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It was the weekend but the school was resident to some. Kaleb Miller was not one of these people, but while having his DNA swizzled Kaleb was pretty certain it was for Kwabena for a bit. He could be wrong but he ventured back over in the late afternoon to have a look around and see for himself. Truth was he looked crisper than a new hundred dollar bill, but tired. The dark sunglasses did wonders for this. Finally he found what he was looking for, or more. Words carried to where he needed them to be so it still sounds like Kwabena was being addressed from the front even though it wasn't the actual source of the message. "Hey." Greeting, not demand.
Kwabena and Theresa are outside, having just finished eating some sandwiches. The Ghanian is resting back on his haunches, legs drawn out in front of him, one knee perched up. He's found some decent trousers to wear, and a longer sleeved burgundy shirt to wear. It's not his wardrobe; for all we know, it was nicked from someone with far better choices, like Charles or (this one could be argued) Summers.
His face stirs, however, when he hears Kaleb's voice. He forms a smirk and leans over toward Theresa, "I think we have visitor."
Theresa's wearing her usual clothes, since she actually seems free to come and go as she pleases, even though she is spending more time here while Kwabena is on self-imposed lockdown. She's wearing a rather nice green dress, her shoes set aside as she reads something, a magazine of some sort, right up until it's pointed out they have a visitor. She glances up, spotting Kaleb before she lifts a hand to wave.
Kaleb nodded to Kwabena and Theresa seeming indifferent to the odd sight they might make to some given the climate of the age. Apparently this didn't fall under his personal list of concerns so much. DId he always enter an area like it was answerable to him? Every time. He offered after a moment, leaving his hands in the pockets of his pressed slacks, though a rich plum rather than his usual array of slate to silver, "Thought I'd come back to see how you were handlnig." Recovery didn't happen over night, and acceptance of one's changing condition generally less so. he didn't seem to overlook that fact, or perhaps was too acutely aware from his own tribulations recently. "Theresa, good colour for you."
"Isn't it, dough?" Kwabena asks, when Kaleb compliments Theresa on the color of her dress. "She puts me to shame," he admits. "I do not spend much money on clothing, because I tend to destroy it." He gestures to the area. "Come and sit, relax."
He doesn't quickly remark on how he is handling, though the question does still his pleasant demeanor with a touch of thoughtfulness. "Seeing Warren was difficult," he admits. "Brought back some flash of memories."
"Thank you." Theresa replies, glancing down at her dress before she snorts at Kwabena, "Destroyed or left on the ground, luv…" She closes the magazine she was reading, tucking it away. When mention of those flashes is had, she reaches out a hand to give Kwabena's knee a quick squeeze.
Kaleb tilted his head with a nod. He had zero disagreement there. "Or incinerated. That happened fighting werewolves. Gave the neighbourhood quite a show. Shoulda been there." Deadpan, but true. Warren though? Kaleb nodded soberly, "Yeah. I was there when they were doing a tune up on Warren. Damndest thing I ever saw, but, it's why it's so important to help our people. SOme luckier than others. How did it go with Worthington?" His brow furrowed curious before assumption.
A quick, snorting laugh is given at Theresa's remark. "And dis is why you keep hanging out with me," he quips.
Talk of incinerating werewolves has him smirking somewhat. That was a fun evening, in hindsight. However, the conversation easily swings back to Warren.
"He's not holding grudges," Kwabena says. "Seeing him though." He glances to Theresa. "Brought back one of dose damn flashes."
"The fact your clothes fall off? Maybe." Theresa replies, flashing Kwabena a quick smile at that, then she reaches for her purse, searching through it to find the pack of cigarettes she picked up, and has since forgotten about. They are pulled out, held towards Kwa in quiet offer, "Have you talked to anyone? Professionally, I mean, luv. I'm all ears, all the time, but I don't know what to say. I'm Irish, our philosophy is drink and get past it."
Kaleb :rolled his eyes faintly. "I'd say it's… bullshit, but… I talked to Jean." His jaw tightened a bit and he did take up the offer finally to wade over and join them though at a faint distance. A social creature but not social by nature. Still, he sat with them. "Things, um, can be… hard to talk about without the language to do so. Turns out she's got some pretty good perspective. Very little bullshit really. Or if you want to thing out loud you won't lose any face with me man. Believe me, I get it and wish others didn't… but that jsut isn't how the world seems to work I guess."
"'Drink and get past it' might be de best idea," Kwabena admits. He takes the cigarette with a thankful expression, lighting it with the zippo in his pocket. "Den my clothes are sure to fall off."
At the very concept of talking with someone professionally, he seems to clam up. Talking with Jean, of anyone, has him feeling squicked. Maybe it's that brush with that… otherworldly thing he saw. "I can speak with her," he admits at long last. "Dough I really… dislike de idea of letting someone into my head. Hasn't been de first time, but… I still don't like it."
"You can talk to me." Theresa points out, but again, her credintials are a little light in the actual help department, but fairly heavy in the live in denial area. She lifts a hand, absently waving away any smoke before she leans in to give Kwa's cheek a kiss, "Anything we can do to help, you know that you can count on me, luv. It seems as though you can count on a few people, too…"
Kaleb watched Kwabena with a critical look. While it was easy to see why Echo was vastly unlikable, or at least exceptionally un-personable, he was still listening attentivly. Not everyone was good with having feelings though; it wasn't for everyone. "She didn't go into my head. She just… listened. She's had a lot of experience I won't try to begin to understand. She's got good perspective. Weirdly, anything crazy aside? Actually helped me figure out what I need to do for myself to get my head screwed back on." He was notably, and unnaturally quiet when Theresa spoke to Kwabena. he watched her curious perhaps, or just patient. At the end there was a nod of agreement. "I'm going to say this once: Talking to someone going out of their way to help your broken ass? Absolutely worth the investment." That he spoke of a bit less mechanically. That was from personal experience.
Kwabena looks between the two with a critical gaze of his own, though he smiles when Theresa gives him a peck on the cheek. "It is getting bettah, but yes. I should talk with Jean. It is like… like flashes, when I think about de time dat it happened." The undercurrent, well… that one he doesn't speak of. That one, he has a feeling, will take a telepath to sort out.
"See? She'll just listen, without messing with your head…" Theresa smiles once more, but really, not being both in his position, or in his mind, she really is just running her mouth at this point. Support, right? She seems to be satisfied that it is getting better, at the very least.
Kaleb nodded slowly. he had nothing to add to that as the man knew what he needed to do. Finally he asked with some curioity, "You've been off the road a couple days. You doin alright there?" Time was money and this was eating a ton of Kwabena's time. Kaleb didn't really know or understand working other than some people were in a position where they had to do it, and in that, one needed to be able to work to get paid. An eyebrow arched above the dark sunglasses. "If you need it, I might ahve a job for you that can help you recover time lost if you're interested."
Now, at that question, Kwabena smirks wryly. "What, you haven't heard de shouting matches I've had with de boss?" He shakes his head. "Boss is pissed, but he is much hot air. I've trashed two taxi already, and still have job, so, I think it will be okay, but I should not hang around for too long."
At the mention of a job, however, he snuffs out his smoke and gauges Kaleb curiously. "Oh yeah? What kind of work?"
There is a bit of a frown, then Theresa offers, "And what I'm making at the bar is…at least making up for these days." She hopes. If not, she might have to resort to a few other money making methods.
Kaleb had that look of business about him. He dressed from money so there left little reason to doubt his claim. There was a glance around the yard as he chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully and brought it back around, "You know I got taken like a month ago, yeah?" He'd mentioned it in passing. "Looks like potential inside job so I had to clean a little house. Sadly, as much as I frankly do love working with my father's driver of the last 15 years? I can't trust him and I may have need of a driver who can be discrete with certain matters. Nothing illegal. Comes with hazard pay if it comes to it, and would still allow you to keep your regular hours else-wise." He took the sunglasses off, and tucked them into the collar of his button up shirt as to not have this conversation between two small panes of glass. "I've had opportunity to go into a situation three times with you. I like you. I like your principals. I'm starting up something and to be frank? I need people I feel comfortable trusting."
By now, Kwabena is listening with full intent. He reaches over to rest a hand on Theresa's knee at her concern, as if to suggest that she shouldn't need to worry about money.
"I should warn you," he answers, "I once ran with some questionable types. Dey don't have much on me, but, I believe one of dem may have had something to do with a murder. I've remade some of dose connections in de hope dat I might find out who pulled de triggah."
Theresa glances over at Kwa when his hand settles on her knee, a faint smile appearing before she turns back towards Kaleb to finish listening to the offer, and the response. She settles one of her hands over the back of his, giving it a squeeze.
Kaleb pressed his palms toghetr and rubbed them in a light circle listening. 'questionable types' registered as anything from Soviet gangsters to geurilla thugs or crooked law eforcement. Always a variety there. The look wasn't one of judgement but potential worst case scenarios. Finally he nodded. "Who died?" Direct. Always. "Someone close to you or someone they're framing you to take the fall for?"
"Cop," Kwabena answers. "George Stacy. One of de good ones." He shakes his head. "I don't know how deep I can or want to go. Dis kind of business, smells a lot worse den anything I used to get my hands dirty with."
Theresa's remaining quiet still, a hand reaching for her purse, fussing with it. It's clear that every word spoken she hears, but she is careful to keep any questions or comments to herself, respecting the fact that she has no right to say anything perhaps.
Kaleb brought his hands up to a 'prayer' position tapping his upper lip thoughtfully. "Captain George Stacy?" An eyebrow went up. with a look of recognition. "iiiiinteresting. When? I didn't realize someone got him."
"Few weeks back," Kwabena answers. "Don't know who pulled de triggah, but I was able to hunt down one of de chuckleheads involved. Seems dere is some kind of connection to some bad peopah I used to run with." He shakes his head. "I'd love de work, and so long as am not driving taxi? Ought to remain inconspishus." He messes the word up entirely. Then, he casts a look toward Theresa, twisting his hand around to give hers a squeeze.
Theresa returns the squeeze, offering Kwabena a smile as well before she glances at Kaleb, tilting her head a bit, "What sort of work would it be, exactly?"
Kaleb nodded slowly. "I'll see if I hear anything. My father is golf partners with the police commissioner. See what we can't find out for you." He paused tilting his head. Huh. Moving forward he looked at Kwabena and to Theresa seeming comfortable speaking in front of her and back, "I recently inherited… enough to do what I need to with it. My brother and I are working on starting a an organization that will be able to draw the revenue it needs to and start funneling it towards support and programs to aid and shelter mutants in various places foreign and domestic. This is going to make me wildly less popular with various persons in globally high profile positions whom this may… inconvenience greatly." There was an impish grin that grew. He had no mercy for wealthy sons of bitches that had issue with mutants. I've been kidnapped and blackmailed already so I'm pretty excited to see how the rest of the year goes. Let's hope it doesn't get too interesting. Effectively: my goal is to do what my peers should have, haven't, and don't. So we're looking at some growth potential. Elsewise? I need to talk to you about that trip to the Congo we took."
Kwabena nods, a genuine interest showing. "Do that," he tells Kaleb, "but don't mention me by name, please. Someone who was… close to de Captain is involved, knows what I am up to. Word is, de killa is something of a mystery. Even in de illicit communities. He's a wraith."
As for the work? He smirks. "Sounds like an excellent use of my time. Sign me up."
"Ghost, luv. I think you mean he is a ghost." Theresa offers, but she then lifts a hand, "Far be it from me to question…but you're doing a lot of this and that, but what /exactly/ is the work you're wanting him to do? I don't think that I understand."
Kaleb nodded to Kwabena though rolled a look to Theresa. He wasn't annoyed. If anything it was a fantastically sensible question. "I don't drive, I'm not bulletproof, and I'm a high profile target and am about to make a financial and social dent in some people's day." Echo actually grinned to the redhead, "I've met my quota for being kidnapped and having my DNA ripped apart." He blinked to her with a vague nod. "It was terrifying and frankly? I have shit that eeds doing and someone that might drop New York into the harbour if I wind up missing agian. I'm really just attempting to think of others here." With a bit of humor, but he really didn't seem the joking type. "I'd ask you as a potential pal or interested party, but money makes for better relationships and I know you have bills of your own. I trust you and I'm not willing to rely on a human for these things. I'd rather my money go to better our own." Specist? Yes, absolutely, but too many mutants struggled to make rent because they were who they were.
Kwabena glances from one to the other. "I think he also wants me for de muscle," he points out. "De work itself is not de dangerous part." He looks back to Kaleb then. "Is the powahful assholes who would want to stop what he's doing, at any cost."
"What are you going to pay?" Theresa wonders, her chin lifting just a fraction, "Considering the fact he is putting more at risk with this than his usual job, I imagine that an increase in wage is in order?"
Kaleb didn't even hesitate and pulled out his little black book and wrote something into the notes section on the back with the tiny golf pencil that was bound to it, and flipped it around and showed Kwabena. Could Echo keep a conversation private? Unparalleled, but there were certain things that still he liked to keep private. "Includes medical and life insurance policy thatcovers, up to ressurection or at least every available attempt at this." He was stone sober saying this. "Get yourself a house, start a family. Do something for yourself or family that you already have. And the travel looks to be promising." That got him to grin a bit. Kwabena could be mistaken for a high end stock broker like that yearly salary. Kaleb jsut had to stay alive to be able to pay it out. "I will give you holidays too because that's some bullshit. Unless something's terribly pressing in which case there will be compensation." He paused and sighed. "I'm turning into my damn father."
Kwabena sits up a bit straighter and leans over to eyeball the figure that's been written down. It takes a moment to do some calculations in his head, of course, for he's always been the 'hourly pay' type. At which point his eyes widen and he darts a look toward Theresa. "Mumbnyeta," he utters under his mouth, and whatever the word is, it must be some kind of oath.
"To he honest," he says quietly, "I may need to leave AAA Taxi." Then he glances Theresa's way. "I will tell you, de house would not be in Jersey."
Theresa's at least not sticking her nose in, and being polite about not looking at that number. But it is hard, made doubly so when Kwabena mentions the house would not be in Jersey. "Oh…well, if you think it is a good idea, luv. You know that I'll support whatever decision you make. Afterall, you are the one doing the work."
Kaleb nodded sober as a judge. "I couldn't show my face if I made my man live in Trenton." So serious on that. He opened his walled and pulled out a calling card that had his personal number to his apartment on it. "All I really ask otherwise is that any details of my personal life stay there. Our adversaries can do a lot with very little and I don't like seeing people get hurt." Because no one rolled harder than warlords and the aristocracy for ruthlessness. Weird that.
"Kaleb," Kwabena says, "You will find I am a man of great discretion." Indeed, he's failed to oust any of his contacts, even while discussing the situation around Captain Stacy. He reaches out to accept the calling card with a nod. He has… no such items himself. After placing it into his pocket, he smirks ruefully. "I would tell boss to shove it, but is nevah good to burn bridges."
"Perhaps you could just tell him you need to take off, indefinately?" Theresa suggests, offering her very best suggestion to this, otherwise she doesn't seem to have much to add.
Kaleb warmed a grin and chuckled at that. "Yeah, never a good idea. Look you went out on a limb to help someone and got burned for it. I'm an asshole, I know, but I also hate seeing people get burned for trying to do the right thing." He still stands by trying to help Live was in the right. He's still not given up on that. More careful moving forward.
"Good idea," he tells Theresa, before looking back toward Kaleb. "All in a days work, my friend."