1964-03-09 - Honey, I Brought Home a Girl
Summary: Tommy invites Nico over to his place to show off her abilities
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
tommy nico hope 


So, Tommy gave Nico this address, said it was so she could demonstrate. She called him a day or two later for the sake of setting something up, because… well, getting set up with other people like her seems like one of the best possible things that could happen. She arrives promptly at the time they agreed on (in fact, she got to the area about twenty minutes early, then hung around at a news kiosk until it was close enough to game time to head up the stairs).

She's wearing her black peacoat, and beneath it a dress that hangs to her knees, black and buttoned, with wide, lacy sleeves. And a white scarf around her neck — a touch chilly out, just after the Ides of March. She stares at the door for a few moments, biting her lip, then knocks briskly, before she can scare herself into inaction.

*

The wonderful thing about speed, is speed is a wonderful thing. Your knocks have no need of waiting, and… well, the door is opened before the song is finished. Tommy's dressed casually; blue t-shirt and jeans, no shoes or socks; it's his (and Hope's) apartment, so he's not /too/ worried about running around barefoot.

"Nico! Hey, was starting to wonder if you were gonna show up." Because, honestly, seconds are an eternity in speedster time. "C'mon in, make yourself comfortable. If you see a redhead wandering around, she lives here, don't worry too much about it." Pause. "You hungry?"

*

Demonstrations require plenty of things, space and tidiness foremost among them. And honestly, it's rather difficult to possess much clutter on the run or in a rather modest apartment. Hope can tidy up well, anyways. Quick dashes around help her wipe dust off the cabinets and crumbs from the countertop, trash emptied and stowed in the bins at the bottom of the brownstone. Out go the wrappers of a meal bought from a food stand. She makes the bed, she fluffs the towels, and where those extra fancy, ethnic-patterned and tucked pillows on the couch came from, who knows? No one saw it, nothing happened, right?

She just happens to be there, in a coat as large as a bear, patting them down where fairly discernably someone wasn't… well, unless she snuck through from the bedroom, and the door to the bedroom happens to be mildly ajar. "Hi," she says to the precursor of Gothic Lolita fashion, had only some girl daydreaming about Victorian novels in Harajuku or Juuban ever thought about it yet.

*

"Hi, Tommy," Nico replies, flashing a smile as she walks in, past him, glancing around. "You guys didn't have to clean on my account," she observes. It's pretty clear due to the lack of dust and anything else resembling dirt that somebody's been cleaning. Speedy as Tommy may be, she suspects the redhead.

"Hi," she says, walking toward Hope and offering her hand. "I'm Nico Minoru. Thank you, both of you, for inviting me." Over her shoulder she looks back at Tommy. "Were you planning on food? If so, I could eat — but don't worry about it on my account."

*

"Us? Clean? Nah, it's /always/ this clean. Really. Don't we look like the world's tidiest people?" replies Tommy, green eyes lit with amusement as he closes - and locks - the door behind the girl. Because they take security seriously. Doubly so nowadays. Fingers wave merrily towards Hope, followed by a thumbs up, whether it's saying that the girl's good or that the door is? Who knows. It's Tommy.

"Ah, I guess I'll let you girls handle introductions. I'm Tommy. You both know that part though." Pause. "We planned on food, yeah. You've seen me move, Nico. It kinda results in the fact that I'm /always/ hungry. Well. Not always. But I eat a lot. I mean, seriously. You wouldn't believe how many refridgerators I can clean out and still keep this girlish figure." Not that he's a girl. Not today, anyways. Anything Hope wants to tell about herself? He'll leave to her. Her secrets may be shared with him, but he's careful not to violate that trust.

*

Trust it might be the redhead. Tommy looks awful in a little frilly crinoline and apron, and he can barely wield a duster with satisfactory grace, short of tickling himself. Rolling her shoulders, Hope loses about seven inches of puffy coat and probably thirty pounds by shucking the outer carapace from her body. She wrangles it to the ground with limited success, and for a moment, the stiff coat of many pockets stands on its own, a modern iron maiden ready to swallow someone up.

Then it soundlessly flumps over, ready to be sat upon, a squashy cushion infinitely suited to being a beanbag as well as the kitchen sink. By contrast she clearly has the girlish figure, cotton t-shirt and jeans her mode of casual, though the ribbed shirt is probably one of Tommy's. "Rules of the world. You come in, you get to eat. We'd be bad hosts or something otherwise." The offered hand is going to be something blinked at blankly for a bit, and then borrowed observational powers kick in. She holds out hers. Someone will close the gap, one way or the other. "I'm Hope. Hope Summers." Pause to see if the name means anything. Chances are good it won't. Yet. Maybe it will. "Nice to meet you. Tommy says you're good stuff."

*

Nope. The name doesn't mean a thing. Nico's only a recent transplant from the west coast, and she's not a mutant to boot. If she were the Hayes' kid… well, that might be different. As it stands, the name Summers means nothing to Nico — it's a perfectly normal sort of name.

"Nice to meet you, Hope. I don't know if I'm properly good stuff, but I do try." Her eyes go toward the flumped-over coat, and she considers it for a moment or two before returning her attention to Hope. Coat behavior is not a thing she's had a lot of dealings with. Perhaps this is perfectly normal.

"If food is a plan, or a requirement, I'll certainly eat and be thankful for it. I'm sure it's better than what I'd have wound up making at home."

*

"Requirement." Tommy agrees, flashing a grin over towards Hope before moving along to grab himself a seat — on the countertop dividing the living room from the kitchen. One that's seen his rear end on multiple occasions. Occasionally sliding across it. "You're the guest, anything special sound good to you? I could get pizza /from/ Italy, but it might be cold by the time it gets here. Besides. New York has some of the best in the world."

Proof that a speedster cannot help but keep moving even when the situation doesn't call for it? Tommy swings his legs a little from his perch on the countertop. Just because. "So, you wanted to show off — you wanna do that before, or after you eat?" …somewhere in the middle of that sentence, Tommy fetched a bowl of grapes from somewhere, and is not popping one into his mouth. Only Hope would've actually seen him /move,/ but Nico would've heard things open and close, at least!

*

"We have a pretty good spread. He'll know more about what…" There's Tommy going to recommend raiding the Italian boot and possibly swinging by Spain for a bag of oranges, warranting a bit of a heavenward look. Likely not patience so much as calculated tolerance for the act of showing off. They share the same wrinkle of the nose on occasion, though she might never admit it, and Hope sits on the floor atop her coat cross-legged so as to leave the couch open for proper dining.

Somewhere in there, she's got manners. "I'm no good at making coffee but we have other drinks in the fridge. What would make you happy?" One long arm etched in a fairly loose sleeve gestures for the short hallway off the foyer. "The bathroom is that way. The rest you can see pretty much for yourself."

*

"Really, Tommy — anything is fine," Nico says. "Most of what I eat is cobbled together from leftover Chinese vegetables that my roommate leaves in the fridge. If it's not Chinese, I will rave for more." Nico is not a good cook. Her bok choy surprise is tolerable. About the best she can say about it.

"As for showing off before or after dinner… some would not want to eat afterward." Not all, probably not most, but some. Nico's fully aware that to access her abilities, she has to do things that are, in general, not done in civilized company. She pauses a moment, glances where Hope directs her, and nods. "I'll just get myself a glass of water — thank you both again." She slips off into the kitchen for a moment to do so.

*

"'kay." is Tommy's remark before, just like that? He's gone, the door's swinging shut (when was it even opened?) and away he goes. About five seconds later, he's back with bags sporting a cheery 'THANK YOU!' message, one slung towards each of the girls. Inside? Burgers and fries. …and chips. Because he got a craving and wasn't going to just, ah, /borrow/ one bag.

"I can eat through anything. Hope's the one with delicate sensibilities." Tommy teases, returning to his spot on the counter in order to properly chow down.

*

In her defense, powdered goods and Chinese noodles are about one of six things that Hope can turn into a princely meal. Give her a real slab of chicken and she will stare at the meat with outright confusion, and throw some fire at it in hopes of a mystic alchemy. Often, it means a blackened ruin and hiding under the table yelling at a few flames fizzling out in the winter air.

The redhead shakes her head slightly, skimming her bangs off her face. "You can eat my burger, Tommy. I'll have the fries." Because potatoes. Starch. Magic for someone used to incredibly limited choices and hardships of a culinary kind. She practically attacks that bag for fries, though she doesn't cram the whole mass into her mouth. One at a time, just a bit speedy. Dial Tommy down to two, that's about right. "Why would someone not want to eat afterwards? Your skin turn inside out and you look like a jellified teddy bear or something?"

*

"No," Nico says to Hope as she extracts the burger from the bag. She has not had a hamburger since last fall, before everything went to hell. "I have to cut myself. Not a big deal for some, but a very big deal for others." Kind of a big deal for her — it hurts, and she's aware that there's a stigma associated with the action, even if she isn't doing it for the reasons others might. "Thank you, Tommy." she adds before biting into her burger and uttering a sigh. Grease and cheese and ketchup. These are things she does not see often in Chinatown.

*

"Sure thing. If you want extra, you can have mine." Tommy Shepherd, giving up food, any food? Well. In fairness, it's a trade being offered. Nonetheless, he's not going to take long before stuffing said burger into his mouth and taking a bite. Legs swing around a bit wilder. Seriously. The /best/ burgers in the whole tri-state area. He's checked. This was one of the selling points of this apartment, seconds (in speedster-travel) away from this place. Heavenly.

"Doesn't bother me. Hope's really good with the first aid, too, so if you need cleaned up afterwards she can probably lend a hand." And then a grin at the thanks - and the obvious enjoyment. "Just happy to see a friend enjoy her food. We horrible teenagers have to stick together, right?"

*

"Not a big deal for me. I've seen cuts. Know how to patch them up well even if the tools around here are barbaric. Iodine and thread, come on." Protest doth the lady a little too much? Not entirely, though the bittersweet acid lacing Hope's words is directed towards something outside the room rather than within it. She happily destroys the fries as quickly as she deems polite, eating with the neat, mechanical bites of someone not really bothering to stop and taste the fat and salt content. Only the heat, which is good enough for her. The methodical approach she uses is tactical, a soldier's means of munching. "I know how to neutralize most of it in case you think any bloodhound is going to sniff around. I understand how that goes, right?"

*

"I don't think anybody's going to bother me here. Not soon, anyway. Hopefully." Truthfully, Nico knows very little in general about magic, for all that she's got an extremely powerful weapon tucked away. She eats her burger as her parents would have had it — small bites, thoroughly chewed, ladylike. Half of her fries are offered to Hope as well. For all that she loves french fries, does she need all of that fat?

*

"Even if they did, odds are we could get you out of here faster than they could keep up." 'We'? Well, Tommy could well be just talking about himself. A girl slung over each shoulder, running away at the speed of traffic? It could happen. Every man's dream, right there! As for eating? Tommy's all about stuffing his face. Normal speed to make sure he's tasting things because they're tasty things, super-speed chewing when he's talking so that he barely has to pause in order to keep eating and talking. It's habit, really.

"If you need a knife, there's some in the kitchen. Don't think we've got anything fancier for making someone bleed, no, like, finger-pokers or anything. How's the food?"

*

The peace offering of fries means more, perhaps, than the trust Hope will stitch up a wound. She nods solemnly to Nico, accepting the olive branch for what it is. Several of those fries are going down rather quickly in the same perfunctory manner of eating. Fat doesn't much cling to her, for all that she has gotten away from the too gaunt build of someone deprived of regular meals and probably forced to live far, far too energetically. Read, active life on the run.

Tommy receives a modest correction. "I have a few scalpels, razors, and a set of flechettes around." She doesn't look up from her dining, though she seems to know exactly what is in the house or her possession. "Trouble comes doing what you do, Tommy gets you away and I play rabbit with them."

*

"It's a poor practitioner of blood magic who doesn't carry her own blade," Nico observes. "The burger was fantastic, Tommy. Thank you. Haven't had one in months." She tucks the wrapper that the burger came in into the bag that Tommy tossed to her, closes it and pushes it away before she pushes back from the table and rises. "I suppose I'd better show you what I can do, then," she concludes.

With a flick of her wrist, a slim, curved black blade slides free of her loose sleeve and into her palm. Not much blood is needed, thankfully — just a drop will do. Nico raises her left hand and presses the sharp tip of her knife into the pad hard enough to draw more than that, but not so much that she'll be in any danger at all.

And then the voice comes. It's not Nico's voice. It's raspy and deep and old. Not old like your grandmother. Old like certain monuments in Japan and Greece and the British Isles. "*When blood is shed, let the Staff of One emerge!*"

A golden ring that could easily frame the girl's face erupts from her chest like the creature in a movie that won't be released for another 15 years. It's followed by a sphere of the same color, and then a long black staff, taller, in total, than Nico is herself. She takes it in hand and pulls it free, then sets it before her, the metal foot on the floor, both hands gripping the staff just below the ball.

*

Both shoulders raise in a shrug at Hope, followed by a wink. "That's why you keep inventory around these parts, Spicecake. If I can't see it, I've probably forgotten we have it." Okay, so he's exaggerating. A bit. But he does tend to live in the moment. It's just part of who he is. Nico preparing for her demonstration gets the (now empty) bag set down on the countertop, before he watches with interest.

…the blood was expected, she warned them. The voice? /That/ makes Tommy's eyes widen before… "Whoa, chestburster!" He's up in a moment in a defensive posture just in case things go out of hand… but relaxes a bit when Nico still seems to be in control. Breathing works on slowing down and eyes work on focusing on the newly produced tool.

"I can see why showing off in public wasn't a good idea. That's the 'Staff of One', huh?" Pause. Wait for it. "…what's it do?"

*

That unrecognizable voice originating from the unknown corner of somewhere brings Hope's head up. Her eyes widen as she skims the apartment corner to corner, easy when the sightlines from the floor encompass open plan kitchen and doorway, hall to the bedroom, roof to windows. Of course, the fact she can't see a source does not discount the fact it's there and the innate mimicry of her genetics goes on red alert hunting for some ephemeral signature that might, somehow, explain. Maybe.

Nothing quite arises, what's even more troubling, but she gives a little tip of her head. "I suppose that means special blood, not random cuts." It's a pretty staff, though, and she nods approvingly of it. "Seriously, you are asking what a bright gold staff does? Don't you ever watch… no, you probably don't. She swings it around and sparkles happen and then bad guys probably fall over."

This is what happens when you're from a number of collapsed, messed up future timelines. Anime things happen.

*

Nico says, "Mostly it does whatever I tell it to," Nico tells Tommy, while giving Hope a look of utter confusion. "There is very little swinging involved, really, though I suppose you could conk somebody over the head with it in a pinch. The thing is, any spell I cast I can only cast once — so I spent awhile thinking about what kind of spell I could afford to use as a demonstration. You know. Something that's likely never going to come up in a life-or-death situation."

She takes a deep breath, shifting her stance so that the circle at the head of the staff is parallel to the floor and intones, "*BUNNIES*."

Rabbits start to fall from nowhere, out of the circular head of the staff. The first is white with little pink eyes and a twitching nose. The next is a skittish wild brown rabbit. The third is twice the size of the first two, deep brown in color, and barely manages to lumber out of the way before a fourth nearly falls on its back.
"

*

ROLL: Hope +rolls 1d100 for a result of: 37

*

"Oh. My. God. You /have/ to meet my d- octor. Uh. Yeah, my Doctor. Long story short? He's like, the king of all magicians or something like that. Protector of the Legend of the Red Dragon or something like that. If you ever need help with magical things." Grin. "Plus, you'd probably drive him up the same walls that my brother does." Pause. "Oh, yeah, I'm a twin. I'm the better looking one, so it's easy to tell us apart."

…and that's about the time that Tommy's attention is just *gone* and eyes are flickering around between all the bunnies. He's just entirely tempted to herd-and-pet them /all./

*

Rabbits. There are bunnies in the apartment, and they do the most natural of bouncy things. Ears all over the place, and fuzzy tails, and fur. No one better be allergic. Hope is already on her feet and scrambling up, seeking to follow that poor skittish wild one as it probably goes dashing straight for a window to perceived freedom. No, wrong way.

It hasn't likely seen an apartment in its life. Fair balance, she has never seen a hare or rabbit in her life, either. But the vibrational blur of her ghostly outline traces where once she was and then, she springs to catch the rabbit. It never had a chance against a mirrored speedster, especially one as capable of running up the walls and springing with tremendous velocity or success off the ceiling. Upside down, she might be seen dropping into a crouch in front of homefree runner the moment before it finds oh god there's a human there. "Not that way! No, you can't get fur into the heat register box. It will smell horrible. Go back into the… fridge or something! Back!"

*

In the end, Nico's spell produces a good sixteen rabbits. More than she'd intended, but she hadn't precisely told it where to stop. "Sorry," she says, watching Hope go chasing after the wild rabbit. "Just stay between it and where you don't want it to go. It's way more scared of people than desirous of freedom. And the spell will end pretty soon anyway — they'll go back where they came from with stories to tell their families." Coralling the rabbits takes the place of first priority, but she does remind herself to ask Tommy about his brother later.

*

Away he goes, running around the room at high speeds that almost produces a miniature tornado effect — at least on the emptied bags of food littering the place at the moment. Tommy appears from rabbit to rabbit, stopping long enough to be noticed and have the poor things go the other way. …and to scritch them behind the ears because they're just so cute and he can't keep himself from doing it. Not that he'll /ever/ admit this. "Nothing to be sorry about, Nico!" Tommy calls out, before continuing from a different spot in the room. "It's a pretty awesome show, really!"

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