tyrone almost jumps at the bump but tries to hide it behind a smile. "P-parts of it, maybe. N-not where I grew up," he says with a dismissive wave of his hand. Quick, Tyrone, deflect! "M-most parents don't like ch-change. Most people. Easier when things are just kind of…" He gestures with both hands, searching for the right word. "…static. P-predictable. You know? Harder to screw up."
*
"Me neither. My family isn't progressive at all." The thought of progress causes Kitty to stare at her shoes. "My parents should be the kind of people who support progress. I mean, we're Jewish. Our family was impacted by… things across the pond. Their daughter is — " her cheeks hue pink as she almost confesses her status " — intellectually gifted," it's not even a lie, "and never fit in. They should be more accepted." Her jaw tightens.
"I called them the other day, completely smitten for this — " her eyes flit towards Tyrone " — young man I'm seeing. And they wanted to hear. I'm not sure if they were more disappointed that he's Russian or not Jewish. Meanwhile, I'm trying to include them in my life, and… doors." She shrugs.
*
There is a part of Tyrone that is relieved his deflection seems to have worked, and another that feels a bit selfish for it. Oh well. He's never been good with people. Why start now?
"That's rough. He a g-good guy?" Tyrone asks, looking over to Kitty and raising his eyebrows. He tries very hard not to let his eyes flick down towards the scarf hiding her bruises. "N-nothin' matters but that, man. They'll g-get over it." He pauses and adds, "Or not. Up to them."
*
Kitty's arms cross her body to hug herself. There's a tight curve of her lips and she offers, "The best." She sucks on her bottom lip and adds, "And I couldn't stop feeling how I feel about him anyways. Not that I want to. But if I did, I couldn't." her eyes cut downwards.
"Mom and dad might never get over it. They haven't gotten over me, their only child, turning out to be a freak." She shrugs. "But… it doesn't really matter to be honest. I'm grown. I don't live there. IF they want to be part of my life, they'll respect my decisions."
*
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold up." Tyrone may not know her very well, but that is still enough to get him to take a couple of quick steps to bring himself in front of her, his hands coming up to catch her short of walking into him if necessary. "Who said you were a f-freak?" He frowns deeply, brow pinching together in concern.
*
There's a quirk of Kitty's eyebrows as there's hands stopping her from moving forward. Her chin drops again. "Uh…" nothing about her says freak outright — she'd always been lucky that way. Her lips try to work around words and then she finally settles on, "Everything. Everyone. Have you read the news lately?" Her lips twist to the side. "Hate all mutants," she essentially confesses her own status. "Calls for registration met with protests~" Her lips purse lightly. "So." She lifts her hands expectantly, "Freak."
*
Tyrone can't stop the question from coming out. "Kitty. Is that what happened?" he asks, gesturing towards his own throat with a certain intensity to his gaze. "D-don't listen to t-that crap. You're not a freak. I know freaks." He's a freak. This girl, not even close.
*
Kitty's eyes turn downwards and her head shakes. "No." Her eyebrows draw together tightly. Those hazel eyes stare back with that same intensity, but then she clears her throat. "Icarus just flew too close to the sun," she offers with a lopsided-never-meets-her-eyes smile that fades seconds later. She emits a soft sigh. "It wasn't like that. I…" her eyes lid lightly. "I'm trying to… I have these grand delusions that I'm a hero." Pause. "I'm not. But I'm trying."
*
Despite what his appearance might lead one to assume, there is a glimmer of understanding in Tyrone's eyes when Kitty cites Icarus. Who knew? He blinks once and develops an odd smile at the rest of the explanation. "Huh. M-makes two of us, I guess," he says in a low voice. He withdraws his hands and turns in place, craning his neck. Juice. They were looking for juice. "My partner's b-better at it than I am. She's a g-good person."
*
Head canting upwards to watch Tyrone a little more carefully, Kitty's smile quirks a bit higher. "Yeah? Seems like heroes or hero wannabes are a dime a dozen. But I guess they have to be when police do such a poor job." Her eyes lid lightly and she falls back into step. The juice, from her vantage point, has been long forgotten. "It's good you have a partner. I met Spider-man once. He's not the menace the papers claim. But I guess he'd be lonely." She shrugs. "I have a lot of friends that try to hero with me. They're mostly better at it than I am."
*
Tyrone snickers as he resumes their walk, his hands going right back into his pockets. "Most things aren't what the papers c-claim," he says wryly, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. He's quiet a moment, mulling something over, before he cracks a small smile. "The Holy G-Ghost Church. In the K-kitchen. You can find us there."
*
Kitty nods lightly, "I'll remember that if I'm in need of a pair of heroes." Her eyes twinkle as she moves, but they deaden seconds later. "I don't know if you've heard, but there's some trouble around New York. People going missing." Her jaw tightens. "Not suggesting you try to find them, but maybe you and your partner should be on the lookout…"
*
"People are always g-going missing," Tyrone replies grimly, with a darkening of his expression to match. It doesn't seem to be aimed at Kitty, at least; when he looks over at her a moment later, he's already thawed considerably. "B-but it sounds like you mean something more… specific. What're we looking for?"
*
A hand tucks a stray curl behind Kitty's ear. "White vans." She swallows hard. "They seem to congregate wherever people are trying to make waves. Social change of any sort garners attention, and they seem to silence the folks that support it." Her hands clasp lightly behind her back. "Just keep your eyes open. I have friends on it already, but it's an ongoing concern."
*
"White vans," Tyrone repeats, nodding once as he commits it to memory. He doesn't think he's heard about anything matching the description happening in Hell's Kitchen recently, but if he's honest, Tandy probably knows better. "We'll k-keep an eye out. There some way I can g-get word to you, if we see anything?" he asks, his hands already starting to pat down his pockets. Does he have paper?
*
There's a small nod. "Right. White vans. They carry people. Government officials and people. And there's a girl with.." she cringes. "…claws. They're super sharp." Kitty's cheeks puff out with exasperation, "And yeah. I have a phone number I can be reached at." She reaches into her own pocket, tugging out a piece of paper and a pen; she's learned since she met Luke and Maverick. "And it's Kitty. Just ask for me. I live with a lot of people…" because she does.
*
"The church doesn't have a w-working phone," Tyrone murmurs, in the tone of someone making a note to fix something. "B-but we can get to one. No problem. Here." He's quick to turn around and stoop down, reaching back to pat between his shoulders. A writing desk, just for her.
*
Kitty grins at the makeshift writing desk, and scribbles her number down on a small piece of paper. "Awesome. Just, get in touch if you hear or see something. I am working on it." She gestures towards her throat, "And despite evidence otherwise, I am normally pretty capable of taking care of myself."
*
Tyrone grins at her over his shoulder, his eyes twinkling. "It's c-cool. We all have rough nights." Once she's finished writing, he straightens back up to accept the paper, absently chewing on his lower lip as he scans it. "So… w-white vans. Government guys. K-kidnappers. An' that." With the last, his eyes go to her scarf. He, at least, seems to take the notion of government-sponsored kidnappings as… almost a given. "Got it."
*
"Exactly. All of the above." Kitty's cheeks hue pink as he looks at the scarf. "And be careful. These people are dangerous…" her eyes flit away from Tyrone. Her lips press together lightly as she falls into step with Tyrone again. "Always good to have more eyes," she murmurs quietly.