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Hair held back from her face by a shiny black ribbon, Wicked runs her fingertips along a bit of well-maintained shrubbery. Her gait is casual, slowed to accommodate taking in the mansion's sights from behind thick wing-tipped mascara and a very deliberate air of general aloofness.
The teenage newcomer wears a thin black sweater tucked into a high-waisted burgundy mini-skirt — a pop of dark-red color on an even darker field. Her opaque black leggings ensure that almost none of her skin is visible… or they would, were it not for the rebellious run spidering its way across the front of her right thigh. Her black lace-up boots — very witchy — clip audibly as she makes her way around one of the garden paths.
Rumbling around the mansion's drive at an idle is a nondescript blue Pontiac Tempest wagon, though, before passing the library, the engine cuts out. The car keeps rolling, though, with a slightly-unnatural 'vrr' sound coming from… somewhere. It keeps going around to the back entrance of the Institute's expansive garage, and pulls to a stop at those doors, lights shutting off and with a ratcheting sound of a parking brake being set. A girl in a workshirt hops out of the driver's seat, then, and looks around the lake a moment.
The spectacle draws Wicked's attention and she comes to a stop. Spotlighted by a nearby walkway lamp, the black-clad girl watches Julie and her car with unabashed scrutiny …before her attention follows Julie's in the direction of the lake. It does eventually occur to Wicked, out of some semblance of common courtesy, to make herself known instead of, well… lurking creepily. So, she gently clears her throat. "Ehem."
Julie waves when she hears the clearing of the throat. The accent's very local to NYC, if not so much Westchester and posh mansion grounds. "Hey, thought I saw youse out there. Who's that?" Well, she's direct in that way, but it doesn't sound unfriendly. Glances at a watch on her wrist which must have luminous dials. "I don't think you's out too late, but don't worry, I won't rat on you anyhow."
Wicked's accent is foreign to say the least. Her cool voice is tinged with South African and British influences. "Not /too/ worried about getting into trouble. New arrival. Figure I'll stretch out playing dumb for as long as I can get away with, right?" As she answers, she moves a pace or two further into view. Her boots click with each step.
Julie ahs, and heys. "Well, welcome to the Prof's house of Mutants, then. Dizzy's what they call me if the Prof and Teach Hank don't get their way too much. I kinda both go to school here and teach shop, cause here we are." She reaches back to gesture at the air and something goes *clacklank* in the doors and a similar VRR sound accompanies the mechanisms that open them. "This'll kinda be the shop. Where's you from, then?"
Wicked offers a sortof hum of vague acknowledgment. The shop gets a touch of side-eye. Evidently, the girl's not a huge fan of mechanics. "Wicked, here. 'Dizzy,' that's fun." She repeats the name, lips pressing upward as she starts to thaw, "Why? What would they prefer you call yourself?" She lets out the faintest scoff, eyes roaming back over towards the garage in full.
Julie smiles. "Ah, they're just all formal, and all. Pretty much only my Mama and teachers called me my given name since I was only so high," She holds out a hand to perhaps eleven-year-old height. "I won't ask how you got the moniker Wicked unless you want me to, but someone mistook what I do for witchcraft once or twice, I guess. But I guess that got me to California a while and that's kind of where it's at, so no hard feelings."
Not really the smiley sort, Wicked's expression does uh, soften amicably. "Me, too. Can't really say I blame them. It's an easier-to-swallow explanation than the reality sometimes." Averting her gaze, Wicked picks away at her black nail-polish for a moment rather than elaborate on her codename or its origins. "Is California as good as everybody makes it out to be?"
Julie shrugs a little. "Well, for what I do, it kind of is, anyway. I guess otherwise you better like hanging out on beaches. But that's all right." She talks with her hands and meshes finger together. "It kind of does like this more or less, though. I probably wouldn't go there if I was an opera fan or nothing, though." She shrugs a bit, "I ain't asked the rules in detail, but if you're all 18 and legal, have a beer, I guess. She eyes the *very* odd attire. says, "Guess you could be a fan of that new Addams family program?"
"I'm all set. Thanks, though," gently turning down the prospect of beer, Wicked doesn't so much as bat a lash at the display of scrutiny. She maintains her cool with ease, fingers pressing against the flat of her stomach to smooth out her sweater there. "I've only seen an ad for it," she counters dryly. The corners of her mouth twitch upward with amusement at the comment, either way. "But it does look right up my alley." Swiveling, the black-clad girl takes a meandering step away. "I think I'll actually head back. Still have settling in to do. It was nice to meet you—" Wicked pauses as if searching for the new name, "Dizzy."
Julie nods. "Awright. I guess, good luck here. Everyone's new somewhere sometimes, I guess. See you later, I guess."
"Thanks," Wicked coos, backing the rest of the way to the path before turning on her heel to continue onward. It probably isn't long until her dark hair and clothes blend back into the nighttime scenery.