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If the headlines screaming around the world weren't obvious enough, alien life has come to Earth. An unforgettable encounter in the middle of Times Square convulses the nation. There is no normal anymore. Everything humanity thought it knew about being in an anthropocentric universe just went out the window, and unlike Copernicus, there's no Church to shout down the reality of the situation. The second Enlightenment has begun.
One of the actors on that stage sits at a table in the corner, jammed there against the wall where she has the best view possible over so many twitchy, uneasy New Yorkers. Katz's is more than an institution. In a way it is New York, where immigrant families and the Dutch settlers rub shoulders, and a dozen different languages chatter about the very same thing. A lack of radios or televisions on the premises hasn't stopped everyone from constantly sharing hearsay, gossip, and speculation. It will only be a matter of time before someone recognizes the flying redhead trying to rescue a 'policeman' as the one seated there, trying to eat a pastrami sandwich on marbled rye, and completely failing. Or they will mistake the French redhead for the same, even if their hair is a slightly different tint and conspicuously absent of white flowers in her hair.
Still. Aliens or not, humanity must eat and this, this is the superlative Jewish deli to end all Jewish delies. Even the Israelis confidently admit their skills of schlepping sauerkraut and Russian dressing aren't up to matching this temple. Hear it yourself; Albert Katz himself is over there muttering the space program and the White House would do a whole lot better with a fully belly dealing with this little grey men situation.
*
Marie knew that /something/ was coming. Something big. The cards had been insistant. A major change was coming, and coming soon. What kind of change? That they hadn't been quite so specific about. When she found out the news — thanks to passing by a newspaper stand and spying the headline… well, there was one place she went. One person she /ran/ to, and this has since brought her here.
"I… I can barely believe it possible," she babbles in French, she's been aflutter verbally the entire trip over, her soup actually having time to cool off rather than being devoured by the oft-ravenous girl. "People… is that even the right word? From other worlds. /Here./" In some ways, it shouldn't be a surprise. She's come face to face with demons, she's more or less accepted the idea that Prince Thor is some kind of alien himself.
…but Prince Thor is handsome and human-like. He didn't /feel/ alien, even if that's where he's classed in Marie's mind. The description of this… this /creature,/ really put the alien in alien, though. Little grey men and Mars attacking all rolled into one. "Are they sure it wasn't just a mutant? I have seen some who look strange before…"
*
Of course certain souls stand in the middle. The flower girl of the riots, she made her appearance. White irises and zinnias litter the sink back at her apartment, proof of preparation to hand out her signs of peace and solidarity. Nonetheless, the young woman does the best she can not to attract undue notice. The sandwiches usually come with a plate of fries, chips, or pickles depending on predilection. She has no taste for potato products or the bitterness of dill, so Scarlett picks at the crust of her bread. Gloves are squarely on, an indicator of emotional state.
"People from other worlds, bringing violence here," she says quietly. "Make no mistake, we are on a turning point and not here for peaceful encounters." Her French has markedly improved with regular use instead of lectures and the odd meeting of the Francophone club at Columbia University. Half the students must be marching in protest outside right now, as the news is settling in. "Even the Soviets are setting aside their disdain for the bourgeoisie in the corrupt, decadent West to address this. It very much is the reality. And I work for…"
Her palms spread, and she shrugs her shoulders gently at Marie. They both know. She works for a prince of a foreign dimension, for whatever reasons, and has tight enough attachments with that court. But also to humans, her connection to Marie proof for that. Maybe she's the dimensional welcoming committee in the making! "It was not a mutant. I could barely breathe around him, and that was from the blood coming out of him. The only way to be absolutely certain is probably with spells or utterly awful scientific invasions. I don't envy the Fantastic Four. Johnny Storm was…" Her eyes shut. "Neither of us reached the alien in time. I doubt it would have made a difference."
But she failed, and that's the problem.
*
Marie reaches out a hand towards one of Scarlett's. Trying to hold her friend's hand The gloves are on, so there's no worry in the motion… and frankly? She probably would've /tried/ regardless. Just for the comfort. The elbow of her other arm moves to rest on the table — bad manners, but she's in shock! — and her palm moves to support her forehead, as if it weighed more than she could handle right now.
"I trust your insight, Scarlett, you know this." she affirms, bowing her head slightly. "…and even if I did not, the cards had laid hints of what was to come at my feet… but I was unable to see through this haze." she shakes her head now, emerald eyes closing. "Creatures from other worlds coming to make war upon the Earth… if anyone else had told me, I would not believe such a thing."
Then, there's a pause. One eye opens and is directed at the redhead across the table, lips curved into a firm frown. "What are we to do, Scarlett? …what /can/ we do?" she asks, as if the taller woman were the one with all the answers.
*
The gesture means more than Marie may ever learn, even if it's wrought with a certain alarm from the bohemian. People do not casually reach out and touch her unless intending violence, or ignorant, for the most part. Her eyes widen, emerald shocked into the native auroral spectrum, and her lips compress down on the warning automatically at her tongue. Comfort is not an unwelcome thing, and she curls her fingers up after flipping her palm for a slight gesture intended to convey the same.
"We live in momentous times. You wondered, perhaps, what drew you here and why you have a deeper set of skills than your dear grandmere? I believe your answer is found." For what could be possibly more momentous than 'caught in an interstellar battle between two empires?' "I do not know they mean to make war with us. With their compatriots where we are but another battle outpost, perhaps. Did Uruguay have anything to do with the War? No, but Germans and British fought off her coast. We have seen conflicts spill over, but this time, we are a people on a planet staring up with horror and awe upon something inconceivable. We are not alone. We learned by someone falling to his death, and there have been fewer signs than we know of communications. I would know more, but what leverage have I?"
Best tuck into that sandwich, and she takes a bite of it, chewing and swallowing while her thoughts dance quicksilver through possibilities. "Reach out. Don't antagonize the situation for the hawks will call for war, developing an arsenal. Already they talk of superheroes going into space to defend us. It's the Avengers Initiative on another scale. But we have seen that violence is not the first wave of response. The Dalai Lama was here, for gods' sakes, that has to count for something. We gather instead as many allies as we can to be the voice of reason, and preferably a voice these… people… will listen to."
To be continued…