1964-08-03 - In which Starfire is advised to visit an establishment for dancing
Summary: Starfire quests for new clothing
Related: none
Theme Song: She's Got Legs
caliban rogue starfire tigra 

East Village is a hop, skip, and a jump away from Scarlett's usual stomping grounds in Greenwich Village. The bohemian dream fits in well with the neighbourhood, dressed in her psychedelic Pucci minidress. Swirls of copper, orange, and sunset pink storm in a whirlwind matched by her nylons, making her beyond chic. She carries a camera, and her business of the day has everything to do with photography. A roll of film already possesses a slew of snaps taken on the way, and she currently roams the street searching for the next cityscape or iconic image to capture her attention. It makes an excellent diversion, truly, from knowing presently how close the world is to falling apart in the most literal sense.

Rather less…garish looking than Rogue currently is would be one Greer Grant Nelson, the human identity of one Tigra. Greer is built the same, though no fur nor tail and black hair. She wears a grey knee length skirt, cream blouse, and matching jacket. She walks along, mind mostly on her business, but she can't help but hear Scarlett's clothes from across the street, and dashes across through a gap in traffic.

With her only Earth clothing destroyed by a fire Koriand'r has been forced to go out and about in her Tamaranean outfit, all skin tight in purples and silver. Which is why she's decided to stick to the more liberal parts of town. Where dressing like an exhibitionist mutant go-go dancer isn't quite so openly frowned upon.
The alien princess is, in the interest of discretion, walking as she moves from shop window to shop window in search of a clothing store that has items in her price range.

Scarlett's clothing is Italian, well-made, and a discussion in how colours can blend in ways the more conservative mores of America haven't caught up to yet. Somewhere, someone is shrieking at the top of their lungs with revelation and the colour demons of the sixth dimension may be preparing a sudden assault. Undisputed as one of the better diversions around her, she really needs only follow the cries of 'Go back to the Peppermint Lounge' and 'George, stop looking at her bits' to know where to swing that camera. It would very much help her to stand on a planter, which she does, making her an inadvertent traffic sign. That sign probably reads Glaring Danger to Pedestrians, but regardless, her mood is positive as she tracks the world through the glass lens. She might not be entirely aware of Ms. Nelson's immediate presence until her fellow Avenger closes, but it's not at all hard to find her. Nor for her to cheerfully say, "Beautiful morning, isn't it?" to anyone swinging by. Including disguised teammates.

Greer reaches Scarlett, stepping back quickly to get out of the way of a camera swung around like a cannon. "Very beautiful," she answers, looking over at cries of 'bits.' "And very striking. Not often that I think that -I'm- overdressed," she notes wryly. "Shall we step over for a close up?"

Starfire turns, smiles at the local who was compelled to shout helpful advice and asks "What is this Peppermint Lounge of which you speak? Do they sell dresses there?" There isn't a trace of sarcasm in her voice. "Perhaps you could give me directions?"
For reasons unknown to Kori the insinuation George might know where the establishment is draws him even more ire from his already upset companion.

"The Peppermint Lounge is for dancers like… that. You wearin' stuff." The bothered resident pushes on, hurrying to find himself a place where his eyes aren't scalding. His wife would probably hit him a few ways. "Over in Midtown. Ain't safe here for us, augh!"

Scarlett takes her time to adjust the focus on the image, and snaps a few shots in order. She has no rush about the situation. Traffic flows around her on the sidewalk, and with a row of cars parked on the street, no likely frontal attack takes place without her notice. Though mostly it's an assault on the senses. "I rather like what you're wearing. Never underestimate the power of a good skirt." Her expression shimmers with amusement at Kori causing snarls and eddies in movement. "Should we rescue her?"

"Good skirt with the right legs, definitely nothing to underestimate," Greer, in human form, says to Scarlett with a knowing grin. She looks back over to Starfire, and looks her over as well, one part curiosity, one part appreciation. "I think we'd better. Or maybe rescue New York from her. She may cause heart attacks if this continues."

Caliban was not unknown in Mutant Town, but what he was doing in the light of day, above the ground, or out of his element in public? This was a curiosity even he might not have an answer for. By far and large either from his threadbare appearance, his obvious mutations, or off-putting demeanor but to be frank? He was avoided like a leper. Frankly it helped. It was hot but the gloves were on and a hood was up. Approaching the interaction his head canted to teh side. Certainly he was aware of…things? But those things weren't reading as maybe he thought they ought. Glancing around a glance was given to the woman with the camera and the person beside her, but back to Starfire which seemed to be the source of the confusion. Odd, very odd.

"Oh. I am afraid you are mistaken," Starfire explains earnestly. "I am not looking for a place to dance. I am shopping for dresses." Her hand rests on her hip. "While I am very grateful that so many people are taking the time to stop and chat it is very hard to go about my shopping when so many people are making unhelpful suggestions." She shakes her head with dismay "It is almost as if you are being deliberately impolite!"

The redhead laughs, the melodies spun in golden sunlight and the whisper of neroli, a cousin to citrus. Her braids are studded by delicate foxglove bells, though who knows where she finds an English cottage flower in the middle of the city. There are wonders everywhere to be unearthed, discoveries pertaining to the floral kingdoms as much as the faunal. "I believe you have the right of it. Sally forth like the first fashionable battalion, shall we?" Her camera rests by a strap wound around her wrist, and she has little difficulty hopping down onto a keyhole space between the planter and Greer. Then, slipping betwixt a parked Mercury and someone zooming by on a bike is altogether easier. She has mindful regard for the cars and pedestrians that throng the East Village corridor, but really it's the buses she worries about. They can make her bounce briefly.
George is rushing on his way, chased by the missus. Starfire would probably be best to ask someone else, because the situation devolves from there. Another woman snaps, "Stop looking! You are a pig, Desmond Jones, you are. Put some half-dressed girl and your mouth is on the ground in a puddle of drool."

"Sally forth, we two knights in the cause of fashion," Greer says with mock severity. "We few, we happy few, we band of clothiers. For whoever clothes with me this day shall be my clothier. And men now abed in England shall think themselves a'nude that they were not here, this…August the 2nd," she trails off in a small grin. All this said while navigating through traffic in Rogue's wake, careful of cars, pedestrians and buses. When it comes to a bus, 'bounce' is not the most accurate verb. For the sake of our more sensitive readers, the editors have decided to omit said verb.

Caliban was not, sometimes, unsympathetic to the distress of others. How it manifested was its own ordeal. Today it was a small thing he still counted as a victory for another. While Desmond Jones was busy looking at the imperiled go-go woman in the small shiny outfit Caliban rolled up quietly to him like a dust storm and entirely as unwelcome. His skin was too ghostly white, and his fingers unfurled to be too long, and his accented voice too raspy to bear much of a welcome. But there he was as the entire field of vision for Desmond Jones with an unsettling look that did not blink those hollow, lavender eyes. "Change?" was all he said, but he was one to easy find the fear in others and draw on it; Fear from Desmond's lady that he was looking elsewhere. Desmond's fear of something harrowing showing up in his face. Fear of the 'unclean element' suddenly erupt in their world. A faint smile pulled at the corner of Caliban's scarred lips and he gave it back to Desmond Jones. And very quickly was that man not Starfire's problem.

While some might be intimidated by a scandalised crowd like this Starfire seems largely indifferent or perhaps it's better to say uncomprehending. Her attention has already turned back to the next shop window. "Well that /is/ rude. I am not half-dressed. I am fully dressed in clothing of a style you are not familiar with."

"Then shall our names, familiar in his mouth as household words — Scarlett the muse, Greer in the grey, Jean Grey and Carol Danvers. Be in their flowing gowns freshly remember'd, this story shall the lady teach her child, and clotheshorses shall ne'er go by, from this day to the ending of the world, but we in it shall be remembered, we few, we happy few, we band of sisters, for she today that sheds money with me shall be my sister; be she ne'er so clothed." Scarlett rattles off Henry V without hesitation, something marvelous locked up in that skull of hers to parlay with Greer in easy glory. The meter might stilt a touch, but so be it, woven on the fly. She attains the other side of the street and hails Starfire with a cheery wave, not the one holding the camera.
Change isn't coming quick to Desmond, but his girlfriend is, hauling him off and leaving Caliban behind.

"Okay, now you're showing off," Greer says to Rogue cheerfully, when Scarlett lets loose a string of poetry, seemingly without effort. She takes a moment to adjust her jacket and skirt after the street crossing, and then fallsin step with Rogue.

Caliban wasn't exactly expecting change so much as he was expecting Mr. Jones to bugger off, and off he did bugger. The smile left was perhaps too amused, but the effect was done. Head down he turned back up the street, away from light and away from Desmond Jones bothering the different peoples of the world. He glanced faintly up from the sidewalk to Starfire, "They are, I fear, unforgivably stupid." He paused though still trying to figure out why the 'mutant' was not on radar, but looked to Scarlett curious. A faintly Eastern European accent that's been Americanized to a fault asked with a rasp, "Henry V? I did not know there was an act wherein he went shopping?" Hey, the hobo was well read. Who knew?

It takes Starfire a moment to recognize that the figure she can see waving reflected in the store front glass is actually waving at her. She turns and, with a brief frown, raises her hand to wave. "You seem very familiar," she notes. "Did we perhaps fight squid people on a beach together?"
Kori turns and waves at the other, rather more ragged looking, stranger. "They are? It is very rude to talk about people behind their backs like that you know. Especially if they are your friends."

She might be prone to laugh, and the mischief burning in those brilliant eyes in a surreal shade the hue of the aurora borealis, contains the proof of it. Being polite matters more. Scarlett turns slightly upon reaching the sidewalk to allow Tigra to stand beside her, sharing that option and not quite in danger or being knocked about. "You butt heads with a Columbia student. That's about all we know how to do, you realize? Recite pretty words and jab or debate as necessary." Her fingers punctuate her words, articulating certain sounds rounded off by that eloquent English accent that places itself nowhere easy to find. It's on some shore where the cultivation of a proper education matters. Caliban is someone she can parse, and doubly, smile upon. "There has to be a patron saint of fashion. St. Coco's Day is upon us, and of course, Henry's wife had a thing or three to say about setting the mode, didn't she? Mind the Valois, of course. Those French! The acts deserve their fanfare."
Her bright smile is up three notches, halfway to powering Manhattan on its own, and she skims a curtsy to Starfire. "We did! I recall the misery of their blaster… spear things. However they were using them, absolutely dreadful. Have you enjoyed the beach since? Also, hello. I'm Scarlett, she is Greer, and this fellow is new to me. But hello to you too!"

"Physics major, myself," Greer says to Rogue. The poetry I picked up was mostly incidental, or from a required core class." She looks the well spoken 'hobo' over curiously, offers a waggling of fingers in greeting, and then looks from Kori to Scarlett. "Squid people? That sounds positively horrific. I imagine there'd be plenty of ink to write up the story after, though."

Caliban blinked coming to a stop in his foot steps. He turned to look where Desmond Jones and his woman have fled, and bewildered looked back to Starfire with a faint amusement, "I assure you they are not." He looked back and took a step back from Scarlett and Greer as they stepped over. "I'm. I'm sorry for them." There was a fleeting smile given to Rogue at the explanation of literature and quietly the vagrant responded only, "That which remains standing before the the face of the unwanted and unclean. One perhaps labeled simply as 'Caliban'? But does the label of words make a name, or the matter of the man itself? Or does it become at one all synonymous in a brief, miserable moment? In this I can offer you no explanation to who any of us are." Rogue started it. There will be Morlocks with headaches as he might wax poetic the rest of the afternoon upon returning home. Thank you, Scarlett. Thanks.

"My name is Koriand'r although you may call me Kori if you wish. I spend many days at the beach, as that is where I have been camping for the last few weeks. When I have not been visiting the moon or New York that is. Oh and I spent a few days in China recently." Starfire replies cheerfully, before turning to Caliban and blinking. "They are not what?" she asks Caliban, bemused. "Are you feeling okay? I do not understand what you mean… English is not my first language you see. I am originally from Monaco which is in Europe."

"I defer to your knowledge of the fundamentals of the cosmos, then, and know whom I'll come with any questions when I invariably have to ask about the acceleration of things in space or particles. Please explain subatomic particles, really." Her nose wrinkles slightly at the measure of consideration required there. Gravitons, quarks, charms, oh my! It's enough to put Scarlett at sincere disadvantage. Caliban defers to the wrong person on the nature of a name, as it happens. "We have many ways to call ourselves. While I might defer to Shakespeare again on the matter of a rose being just as sweet, we could speak of veritable truths about being singular to our name and our name singular to us. However many people named Caliban there are, there is but one of you and you possess that name unto yourself. Its being carries the weight you grant it. Identity is defined by some kind of moniker, and strip that, you will surely suffer a dissonance when you break it away. Just ask anyone reduced to a number, a barcode tattooed onto their arm."
She inclines her head slightly. Takes a Monagesque to know one, and unfortunately for all, there is a Monagesque in that skull of hers. She defers with the mere wrinkle of her nose and a grin. "Let me see whether I can find a friend about here who specializes in resale. It might be up your alley. If you don't mind?"

The alien princess adopts a blank look for much of Scarletts musings. "Resale? Of clothing?" Kori asks curiously once the speech is done. "I do not have much money to spend. Unfortunately some of my savings I believe the term is? Were destroyed in the same fire which ruined my dress." She shrugs. "But if you can suggest some places to shop on a budget that would be very helpful. Especially if there are any garments which are resistant to high temperatures…"

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