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The Eight Ball is a safe place: not everyone is obviously a mutant of course, but there's more obvious mutants here then anywhere else, and the bouncers in particular look like the sort of fellows that can stop trouble being trouble. At the moment, Josh is blending: he looks like an All American Golden Boy, minus the literal gold, just blond hair and tanned skin. Despite blending at the moment, he's well known in these parts — when a community has a bone fide healer word spreads and people tend to start giving him both a measure of respect and, at times, some space. At least until someone is hurt.
For the moment, Josh is settled into a seat at a corner table, a bottle of the absolute cheapest whiskey ever on the table before him that he's pouring into shots from time to time, but that's not all he's doing. He has a simple notebook and some sort of ledger in front of him, and he's flipping through the ledger and writing notes from time to time into the notebook. His expression is thoughtful, but calm and collected, at least for the moment.
*
For once, Julian is not rushing around in his jaguar; that he recently compacted it into a cube after causing a giant ruckus is the primary reason, but it does make him a little more subtle. He's wearing a large trenchcoat, somewhat mundane if brand new, although below he still bears the trademark of someone swimming in money. The words 'Josh' and 'Brotherhood' have some weight, and after a few demonstrations of his own mutancy he was pointed to the pool club proper. The door slithers open, briefly taking in the interior before finding the man he had met long weeks prior. His footsteps are lazy but obviously approaching, intent on settling down into a seat opposite the man to rest a foot upon his knee. "Hey… …remember me?"
*
Looking up, Josh squints a moment as he adds one plus one and gets three; it takes a moment for his math to work out and he nods suddenly, "Right, the guy with the car." He reaches over for his whiskey, and pours a shot, and then downs it quickly: not a wince despite it being crap whiskey, but that's largely because he's turned off certain nerve receptors. Despite a good half of the bottle being gone, he doesn't seem drunk: maybe a little on the buzzed side. Still, the young man leans back and regards Julian for a long moment before smiling, "What can I do for you?" He gestures to the bottle as his smile turns into a grin, "Happy to share, but you'll have to go get a shot glass."
*
Leaning back on two legs, Julian strikes a precarious balance, arms crossed over his chest. "Yeah. Car guy." he agrees. At least he's made a token effort to stick out less like a sore thumb, this time around. At the mention of a shot glass, Julian glances backwards and then lifts his hand. One in question on a shelf shimmers, slowly making it's way over to him. The sheer effort of the simple trick is visible, and a single crack runs up the side before it drops into his hand and he thumps it down opposite. Seems he still wants it poured. "You mentioned a Brotherhood. Of mutants. Right?"
*
The crack gets a long look, and Josh tilts his head to the side, "Interesting. Seems more power then fine control, not that I'm an expert in psychokinetics or anything, I just know a couple." That said, with a slight shrug he reaches for the whiskey and pours the shot, then nods his head slowly, "The Brotherhood of Mutants exist to protect and defend mutantkind in the ongoing war: to make sure anothe Sacramento doesn't happen, to make sure the likes of these Friends don't massacre more people." His expression darkens and he frowns, "Not that we succeeded in stopping that, nor was I near enough to bring many back, but I did what I could." He sounds both angry and resigned all at once, and lifts a hand up to rub at his face.
*
"Imagine the throttle is always at max. I gotta work hard to pull it back… heh. I've never met another telekinetic, so hell if I know how normal that is." Whiskey seeps out a bit, but it's still slammed back quickly by Julian, content to have confirmed he's a mutant to the bar as a whole. He didn't look the part; one of those blessed to be both potent and normal, something he took for granted before as meaning he was beyond the politics and issues. "I know." he murmurs afterwards, setting the glass back down. "I gave it a lot of thought. Ever since we last talked. And ever since what happened in my recent life… happened. Heh. I had a breakdown, and I realized then. I don't know anybody. Two people were in my head. One of them were you. I wonder if you coulda saved her… no matter. It's probably better that way…" Two Lorna's would probably be trouble one way or another. "Long story short, I'm done sitting on the sidelines. Not when I got power to do otherwise. …I know plenty of people in the spotlight. Heroes and shit. Good for them. You're the only one I know on the ground level, working day to day with those who need it most."
*
"I can save anyone, as long as the body's still warm — or if it got put on ice while still warm." offers Josh, his voice soft and serious on that topic, "Though I might go into a coma for a couple days after pulling them back from death." Not that he knows the specifics of what's serious, but the absolute power of his ability to heal is something he stresses. He does nod his head slowly, "I would never call myself a hero: but here, in Mutant Town, are the people who are too afraid or not powerful enough to defend themselves. I'm not even really here as a member of the Brotherhood, I'm here as a man who can't look at those suffering and not *act*. And… I know if I am here, and they come back…" His expression darkens slightly. "Anyways, I seel myself more as a mix between a combat medic and an aid worker. I spend a lot of time being on guard for danger, and doing things like… help run the community center. Try to raise money for the local soup kitchen." He wrinkles his nose, "Even though that's a bit… well, whoreish of me. I healed this well off man's cancer in return for a donation, for example. I don't know: we do what we can. The people here need us to… stand together. Stand strong. Do you see yourself as a hero? Or someone who wants to get shit done?"
*
"They melted into a puddle. I dunno if it was warm or not. I kinda flipped out." Julian murmurs, and from the troubled expression, it's not a topic he currently wants to revisit. He listens then, continuing his careful balance on the back of his chair, before giving a nod towards his shotglass of whiskey to indicate a refill. "Get shit down. In the end. If I wanted to be a hero, I'd be elsewhere." He doesn't need to name names. Either Josh knows them, or doesn't. "I know at least one very rich mutant… you get any aide from anyone notable? I only got one concern. There's getting shit done, and there's being a terrorist and making shit worse. Which is it?"
*
"Isn't that a question of perception— or more often then not, propaganda? 'Terrorist' is a word that lacks real meaning but is high on the emotional context: its an easy word for the establishment to throw out and accuse anyone in the opposition who is willing to fight to survive, who when pushed into a corner will not simply give up, and then try to color the conversation about them. Its a publicity-word: it doesn't really have any particular meaning unless you break it down." Josh shakes his head slowly, "Do we want the baselines to fear us? No. Do we use tactics intending to inspire fear for a political agenda? No. But are we willing to fight back against those who are trying to hurt us? Fuck yes. The death toll is a LOT higher on their side then ours, but while I respect Doctor King and his peaceful protest agenda in theory, and I recognize that in certain places in the south they're being strung up and lynched if they get uppity, we're being slaughtered *wholesale* right now. In this city." That said, he reaches for the whiskey, pours them both a shot, and tosses his back easily, "I don't know any rich mutants, really, and don't have any .. patrons, yet. I don't like the idea of healing-for-pay, but the community center needed to overhaul its electrical system or it might have burned down… This is a somewhat new project for me— and us— so we're just getting started."
*
There's some more time spent waiting before picking up the whiskey again, a tiny puddle leaking out upon the table before Julian slams back another mouthful. He's not wincing very much either, but it appears to mostly be from distraction. "Fuck it." he mumbles, finally thumping his chair down. "I'll give you guys a shot. My parents… the Kellers. They're politely anti-Mutant. It's the norm for the upper class. I'm their dirty little secret. They're not gonna let any money go somewhere that makes them look bad." He spits to the side in disgust, causing a few glares most likely. "But I can get some. Enough to matter, maybe. And if I like what I see, I can get more. No strings attached. …long as I get to help, too. But you guys do anything I don't agree with, then my blank checks're gonna stop dead. That sound fair?"
*
Pausing for a moment in thought, Josh hesitates, lifting a hand, "There's two things here: there's my work in the community, and the Brotherhood's much broader mandate. The Brotherhood has secured an alternate revenue source. They are concerned with the big picture: fighting the Friends of Humanity, lately. They don't need money, but they could use help." Josh gestures around, "New York's Mutant Town is another matter. That's my personal work. That could use both money *and* help. Its nothing so big or grand— though if I see a Friend or anyone trying to hurt someone around here, I'll put a stop to it." There's a dark edge to his tone, "So the question is, which are you interested in? Its not an either/or proposition. I doubt anyone will ever agree with *everything* an organization does, but no one is *required* to support an organization." That said, he wrinkles his nose and nods, "I know the type, the 'politely anti-mutant', though for my family, they cut me off entirely. Not quite upper class, but just below it. Of course, I still have my med school loans to pay off. Even though no hospital will hire me."
*
"Fine. You take my money. I'll help fight these Friends." Julian states, matter of factly. "Everybody wins. I can do what you need around here, but my power's not good for much outside hurting things. …just needa know who." There's a flicker in his expression there. Someone on a crossroads, most certainly. "You use my money to help Mutant Town. If I find the Brotherhood's too crazy for me, I'll just back out of it. Shouldn't be any issues, right?"
*
Nodding his head, Josh flashes a quick grin, "Its not like its this life-long.. thing. Of course, you *betray* any confidences you have with us while you're in, that'll be a problem. But the Brotherhood is about the safety and freedom of mutants: if someone doesn't want to be a part of us, we don't want them. We have to trust our people at our backs. If you decide something is not working, you can go your own way. You'll be expected not to share what you know— membership, safe houses, activites. But we're not going to like… come after you if you change your mind. That's crazy cult shit there, man. Mystique is not crazy. She cares about us, and caring about us and our future precludes us being her enemy. In the meantime…" Josh gestures around, "Maybe you and me can do some good. Hey, maybe your powers aren't that good at hurting things, but not everything is about power. Half of what I do around here isn't about powers at all. Its about meeting people. And listening to them. And finding out to make things better."
*
"I approve of what you do. And I don't mind the bodies of shitstains that deserve it. Not sure how I'd feel about adding to it, but you catch my drift." A long sigh from Julian follows, looking up at the ceiling. "Jeez. If people would need to turn to me for life advice and guidance, people are a lot more rock bottom than I thought. But I can't really be too public. People start whispering about the Black Sheep Keller spending too much time in Mutant Town, then my ability to get money's gone… I can manage a disguise or something, I guess…"
*
"You wouldn't be the first guy to go by a name: some people know me as Doctor Josh around here, especially at the Center, some people know me as Elixir. In fact, more the latter: of all places in the city, this is the part of town where not only do people respect anonymity, but they understand — especially those of us who can blend — people choosing an identity." Josh considers Julian for a long moment, and can't help but grin, "I don't know enough about what you can do to pick you out a mutant name, but around here, if it helps you and us, you simply *aren't* this Julian Keller guy. No one's going to argue if you go introduce yourself as, say, Scythe. Not a suggestion, just an example. Maybe you take a taxi and don't bring the car around so much: it does stand out. Disguises are fine if you think you need to, but I doubt it. This is New York City. No one can keep track of people that well, especially here, and especially once you establish yourself among the people. Mutant Town protects its own."
*
"Uhh. A name?" Julian wonders, scratching the side of his cheek. "I'd rather my first name not be in it. …Elixir?" That's not bad, really. Heroes have names, but so do villains. If he wants to be anonymous… "Hm." After a long period of time, "Hellion. I think it fits. And it sounds pretty intimidating, don't it?" A smirk follows after. "My family's not even that famous. For how rich they are…" You'd think someone rubbing elbows with the Wayne's and the Worthington's would be a bit more on the radar, but some days Julian's doesn't even KNOW where the family's fortune comes from. Other than it's new…
*
"Hellion works." agrees Josh, nodding his head with a quick grin, "You'll raise hell for the people." With a grunt, Josh rises, running a hand through his blond hair, "Okay, I have to get going— I have an appointment. Come by the community center just down the road anytime before 5, and we can talk some specifics, and I can go make some introductions. Need anything else until we have the intros ready?"
*
"Nah. Just point me at people who need said hell raised next time." Julian comments, reaching out to grasp the whiskey and pour a last shot to down. Just the slightest bit of tipsy already for him. "And don't tell nobody I'm doing this. I can't say I run in any circles just yet, but a couple people'd get touchy. You know?" He pushes to his feet then, sliding the chair back into place.
*
Josh nods his head easily, "I won't tell anyone without warning you first and offering you both an introduction and a veto: I might say I know this guy, Hellion, but who the hell is that?" He shrugs, "It'd be good to have a better idea of waht you can do, but we can talk about that then. And here." He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet, then comes a slightly rumbled business card that's handed over, "Answering service. Don't say anything sensitive, but this is how you can get in contact with me pretty fast."
*
"Nobody yet. Maybe someday." Julian offers matter of factly. "I'll give a demonstration next time." The card's taken, looked over before his own wallet is plucked out. Tucking Josh's in, he then rains twenties down on the table, before heading over to drop another on the counter for the bartender. "For the shotglass. …and spit." he mumbles, stuffing the remainder inside and heading towards the door. "I'll remember that for next time someone I like turns into a puddle, eh? I'll keep in touch."
*
"I'm not entirely sure if I can do anything about a *puddle*… but I'll try." offers Josh with a vague shrug and a lift of his hand.