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Doug has pulled up outside of Jay's apartment building in… a 1958 Plymouth Fury, all chrome and gold.
If one were to look at the front of the car, it looks subtly different from the standard factory model fury. The headlights look more eye-like, and the grill looks much more… smiley. But right now, Doug is in the driver's seat, laying on the horn. BEEEEEEP BEEEEEEEP BEEEEEEEEEP~
Firstly, Douglas, let us address the fact that the address that Jay scrawled down on Doug's arm with a pen is in Greenwich Village. What the hell is a Guthrie doing in that neighborhood is anyone's guess, but long before Jay gets anywhere near figuring out what the heck is going on, the often harassed doorman rushes out from the building with a stern look for Doug. Raising a hand up to knock on the peculiar car's driver's side window, the man makes the cranking gesture for the window but shouts anyway, "Sir! You can't be making all that noise out here! It's unnecessary!"
Inside, a slightly artificial sounding voice issues from the radio, "Self can beep more quietly, self-friend?"
The window rolls down. Doug leans out of it. "But he really wanted to beep, who am I to tell him no." …What? "I'm looking for a guy, red hair, about so tall…" He holds his hand out at about Jay's height. "Enormous, beautiful crimson wings? Tell him Doug's here and to get out here and go for a ride."
What, indeed. The doorman looks confused for a moment, peering inside the car to confirm that, yes…yes Doug is quite alone. Opening his mouth to ask 'who?', the man just shakes his head and blinks stopping himself before things get too weird. He doesn't need to know, he just wants to collect his paycheck. Glancing out into the street to make sure he's not in anyone's way, the doorman nods a couple of times over the description, but his brows don't pop up until Doug mentions the wings, and his eyes lid. The wings are sort of a give away. "Ah, yes. 6C. I'll buzz him for you, sir. Just…stay here." He eyes the car once more, but flicks a platitude of a smile before rushing back into the building.
Not thirty seconds later does Jay pop his head up over Kaleb's balcony, peering down onto the street to see if he can eyeball Doug or the car. Well, there's one just sitting there in the street. Must be it. Mostly for the sake of expediency and to get Doug out of the doorman's hair, but partially because he almost /never/ gets to do it, Jay hops up on the railing and launches himself off it, wings cracking open wide and allowing a slow, circling decent to the ground. He still hasn't mastered the 'landing' to look as impressive as it certainly can. Instead of stepping right out of the air like a religious experience, the red-head backwings, then /drops/ the last foot and a half with a stumble forward and awkward fwip-fwip of his wings to settle onto his back. It's kind of like watching a subpar ending to an awesome movie—cryin' shame. But the good-ol boy is grinning, shaking his head at Doug while he unwraps his long-sleeved shirt from around his waist, strolling right up to the car and reaching to yank the passenger's side door open. "That you makin' all that ruckus, Dougie?"
"Yeah. Get in!" Doug says. "We're going for a long drive." As soon as Jay's in the passenger seat, the car peels out. Doug's hand is light in the wheel. "Traffic laws, we went over them," He says, as a gentle reminder to… uh… somebody. "I want you to meet a friend of mine." He's got a big grin on his face. "This is gonna blow your mind."
"Let's go up into Westchester. Take a country drive, it's a nice day." He leans back.
If Jay looks down, Doug's feet *aren't on the pedals*. What…?
There's a certain tremble that runs through the car as said car observes a winged-human: he was not entirely sure he knew they had models that came with wings. But for the moment, Warlock is content to drive them to a place where he can have a proper mouth. But he can't stop grinning, up front. He remembers the traffic laws very carefully and steadfastly tries to keep within the rules. Vrooom! Being a car is such a blast.
It takes a moment for Jay to compress his wings down comfortably to get in there, but he's done it enough that it's not too awkward once he's seated. Jay immediately grabs for the door when the car peels out, not anticipating the speed, his free hand pressing to the dash. "Whoa! Yeah, no kidding, traffic laws! Ya ferget how drivin' goes, Dougie? Europe really that different?" Jay nudges Doug's shoulder with a lopsided smile and goes quickly for a seatbelt. "Friend of yers? Okay, sure, but I'm focusin' more on makin' it there in one piece right now." While the car calms down, Jay takes several moments to notice that Doug's feet aren't really moving all that much, giving him a peculiar look. Something's up, though he's not sure.
Doug is grinning. And he reaches out with a finger and *taps* the radio. Ever so lightly. Tap tap. And when it comes to life, playing Manfred Mann singing "Do Wah Diddy", he's thumping the wheel with both hands, singing along — he really does have perfect pitch. And great enthusiasm. "There she comes, just a walkin' down the street, singin' DO WAH DIDDY DIDDY DUM DIDDY DO—"
It's hard not to sing along, really it is… "SHE LOOKS GOOD—" He points to the dashboard, as if he expects someone to chime in. Why is he pointing to the dashboard?
The dashboard… changes. At first the motion is just impossible to categorize: parts pull, parts twist, what was once a flat, smooth space becomes something fundamentally mechanical and intricate. Only not just mechanical. There's something about it that has the look of life. The change itself is rapid, and soon enough there's a *face* there, with bright yellow eyes and a wide mouth and a grin. "SHE LOOKED GOOD, LOOKED GOOD. SHE LOOKS FINE, LOOKED FINE."
And then Doug points at the grinning alien dashboard-face, singing in unison with it, "SHE LOOKED GOOD, SHE LOOKED FINE AND I NEARLY LOST MY MIND~"
The trick with the radio is something else. Just a light tap? Jay arches an eyebrow at Doug and his enthusiastic silence over this meeting, the same corner of his mouth inching upward in a lop-sided smile. "Nice trick," complimenting the guy on being just /so slick/ in Doug-land, relaxing marginally while he taps along to the song.
Rolling the window down as they make time out toward Winchester, the weather still fair enough to be just right. Good music, good company, good weather. It's the perfect combination as Jay turns his face into the wind, wings twitching while they're pinned to the seat, trying to reach out and 'taste' the breeze. The musician cannot help a good earworm, so he's humming along, bobbing his head.
Looking out, Jay doesn't entirely notice the way the dash suddenly morphs, but with a glance over with every intention to finish that lyric, Jay double-takes, mouth already open to sing, what comes out is definitely not what's intended, starting in unison with the radio and the dashboard, "She loo—OOAAAAH!" Jay shouts, startled. Bodily recoiling from the dashboard and into his seat, arms fly back, his flip-flopped feet shove against the floor, all elbows and knees and legs like out of a comedy. "DEAR SWEET MOTHER OF PEARL! DOUGLAS RAMSEY! WHATISTHAT!? WHAT!?"
The music stops immediately, and the face looks charginned. Even the car slows down a little bit. "Self did not mean to startle you. Your fear is understandable; all fear the Technarchy. But self is not like them. Self would never harm a sentient. You are Doug-friend to self-friend Doug?" There is, in the voice, a sense of fervent sincerity.
Doug can't help it — he's laughing, aloud. His head rolls back, and he's not even making a pretense of keeping his eyes on the road. "Jay, meet Warlock. Self-friend Warlock, meet Self-friend Jay. Remember the other person I told you about, Self-Friend Sam? Jay comes from the same Dam and the same Sire as Sam. Designate: Brothers." Then he takes his hands off the wheel. "Jay, this is so groovy, but Warlock is a *space alien*. From *space*. He crash-landed in the alps. Everybody was talking about the meteor when it hit, and I just had to go out and find it — and the poor guy almost starved to death out there. He's the real reason I came back — Warlock's a mutant, kind of like we are. I wanted to take him to the school."
Jay's heart is beating right out of his chest, every single feather that could possibly spread out behind him is standing on end until the entire seat is obscured and he's practically crawled into the seat itself, gripping the car's frame. Probably a couple seconds away from just jumping straight out the open window. Those soft green eyes are wide as dinner plates, mouth agape as he whiplashes glances between Douglas and the dashboard.
Warlock explains himself. Doug explains himself. And still, Jay's mind is spinning a mile a minute, but the final line is 'he's an alien' no 'he's a mutant'. Ever so intelligently, Jay takes a breath and exhales a single, agast word, "/What/!?"
Taking in the introduction, attempting to understand familial relationships outside of the framework of the Technarchy, Warlock… trembles beneath them as he continues to drive. He doesn't entirely understand. But he understands more then any other of his race ever has, 'Designate: Brothers'. Gravely, the face says as the car picks up pace again, "Doug-friend Jay, it is self's pleasure to meet you." he says, voice trying to offer calmness, "Self feels, Doug-friend Jay. On Kvch, self-home, we do not feel anything but ambition. Self does not wish to kill his Sire. Self does not wish to define self's existance in the only way the Technarchy understands: power. Self wishes to have friends. Self-friend Doug says that self is mutant, but self-sire would name self abomination, to be killed outright for his weakness. Self fled so he would not have to kill. Self-friend Doug found self and helped self be safe." There's a pause, and a tentative sound, "Self wishes only to have friends."
Doug sits back, and gestures to the dashboard while making a flat face at Jay. "See what I mean? He's an alien, and a mutant. Warlock's a mutant alien. And if he's not what the X-Men are all about, then who is? He couldn't speak human languages when he first landed… I was able to communicate with him. He needed help—so I helped him." He lays a protective hand on the dashboard, next to Warlock's face. "It's okay, buddy. I'm your friend, and I've got your back."
Jay blinks a few times, trying to get his heart rate down from being scared out of his mind over a talking dashboard. Alarm takes a back seat at last to just confusion, looking between the talking dashboard and Doug. At least he's not going to jump out the window at this point, slowly putting his feet down on the floor, tentative and unsure about everything going on, but trying to keep a level head.
Next comes trying to untangle the speech patterns coming out of the car (good lord, he's listening to a car). The young man's brows twitch together several times, lips still parted into a speechless 'o' while he listens between the two. "He'sit'she? Is an alien." Okay, that much he can wrap his brain around. "That don't mean he's a mutant, though. Ah mean. There are other aliens. Ah lived with one fer a while." Anxiously licking his lips, still looking between the two uncertainly. "Um, what's with the, uh," Jay flicks his fingers in the air in some non-commital gesture, trying to be polite. "The speech pattern? Self? You mean yerself? Sorry to, uh, sorry t'yell atcha, W-Warlock. Y'just startled me." Trying to make amends.
"Think of it like an accent. The Technarch language lacks emotional inflection, so Warlock often begins a statement by prefacing it with what sort of statement it is. Technarchs are also extremely egocentric? Everything is viewed in relation to the self, above and beyond the way it is even for humans. I am Warlock's friend, and in the technarch language, that identifies me as his possession. Even though he doesn't see me as such, it's still a part of his idiom to add a possessive when he refers to me. Amusingly, Warlock explained he would do it even if someone was his enemy. Self-friend, self-foe." He looks to Warlock, who's… all around them, really. "Did I get that right, buddy?"
There's a ripple on the dashboard; its not quite that a hand manifested, but for a moment the dashboard sank in exactly hand-shaped depression, and a squeeze can be seen and felt. The face grins, and there's a hint of a rising that is a nod towards Douglas, "Admiration. Self does not understand how it is that self-friend is able to understand as well as he does, but he speaks well of the truth of selfhood and the Technarchy. Self-friend is kind and wise." The eyes look to Jay, though, "You do not understand, but that is itself understandable. Compassion. The Technarchy knows only power. The child is born, the child kills the parent. The child has power. Power is. There is nothing else. A world, full of life, is material to consume. There is no friend. All that exists can be either subjugated, destroyed, or must be subjugate self. This is life." The car then reaches a place near the destination, but a field, but it pulls into it and stops in this remote location. "Self is a mutant because self feels. Self would never harm a sentient; self would never subjugate a sentient to self's will. Self knows this would be wrong. And so self-sire seeks above all else to destroy self, to rid self-sire of the abomination that is self. Is mutant not — change in the norm of a life pattern? Self is such a change for self feels what self-sire, ruler of all the Technarchy, can not."
"Oh," Jay murmurs in return to Doug's explanation of the way Warlock talks. Well, not that he has any room to criticize anyone's speech patterns, accents or idioms. Finally seated down into his chair properly once more, trying to smooth his feathers down and resume normalcy once more. "That's…kind of boss, actually." A tentative smile curving up onto the young man's mouth.
Turning back to Warlock's face imprinted on the dashboard, Jay listens as attentively and quietly as is particular to the young man. Nodding slowly and silently between bits of information that he may or may not entirely understand or retain for later, but at least he's polite. A softened twitch of his brows while Warlock explains where he came fromespecially the coldness and the parricide of it allnot angry, but concerned. But oh boy, he tries to be polite about it. "Well that all sounds… …" awful. It sounds awful. It sounds terrible. But Jay can't say that. Instead, he nods and hesitates a moment, waffling before coming up with a lame "…like somethin' else." Smile, Guthrie.
One of Jay's cheeks hollow, biting on the soft inside for a moment while he listens, the young man tilts his head to one side, rubbing a hand through his hair while he considers. "Okay, okay, yeah, Ah'm pickin' up what yer layin' down, now. So because yer different and you got compassion. Ah mean, we sorta use it in a real specific way fer folks who are genetically just…different from the norm and it gave most of us powers or look significantly not-quite-right," Jay thumbs back toward his wings. "But…" He pauses again and thinks on it, a small smile curving the edges of his mouth. "Honestly, compassion's kinda the best power y'all could have if ya lived in a place without it."
"He's a mutant because his people don't love." Doug says, before he opens the door and steps out. He walks to the trunk — Warlock's boot, hehe — and pops it open, before he pulls out a cooler. "And they don't feel compassion. But Warlock is nothing BUT love and compassion." He sets the cooler down, and sits on it.
"The truth of the matter is, Jay, the school, the X-Men, I know that we're specifically Mutants, but there are people in this world who are… cast out. What does a person do if they're Jewish, or black, or homosexual, and the whole of society seems tilted against them? Mutants aren't the only people who feels the bite of the lash, and I always felt like empathy meant that we stand up for the oppressed, everywhere. Warlock is one, alone, against the *entirety of the rest of his race*. If that's not a big 'X', I don't know what *is*."
Once both the cooler, Jay and Doug are out of the car…the whole char changes. It crunches and twists and bends. The change is rapid but defies easy observation— but the technology just twists in and on itself in intricate detail, but if one could explain it would be difficult— how the car turns from a — car — into something that looks at least to have the shape of a man, but a man made almost entirely of steel and brass, but with certain parts that look like flesh beneath those plates of metal. It, he, stands after the transformation, the tendrils that are like hair laying down casually over its head. "Self is different, yes, Doug-friend Jay because self feels compassion. Self sees a sentien and hears their words and wishes to know more from them: the Technarch would see sentient and think only to transform and consume it to better its power." Standing tall, the…robotish guy, sorta lifts a hand that has fingers far too long to gesture to Doug, "Self has nothing but self-friend Doug." he says, tone turning grave, "The least of the Technarchy would consume self for self's own wrongness. There is no greater weakness then feeling."
Jay is still talking with Warlock when they stop, so he doesn't get out immediately because he doesn't understand how that all works, precisely. However, when Doug gets out of the, um, guy, Jay hesitates, then quickly unbuckles and gets out as well, re-tying his long-sleeved shirt around his waist because if they're walking around with a talking car, then his wings aren't really the most distracting thing about them.
He's heard this bit before, but that doesn't stop him from listening to Doug while he speaks, pulling a cooler out of…oh god, Jay's not going to think too hard about where anatomically he's pulling that thing out of. Honestly, it's hard to listen to Doug once the trunk closes and Warlock seems to implode upon himself, fold up and then unfold again like a really bizarre origami that his eyes just /cannot/ follow for the life of him.
Well. That's fun and different. Jay's feathers slowly perk up, like hairs slowly rising on the skin, those feathers rise up on his wings, making his silhouette rather larger than it should be. And /that/ isn't even the 'mutant' part of this guy. Jay shakes his head slowly, awe creeping into him and addressed by a slanted smile. "Man…that is wild." OH RIGHT! They're talking!
Jay nods a few times, again chewing on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully while Warlock explains further, sliding his hands casually into his pockets and feathers slick back down smoothly to normal. "Well, that just ain't the truth of it, Warlock. Feelin' ain't a weakness, they got that backwards and inside out, Ah'm afraid."
Doug casually reaches out, and locks his fingers with Warlock's. Whatever they went through in Europe, they seem to have a very close bond. "They seem horrible." Doug says. "There's another problem, though. As Warlock has explained it to me, his, uh, father, the Magus, is almost certainly still looking for him."
"Eventually, he's going to track Warlock here. And" Doug pauses, and says, "Warlock didn't hold back the truth from me. The Magus destroys *worlds*, Jay. Total planetary extermination of all life" He looks up at his friend. "But Warlock and I are going to fight him. Together. I won't let him face the Magus alone."