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Gary has arrived.
*
If he had any sense, he'd set up a system. If he had any sense, he'd organize something. If he had any sense, he'd rely less on power and more on what he knows of medicine. Josh was once considered a prodigee, a gifted doctor, a surgeon of great potential. But he clearly doesn't have any sense. Near to the edge of Mutant Town, near where it's almost a normal neighborhood, there's a line formed leading to a dark space between buildings, but it's not very long. They're near an alley, and they wait patiently. They carry what looks to be thermuses or just mugs, some trays of food. There's a look of hope on their eyes. A look of fear. It's an odd sight: Mutant Town is, more then anything, just a neighborhood, and is not particularly different then any other neighborhood. Except for every so often one of its citizens is at a glance quite obviously *different*. But here, no one cares what you look like. This is Mutant Town. Its not a slum, not quite, for busineses do run here and the people who live here do have jobs and work.
So what is this line? To an alley? One may consider it something of curiosity, or one may pass it by. But the line is there and the people seem willing to wait as long as it takes to get to the front of it.
*
A man is wedged into a well-used phonebooth, attached phonebook proped up against his torso and the glass of the door, yellow pages leafed over to the section on tow-trucks or car repair. The reason proves fairly obvious, if one were to be keeping an eye out. A second generation Chevy Bel-Air, its top up, one side dropped a bit lower then others due to a popped tire, sits parked at the curb, "Yeah. No, no I just need one… uhh…" His eyes drop down to a scrap of paper held on the phonebook, with a golf pencil between two fingers, "That's right, a '56. Uuuuuh…. yeah, sounds right." Theres a bit of chattering left before Gary replaces the handset on the cradle with a clatter, flopping the book closed, to be returned to its shelf.
*
Whoever was on the other end of the line sounded local, Italian, even, and promises to send someone right on out. For a wonder it only takes perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes before a little light green Studebaker pickup truck turns onto the appropriate lane, wearing the lettering 'Uncle Sal's Garage' on the nearby door, and pulls into a nearby spot. Surprisingly, perhaps, who gets out is a girl. Dizzy hops out with a fairly long breaker bar in hand, and glances around for the customer-fellow with a high-sign of a wave. She starts retrieving a rim and tire from the bed.
*
A man stumbles out of the alley, in jeans and a heavy, thick oversized and very bright yellow hoodie, and he goes to the first person in line and grasps her hands. There is a little girl there, and after some murmured conversation, he crouches, and takes the girls hands in his own. For a few moments, a glow of golden light envelops them both, but it passes, and rising unsteadily, the yellow-hoodie takes the Thermos, and nods to the woman. To the others in line, he looks each in the face in turn, "Tomorrow." His voice, hoarse. With his hoodie up and over, his features are obscured, but he stumbles away from where he was and makes his way with a gloved hand holding onto the wall to keep himself up, even as he steadily drinks from the Thermos. He ends up not going far before he is by the car, and he takes to leaning against the wall, and watching for a moment. Thoughtful for a moment, he calls out for the pair, "Be careful." his voice light and sounding young despite a harsh tension in his throat, "The city isn't very welcoming of late. Though around here, it's more so."
*
Gary has stepped out of the phone booth, periodically checking the dial of his wristwatch as he waits for the tow company to get there. It had been a bit of a random selection from the phone book, they had seemed friendly enough. When the truck shows up, and a girl pops out, the older man gives a surprised raise of his eyebrows, annoyance passing over his features briefly at the thought of not being sent an actual mechanic. It was just a tire change but… the annoyance flashes away as he returns the high sign with a bit of a wave, approach the truck. Concern evaporates as the Dizzy gets to work, and appears to know what she's doing at the very least… he starts to issue a greeting, but is inturrupted by the golden glow out of the corner of his eye, some distence away. Turning his head, then his body towards the mutant healing, he catches perhaps the last second or two, and his brow furrows, concernedly… Distracted, he turns back to Dizzy, "Uh… hey there. Think I hit a nail, and uh… that /was/ the spare." He thumbs over to the flat tire, head turning towards the man approaching, before he addresses them both, "Well, she's not Yonkers, is she?"
*
Julie is …quite likely used to that sort of reaction, really, on occasions like this, maybe, smiles a bit anyway, in greeting, with a nod about the tire predicament before she notices the wall-leaning fellow pause to address them. "Generally nothing wrong with friendly, buddy. You OK, there?" Her accent's …pretty local, Brooklyn Italian almost surely. She takes out a right-angle-headed flashlight that may be military surplus once the replacement tire she's brought and eyes the ones there. Says to Gary, "Well, generally if it's a nail we can fix that at the shop if you want everything matching, this one here'll make a good spare for now. Flashes the light to check on the jacking situation to be sure that's right before glancing to the fellow with the Thermos again."
*
Pushing off the wall with a somewhat weary sigh, Josh takes a long swing from the Thermos, and approaches the car, "Need any help?" he wonders, and as he nears, the shadows hide his features less effectively. In fact, they don't hide them at all. The yellow of the hoodie helps, but closer, its help is limited— his skin is gold. That doesn't mean yellow or orange or some euphanism for a level of being tanned, but gold. Metallic. "I admit I don't know the most about mechanics, but if any stupid strength is needed, I can be of assistance."
*
The jack situation seems to be non existing, though the tools are there, likley fetched from the trunk, sitting next to the car. Perhaps preparing for an exit if the tire situation wasn't resolved, Gary hadn't started to process of putting the car up. "Well I guess that depends on your estimate." Gary responds to the question, a little carefully, apparently ready to leap on the haggling train. As the exhausted fellow approaches, Haswell squints, at first perhaps not exactly sure what he's seeing. He's pensive, silent for a moment, before shaking his head slowly, "I…. think the jack's probably got it, but I'm not the mechanic."
*
Julie smiles there, waggles the breaker bar. "Think we're all right, I brought some extra leverage, just in case." It so happens Dizzy doesn't really need a wrench at all for this, but appearances need to be kept up. Especially if males had trouble with the lugnuts. It's about then her eyebrows shoot up at the metallic skin, though it seems more surprise than alarm. On that count at least, though, one's first conclusion might be that he's been drinking. A jack, she'll need, though, and she retrieves a well-used scissor jack from the truck. When she returns, she asks the gold fellow, "So, what's everyone everyone been in line for?"
*
"The elixir, the cure to what ails you. Folks around here can't go to a hospital and get help without … issues." answers Josh with a light shrug of his shoulder, drinking from the thermos again and standing a litle bit straighter. His features are somewhat obscured, but only somewhat: the chin shows and its golden sheen is hard to hide even beneath the hoodie. He glances to Gray and nods, letting one hand slip into his coats pocket. He nods off towards Gary then, "I'm Josh." And a similar nod for Julie to include her with it. He lingers.
*
Gary gives a glance over to the remnants of the departing crowd and the back-alley 'clinic' that the golden man walked away from. He shoves his hands in his coat pockets while Julie gets to work on the tire, starting to say something, but deciding against it at the last moment. She just turned down goldey, his help probably wasn't needed, "Elixer? Just charging a nominal fee for it then?" He asks, voice lilting with suspicion, before the fellow gives his name, "Well, good evening, Josh. I'm Gary." Haswell returns, with a friendly-enough looking smile, turning his head towards Julie, "And I suppose that's Uncle Sal."
*
Julie hrms, toward Josh. Of course there's more than one meaning to 'it'll cure what ails you' and 'elixirs' can mean 'snake oil' as well, but either way, she nods. "Ah, right. I get nervous at the doctor's too, and some folks here got *real* worries." Laughs a bit to Gary. "Uncle Sal's *my* uncle Sal, though, like his uncle Sal was Uncle Sal's uncle before him and so on. And on it goes to the age of busted wagonwheels, they say," she laughs, and pauses to chock the rear wheel with the flat spare, then slides the jack directly under the Chevy's frame. She knows exactly where this is, being familiar with these particular ones more than most. Pops her head up again and adds, "Dizzy, by the way."
*
Josh turns to look sharply upon Gary, "I do not charge them anything at all. They bring food, coffee, tea, juice, to sustain and strengthen me, but I don't ask more then they can give and I take as little as possible even what is offered. We are a community here, Gary. More then a few times I press too hard and lose consciousness, and those waiting guard me, lay blankets over me, and wait while I recover. I don't care about money at all. Elixir can not be bought: his touch can only be asked for and accepted." That said, he takes a long, weary breath and looks over to Julie, "I'll never understand those who get nervous at Doctors. I admit, needles aren't pleasant, but Doctors… I was a surgical resident, Doctors entire life is devoted to making you *better*. Do you think cars get nervous when they go to a mechanic? I'd think the car feels comfort there where they are made well."
*
Gary's brow's raise and he leans his torso back, as if the Josh's sharp look tried to swat at him, removing his hands from his pockets to hold them up in the universal sign of surrender, "You can turn down the gas, doc, I'm not looking for your business license here. Though you may want to have someone look at your pitch, seems a little close to 'to each according to his need'." Haswell offers, matter of factly, before shoving his hands back in his pockets, "People see doctors when they're about to get better or about to get worse. Easy enough to get nervous." A glance over ot Julie, checking her progress periodically, "'Dizzy'. Your parent's must've been a hoot."
*
Julie cranks the jack to where it's taking some of the weight off the flat tire, and pops the hubcap off. "Feels like that sometimes, I guess. There's a soul to these things, kind of. Mostly though, cars would, ah…" She starts freeing lugnuts, just maybe a quarter turn each, occasionally applying some apparent effort, "…feel it when something's wrong, feel it when something's made right. That's where they really talk, that way. Sometimes it's the customers get nervous in between. Could have their reasons there, too some places, but hey. If you're a doctor, that's real important, especially if people can't go somewhere else."
She pauses and adds to Gary, "Eh, that moniker's on my cousins, really. Papa died in the war, thanks, but they say he had a laugh. And I don't think they're Commies or something, just got to stick together and all."
*
"Unless." offers Josh with a slight smile, even as he reaches up and pushes back his hood, fully revealing the golden boy for all his true gold vision. His blond hair and handsome looks are almost side notes before *gold*. "Your doctor can guarantee that you see him *only* to get better. That changes the consideration, doesn't it?" Then he waves his hand, "The last thing I am worried about is being compared to Marxist philosophy. Do you think the people here care about something as meaningless to them the Red Threat? After the burning of Sacramento's Mutant Town? Anyone who thinks the mutant cause is a friend to the Russians is a fool. Sometimes, as it happens, the enemy of my enemy is not my friend." He looks to Julie and tilts his head a moment, considering, "I meant it more as an analogy, my point was to speak to how humans look to that which may most help them and fear." He shrugs, "I was a doctor." says the golden-man, "And then I healed a man true. And then I lost my job. I lost my board certification. I lost my family. I lost my friends. My apartment. I lost everything but the student loans that put me through medical school. In every way imaginable, the human race exiled me from my life. Now I simply… am." Oh yes. He's bitter: angry. But its a slow burn of an old fury. "Only America considers the idea of people sticking together is potentially a sign of something bad." he adds as a final comment.
*
"It isn't the mutant opinion that you should worry about. Its the next Joe McCarthy and the requisite paranoia." He gives a shrug, "You might not be a pal of the soviets, but I guarentee you someone around here wants to domino's to tip up through Mexico." He sighs glancing down away from the golden man to pad around his coat for a pack of cigerettes, "Sounds like your close, anyway. Being an 'enemy' and all. I'm sorry you got a bad hand, though, doc." At the healer's final statement, he actually just laughs, not responding verbally. Though his tone somberizes at Dizzy's pronunciation, "Korea? My… condolences, in any case."
*
Julie cranks on the jack handle then to raise the wheel off the ground, saying, "Nah, Europe. We never met." She spins off the lugnuts with her breaker bar held straight out, once they're loosened, setting them aside, and heaving the flat off. "Anyway, some of that ain't what America considers, Doc, ….it's just some people's idea of 'sticking together' is all about marching and missiles and trying to *make* everybody the same that's the problem. Commies just don't leave people a lot of options over there. Here, people are supposed to wise up about each other eventually."
*
"After the burning of Sacramento, you think we are not aware our enemy is the government?" asks Josh, his voice growing harder, colder as he regards Gary for a long moment. "I can't speak for them, but I know they are there— the Brotherhood. We don't need to wait for a next paranoia, like McCarthys. The humans have already began the final solution against us. My people are *dying*. The government— at the very least— does nothing. At the worst, the government is complicit. We watch. We saw what they did to Sacramento, and those of real power— the Brotherhood— they have a saying. No more and never again. Things are past the time when people worry aboud ideology, about secret commie conspiracies. Things are so far beyond that." Still, he looks to Julie, "Except they burned Sacramento's Mutant Town to the ground." he says, gravely. "This isn't a question of ideology. It is a question of survival that we did not start. Will New York's Mutant Town be next?" He gestures broadly, around.
*
"Oh… well, I'm sure it was a good man, then. We left a lot of them over there." Gary says, a bit quietly, though the patting around for cigerettes stops at Josh's rant, his eyes narrowing, slightly, at some partiuclar term the doctor's used, "And here you are, talking about things you don't understand. How much time did /you/ spend in Europe, Doc? Because I don't think you quite understand what a 'final solution' is." He just shakes his head, looking to hold back a lot as he turns towards Julie, body langauge clear and cold, "Uncle Sam's never been perfect, but kids lose there damn context." He mumbles, eyes dropping to the progress on the tire.
*
Julie glances up again, she doesn't like a lot of this talk of 'enemies,' "Assuming ice monsters from Planet Asgard don't mash us or don't put missiles in Bermuda, first, you mean. But talk like that don't help what happened in Sacramento when someone croaks the President and people think mutant town is the enemy. I was in California when all that happened. I didn't see it. All's I know is people were scared, cops included. Scared and smart don't usually share the same ideas when the torches and pitchforks come out, maybe you could tell that Brotherhood-power that." Does add to Gary as she hefts the new wheel on, screwing a nut on the uppermost lug to keep it up there. "Anyway, it's New York, here, not that part of California. Everyone different that ever came here had to stick together in their part of town. Hell, a lot of people think *my* block's full of gangsters, still."