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It's been a day or two since the war extended to New York's version of Mutant Town, and the streets are still wrought with apprehension; there's less people going outside, overall. Some have likely called in sick to their jobs for fear of being attacked by one side or the other. It doesn't hurt that the weather's still cold — always an encouraging factor in getting the masses to stay away from responsibility.
Ironically, one person with a severe anathema of the 'R' word is one of those found on the streets today. Wearing the usual leather jacket and jeans with his ski goggles holding his shaggy mop back, the platinum-haired speedster walks slow along the paved sidewalks. Head constantly moving, eyes searching. A veteran people watcher would recognize the signs of someone who's on the hunt — but for what? Only time, and/or words can answer /that/ question.
*
Some shops were boarded up, but still ruined. Some buildings had black, gutted visuals, showing testiment that fires had been set ablaze just to see things turn to ash. Hatred had reached here, in a very violent, shaking manner. Mutants had never truly been safe around others that didn't understand them, but now, thanks to the efforts of the F.o.H.; no where was safe, not even a little slice of the city that was just for them.
"Yeah, I got y'." Lynette calls out, moving around on shop, her arms full of boxes, stacked up and covering her face. All that one could see of her were her legs, her hands, and the upper most sprigs of her black curls. "Don' worry, George, I got dis stack." George, a rather large man with off green skin, is walking in and out of the shop, creating two piles outside its doors; one was of ruin and trash, the other was neatly stacked boxes that are to be moved…well, to somewhere.
This was one building, some others dared to look after their own shops and homes. And others? They hid, as was their right to do so.
*
It was a place that was hard to be in, to be completely honest. Every step, every new sight he takes in just makes him a little angrier. Pushes him that much closer to the point of boiling over. Granted, without an actual target or an plan to focus that anger, explosions are less likely. It's just unfocused rage.
As he walks, a familiar voice is heard. It's not the one he was /looking/ for, nor the words that he was hoping to hear… but combining that voice with that mess of curls makes it pretty obvious who's talking. So, he decides to walk over. Hands are stuffed into pockets, feet move with intent — but only at human speeds. He has his reasons.
"Need a hand with those, treehugger?" calls out Tommy, voice carrying a little levity — although it's forced, this time.
*
George glances at Tommy, his brow quirking as he glances to Lynette, waiting to see if she knew who he was. The girl glances out from behind her boxes, one dark eye sizing the man up, but once she notices who it is, she realizes who's talking her way. "Nah, I got dis. But, George could use s'm help wit dat stack ova dere?" She smiles, moving one finger toward another stack. She knows him, and that's enough for George to shuffle back into his shop.
Moving to the 'keep' stack, Lynette carefully sets everything down and then stands, rubbing her hands together and flexing her fingers, working heat back through them. "Mornin', Tommy. How y'doin'?" Glancing around, she walks closer to the speedster, and tucks her own hands into her pockets.
*
"Sure thing. Just consider me the hired muscle." Tommy quips, moving over towards the stack Lynette indicated and loading himself up with a couple of boxes — enough to carry as much as he can without blocking his eye level. Boxes obtained, he moves to take them where they need to go.
Fortunately, the cold isn't /always/ as much of a problem for him as it is for ever. People looking close might notice various parts of his body vibrating on occasion — it's done to keep him warm. Little pushes of movement too quick for most eyes to catch. Means he can wear clothes that look good more than that feel warm. "Better than some folks are, that's for sure." Pause. "You live out here, or just lending a hand?"
*
Lynette follows after, more boxes, more moving, and then tossing trash where it needs to go. Where Tommy is warm, and just fine, Lyn is a bit sluggish. She's still moving, but it's obvious that the cold affects her in a different manner. Ah, mutations. The question draws her attention, and she shakes her head, her curls sent swaying. "Non, I don'. I don' really got a place. I mean, I got places t'go sure. 'nyway. M'helpin' out. We s'pose t'help othas, right? 'specialy if dey like us. So, what y'doin' 'round here?"
*
Tommy's no slouch — the running kept him in good shape, the metabolism meant that no matter how much he ate, gaining weight… probably just wasn't going to happen, and physical activity helped focus his rage. Maybe not the way he'd like but an outlet of any kind is always welcome.
"Understand that feeling. I just moved out of someone's house and into my Uncle's place — but I'm only staying there for a bit." Until he and Hope can get their own feet under themselves. At least that's /his/ plan on the subject. Taking charity is not the Tommy Shepherd way. There's a lot of pride in the boy, and if not for the girl, he wouldn't have accepted it.
Her words beyond bring the arch of an eyebrow, though. "You sayin' you're a mutant, then?" he asks, sounding a bit surprised. George was a bit more obvious, naturally, Lynette? There weren't any big obvious flags. The question about what /he's/ doing here is evaded for the moment.
*
"A bit?" She admits, her shoulders bobbing up and then down again. Rubbing at her eyes, she yawns and then keeps working at whatever George needs from her. "I t'ink de rest 's magic. So, yeah. M'diff'rent, n'dat's 'nough. 'sides, 'ven if I wasn't? Look at me, Tommy. M' a girl, n'm black. De world's tryin' t'screw 'nyt'ing I am."
A rueful smile later, she rubs at her curls and then leans against the building's side. George had exited, offering the girl coffee, and Tommy a cup as well. He excuses himself, murmuring something about going to check on his partner and kids.
*
"The world's a big ball of shit." Tommy replies; the boy's got a mouth on him and opinions to flow freely from it. The last boxes are set down, and Tommy considers the rest of the story. Lips formed into an uneasy line that breaks only when George returns with coffee, to which Tommy offers a grateful smile. Caffiene and heat are always welcome at this time and time of year, despite the tricks he can do.
"It's not supposed to be, though. People getting crucified for being different? That's supposed to be stuff you read about in the bible and laugh at because it doesn't happen. Hell. Even being black and a girl ain't supposed to be a problem." There's a crinkle of his nose to that — words spoken from a different era, to be sure. "There's always assholes, but… this is open warfare. Like some kinda nazi shit." Pause. "You're not the only one, you know. Different." Tommy admits, taking a sip of his coffee now.
*
Accepting her own coffee, she cradles it in her palms, allowing her body to suck in the heat as much as possible. She doesn't drink, not at first, and just rests there, huddling up in her blood-stained jacket and hiding her nose into the folds of her scarf. The more he talks, the more she seems confused. Her brow quirks, her head cants and finally, she speaks. "What de hell y'talkin' 'bout? Dese t'ings ain't suppose t'be a probl'm, but, dey are."
Finally, she sips from the mug, her body shuddering as the bitter flavor washes down her throat. "I know I ain't de only one. If y'hintin' at y'self, well, I guessed dat much. Y'n' Hope?" Another sip. "Seems dat me n'her on de same team 'f sorts."
*
"…nevermind. Just early. I'm not making much sense. Need more coffee." is offered to the first bit — followed by another drink from the cup as if to back up his statement. While the 'Look ma, I'm a mutant!' card is easy to play, the 'Guess what, I'm from the future!' is hesitated on. It's not like it /helps/ to know just how much better the world was. His old team? They had /fans./ Despite the fact that some of them were mutants. Maybe /because/ of it. He misses that era most when things go dark here.
"Right. Me. I'd play the 'I'll show you mine' game, but my girlfriend might get mad." There's an amused smirk at that — there's more who probably would. Teddy didn't like him being a showoff. Billy /tolerates/ it. The parents? He's not sure. "Yeah, I know her." he admits, not quite connecting those pieces yet, though it might not be too hard. "Oh? Y'all play on a darts team or something? I figured she'd be pretty good at throwing things and hitting others." Consider the guns he's seen. It's not too much of a stretch to imagine!
*
Lynette chuckles and shakes her head, nibbling her lower lip and sipping from her drink. "Don' worry. Don' want dat girl gettin' mad. Den 'gain, don' t'ink y'want m'boyfriend mad wit y'eitha." Winking, she downs the rest of her cup and sets it aside. Shivering, rolling her shoulders, she works her fingers and starts back up with her work for the day.
"Hope n'I, well, we fightin' f'people like us. Tryin' t'…make sure dis don' keep happenin'. We stand when de othas c'n'." Frowning, she looks at the building and sighs deeply, her exhale turning into a wisp of white before it tendrils up and away. "S'mtimes, guess we ain' strong 'nough."
*
Hope has arrived.
*
Last time Victor had been in mutant town? Things had been going down. Odds are people were still having to clean up all the damage the FoH had been inflicting, but someone would have needed a mop for the mess her left as he returned the violence with some of his own. Today however? Things were a lot calmer. Wrapped in his heavy furred coat the man comes striding in, sniffing the air with a frown. He could swear that faint chemical scent still lingered. Nasty stuff.
Spotting Lynette and Tommy, he raises a hand, making his way towards the former. "Hey Darlin' any problems?" he questions of the woman before nodding the way of the other man in greeting. "Noone's come back?"
*
"Wouldn't be the first time I get some chick's fella mad at me." Tommy admits, a sparkle of mischief dancing behind his eyes. "…but I'm trying to do things a little differently this time." Because he's got something this time around that he's in no hurry to lose, to be certain. The girl who can keep up with him is a rare thing indeed.
"She—what?" Tommy stops cold, nearly dropping his coffee. Actually, to the quick-eyed, he /did/ drop his coffee. He just happened to move his hands fast enough to snag the cup before it hit the ground, and catch droplets of coffee that tried to escape. "She… never told me that." he muses, lips pursed. He's not entirely sure how to feel about that. It explains some things. It adds questions to others. Lucy has some 'splaining to do.
Eyes turn over towards Victor as he makes his presence known, sizing him up. Platinum brow arching. "…he's bigger than the usual angry boyfriend, though." Tommy quips, deciding that cracking jokes is a good way to distract himself for the moment. Victor gets a lazy wave from the hand not guarding the cup of coffee. "'sup, big guy?"
*
Another place, another time, the redheaded girl surveying the destruction from a rooftop would have been properly armed. Not so much here, though she's got enough firepower on her to give even the most resilient mutants reason to think twice, and humans reason to think she's on their side. The tricky business of being a mutant hater is knowing who doesn't fit in. Nothing about Hope makes her stick out unless someone thinks red hair is a mark of mutation. (To be fair? It is when paired with green eyes.) Elbows resting on a crumbling rail, she looks from the top of a derelict building over the alleyways and the main street for signs of activity that amount to more than frightened people scurrying like rats. The ghetto here isn't much different than Lodz; it's all a matter of perspective, whether it's the parallel of 1941 or 1944. Her fingers flex, and her gloves creak. A long, heavy jacket doesn't do very much for her looks, but it doesn't impede her from doing a run down the side of a building. Anyone congregating for more than a few minutes gets her notice, and if she sees them, others probably do too.
Flat-soled shoes catch the rounded bevel of the crumbling roof. She grabs hold of a flagpole without a flag to speak of, and uses it to swing out. From there, her free run takes her between that building and its too close neighbor, a gutted out tenement, as she goes springing and tumbling towards the ground. Someone might hear her; seeing her is a bit harder. Notably because she's moving fairly quick.
*
Lynette turns her head to Creed and offers him a soft, tired smile. It was hard to tell how long she'd been helping out today, but it was cold, and she was one to struggle with the weather as of late. Her skin was skin again, and those snake like eyes she had during the whole Kraven ordeal has faded by now, returning to her natural onyx orbs. "Non, amore. Jus'…'notha day. Helpin' t'clean up. N'body here, t'ankfully." Shuffling closer to Creed, she sinks into the folds of his jacket, hugging around him and trying to drink up as much warmth as she possibly could.
"She's doin' good work. Don' be upset. S'mtimes, y'gotta stand up f'othas." She explains to Tommy before giving a pat on Victor's chest. "Vict'r, dis Tommy. Tommy, Vict'r."
*
Victor himself just chuckles. Tommy's response to him turning up? He gets that about as much as one would expect, but that only marks him smirk. Lynette's sinking into his side makes the mutant chuckle and he slings an arm around her for a moment before he starts to shrug out of the huge furs, half-dumping the garment around her shoulders and rolling his own.
He's still grinning when he notices the smell on the air, but it takes him a second. Lot of mutants in mutant town, even now there were plenty of unfamiliar scents.
*
Lynette has Tommy's full focus right now, revealing those things that the speedster just wouldn't have suspected. A little too dense sometimes, unless smacked right in the face with it. "Yeah. I'm sure she is." Tommy replies — it's a lie, he's not convinced… and while he's /usually/ a good liar, emotions are getting in the way this time. Frustration boiling up again. Especially with another look taken around the dilapidated neighborhood. "Someone has to… but it's still not /enough,/ obviously."
While Tommy can often see Hope when she's moving — especially if she's borrowing his own speed — he has to know he's there to really /look/ for her. There's no innate speedster sense when another fast moving person is around. On the other hand? He's on high alert given the neighborhood, and when ears of all things catch the sound of something falling over? He spins in that direction with unearthly speed. To Lynette and Victor? It'd appear that one moment he was facing them, the next, without even moving, he's not.
"Nice t'meetcha, Vic. You keeping her out of too much trouble?" he asks, not looking back just yet. It could be one of /them./ He's almost hopeful that this is the case.
*
Rapid-fire footsteps slow after a solid thump of soles hitting concrete, and Hope adopts more of a normal mosey. She is still prone to looking over her shoulder, and skimming along the periphery of burnt out shops and abandoned homes. Immediately telling is how she walks, not like a frightened rat horrified by what she sees, but someone intimately familiar with such environments. Flicking her collar up gives some protection from the cold. The speedster in conversation with the curly haired girl under furs and impressive fur trader gives Hope something to orient on. She's not deaf, either way.
"Hi." Bog standard greeting right there. "Just me, Tommy. Trust me, anything with a bad attitude headed this way, you'd be the second or third to know." The jingling of spent casings would be a good alarm. "Haven't seen anything wrong this morning except some moron spray painting 'NYC for FoH' on a wall, and he probably won't be doing that again."
*
Lynette feels her body slump under the sudden weight of that massive coat, but once in it, she wraps herself up and snuggles down more so. With her hair, and the massive, fur-lined collar of the jacket, she looks like a kid trying on their parents long-coat for the first time. The rest of its fabric even fans out around her feet.
Noticing Creed's shift, she blinks and quirks a brow, but then Tommy is just 'gone', after his rather pessimistic comment. Not enough, she frowns, and thankfully the source of the 'new' is revealed. Her hand lifts to wave 'hello' to the ginger, only for the sleeve's end to wiggle as it folds over the end of her limb. "Mornin', Hope." The news of the tagger? Well, that gets a nod. "Good."
*
Lynette feels her body slump under the sudden weight of that massive coat, but once in it, she wraps herself up and snuggles down more so. With her hair, and the massive, fur-lined collar of the jacket, she looks like a kid trying on their parents long-coat for the first time. The rest of its fabric even fans out around her feet.
Noticing Creed's shift, she blinks and quirks a brow, feeling the soft off gust from Tommy's about-face. His rather pesimistic comment lingers in girl's mind. Not enough, she frowns, and thankfully the source of the 'new' is revealed. Her hand lifts to wave 'hello' to the ginger, only for the sleeve's end to wiggle as it folds over the end of her limb. "Mornin', Hope." The news of the tagger? Well, that gets a nod. "Good."
*
"I'm tryin' my b-" Victor begins, only to trail off as he catches sight of that 'turn' and then the redhead. She doesn't seem hostile, that's probably a good start. The fact that the other two seem to know her has the large mutant holding back from flexing claws or any other hostile movement…although the observant might have noticed the way his shoulders rose just a little at first.
*
"I'm sure I'd hear about it eventually." Tommy replies to the redhead, voice a little flatter than usual. turning his attention back to the others, now — no superspeed movement this time, just a normal pivot on a heel, and attention returned to the coffee. There were words to be had, but this might not be the right place or the right time. …on the other hand? Time is something that the speedster rarely waits on.
Of course, that also meant that he got to see Lynette wearing that coat that's several sizes too large, and he can't help but crack just a bit of a smile at that, despite attempts to stay serious. "You still in there kiddo, or should we send out a search party?" Amused Tommy is amused.
*
No coffee here, because tumbling out of the sky with a cup is going to end badly for Hope's clothes and the wall she ran down. She's not the menace, Spider-Man, after all. With a bit of a tweak to her doubly braided bangs, she tips her head in a bit of a greeting better than before. "Morning, Lyn. You're looking pretty wrapped up. Headed to an ice field?" The warm tone hides a grin in there somewhere, since she's caught up with the less than delighted response from the speedster, and the initial prickling from Victor. Thumbing her jawline, she says, "I'm Hope. Friend of hers, and friendly to most people around here." See, pro-mutant. Or apparently willing to upset dolts wielding spray paint. "We cool?"
It's hard to say who that is directed at, probably a general thing.
*
"M'cold. Y'taste wit y'tongue, n'y'eyes change, n'y'get scales when y'push y'powers? I get cold!" She explains, her voice muffling through her scarf and two jackets she's wearing. Reaching her sleave-hand out, she wraps it around Creed's arm and then 'points' toward Hope. "S'Hope," just like she said "S'part of us, too. Oh, by d'way, Miss Raven said y'c'n join. One big fam'ly." She smiles under covers and then looks to Tommy and back to Hope. "I t'ink I made y'boy mad. M'sorry, Hope. I didn' mean t'. I jus' meant t'say dat…we tryin' t'do good f'our kind. N's'mtimes, y'get tired 'f runnin'."
*
One big family? Those particular words seem to make Victor twitch. There was one or two questions from the attack on mutant town that still needed answering after all. "Glad," he answers Lyn's news perhaps a little less eagerly then one might expect and then nods his head at Hope. "Seems we are."
*
In Tommy's head, thoughts are spiraling on how to deal with the Hope situation. How he /feels/ about it, even. From a variety of angles. He could just run. Wouldn't that be fitting? A reminder of the first time they'd met. Would she give chase? /Could/ she if he got that head start? Granted, it wouldn't be quite the same. There's only so many places he could go for a prolonged period, and she knows them all.
Then Lynette speaks again and saves him from having to answer just yet. Phew. There's about to be a smile of gratitude — but then she spills a few more beans that paint a fuller picture. 'Raven' isn't exactly a common name. Apparantly this one said Victor could join… something. Lorna mentioned a Raven, too. The Head of the Brotherhood. Lightbulbs and flash cannons are just being set off all over Tommy's brain, a tiny cartoonish Vanna White turning over tiles to reveal answers to questions Tommy didn't know he even had.
"The Brotherhood." Tommy offers softly, distracted by thoughts even as he speaks. Lorna had /also/ said they stopped her when she came into Mutant Town. Did Hope have anything to do with that, was she there? …did he really /want/ to know? A glance from green eyes is spared towards the redhead, free hand being tucked into a pocket. "I dunno yet."
*
The cold air doesn't do anything to flatten the temperatures, though it can be said Lynette does a good job of trying. A thankful look, not hard currency but valuable, goes over to her from Hope, who pulls her hair free of her collar. The endless tickle to her neck is not welcome. "Yep." A nod follows on that, and then she leans back a little on her heel, weight distributed. Oh, that girl is primed to run if she has to, and trouble may be her middle name. If it is, she's primed to go. Just wait. Likely she can sprint lickety-split away or after Tommy, and the frisson of tension tells her all she needs to know.
"I help 'em out. Raven took me in when I had nothing but a ton of questions, no answers, and no one." Some of those Jeopardy! questions are being pieced together at a rate Merv Griffin would be proud of. And behold. "We can talk about it now or later. Up to you."
*
Lynette glances to Victor, then back to the pairing. Still hugging to the man's arm, she clears her throat and takes a step back. "I t'ink y'need t'talk 'bout it. But, y'do what y'need. Don' be hard on'r, Tommy. We t'ink, n'act, f'ourselves, afta all. Dey's 'lways reas'ns." Looking up toward Victor, she 'beams' toward him, the only suggestion of this is the happy squinting of her eyes. "'f I stay out here, m'fall 'sleep 'n no time. Com'on, chere. Let's get s'm lunch." Arm up, she flops a 'wave' to the pair and starts turning away, hopefully with a massive Creed in step.
*
Victor on the other hand, seems…kinda lost. The big guy has a frown on his face, you don't need animal senses to know when things are getting tense and there's a lot of 'weight' to the exchange. He was relatively new to this 'Brotherhood' thing but certainly no stranger to defending his beliefs with violence. He however, lacks quite the same grace as Lynette to announce his retreat until she makes the prompt.
"Talk it out, slug it out, whatever you like. We're gonna go somewhere warm and do something other then clean up garbage left by trash." With that, Victor falls into step behind Lynette. "Whatever we get, it better have meat in it!" he calls after the fleeing floof.
*
The cup is set down carefully — the people here have lost enough, even losing a cup seems like too much right now, before Tommy's attention turns to Lynette. "When you see the green guy — George, was it? — tell him thanks for the joe."
That's all the warning anyone's getting before the air that held Tommy moments ago doesn't any longer. A burst of wind created by movement being the only hint that he was there in the first place. 'Now' is dependent on Hope, it would seem.
*
A bit of a nod follows, and when Tommy goes vanishing? It takes a moment for a blur to follow afterwards, not even the hint of green or a footprint marking where she was. It might be alarming to see two people literally turn into ghosts, but her gift is revealed in an uptick of motion that leaves the air practically collapsing behind her in its wake. The only advantage she's bringing by following the speedster in pole position is that the girl thinks, frequently, in three to five dimensional terms. Going up is as comfortable as staying on the ground, and grabbing a fire escape ladder or springing from a window to flip up to another handhold suits her fine.
In short: don't bet against these two in a race. They're fast. And apparently sparks are gonna fly.