1965-04-30 - G-Men, X-Men, Cheater Slicks, Beers.
Summary: Forge arrives at the mansion, bearing warnings of more threats to mutantkind, over beers and tire changes.
Related: None
Theme Song: None
kwabena forge julie 

The back doors to the rather cavernous car-barn attached to the Xavier institute are open to the air: the back end being somewhat cordoned off by some heavy canvas curtains to enclose bays for shop class and various maintenance of the mansion's associated vehicles. An LP of surf music plays on a portable record player set on a workbench, a'56 Studebaker Hawk is partially-disassembled on jackstands to one side, the side notably-equipped with a chalkboard, on the other, a rather cherry-looking Chevy Nomad of the same year is raised at the rear, with a young lady there undoing lugnuts without apparent benefit of tools, the things spinning off into her hand seemingly of their own accord with a 'Vrrr' of Mutant Things Happening somewhere in the soundscape. Off comes one tire and wheel combination, on goes another. By the incomprehensible letters and numbers in soap pen on the windshield, perhaps the Chevy's just come back from the races.

Forge drives his car up to the garage, arriving at the Institute. Driving a red 1965 Ford Galaxie 500 XL Convertible, he's got the top down now that the weather's warming up. He's wearing a navy suit, right out of You Only Live Twice. The jacket's off though, hanging on the window in the passenger side. Seeing the doors open, he pulls on it, and stops the engine to get out. "Busy," he nods, pulling his jacket back on.

Julie yanks the cheater-slick off the wheel studs, and looks up as she senses the engine rolling up, possibly before she hears it. She pulls down a street tire that doesn't look terribly different, really, from the open wagon-back of the Nomad, then comes out to greet the newcomer, peeling off a work-glove, and giving a wave, pausing to lean on the cameo-locket two tone paint as Forge gets out. "Eh, not too busy, depending. Howyadoin?" The girl's voice is as blue-collar as her surroundings, New York Italian, but as usual, gregarious in tone.

Forge pulls the jacket on, tugs it into place, and buttons one button. "Good evening," he smiles, returning the wave. "I just came by to see what's going on. Find out if there's anything I can do to help. If any further attacks have happened. And the first thing I see is car maintenance, which strikes me as a good sign."

Julie ahs. "Heard there was another mess in Mutant Town, as attacks go. Still ain't got details on that. And, I dunno what to make of it, something crazy on the subway last night, if youse can believe I ride the subway." She tries to smirk, but whatever it was bothered her, clearly. "Figured I'd hit some time trials at Englishtown, though, clear my head and all. Just getting the cheater slicks off before we get rain or something. Anyhow, who knows what you're talking about, come on in. I think I got the kids actually off studying," she winks, after a glance around. "Means I can get a beer in me, care for one?" She pauses. "Oh, ah, Dizzy Bottero, I don't think we was introduced."

Forge folds his hands to stretch his fingers, and his arms, after the long drive. "Well, I'm worried about high-level government attacks, which are much more likely to be here, than in some slum. Name's Forge." He nods to her, looking her over, and her unusual dress. "Dizzy. Sure, I could stand a beer, thanks." He takes in the rest, but is far from an expert in… racing?

Julie ahs, and reaches in the back of the car for the lid of a cooler. Withdraws a pair of cans of Schaeffer, offering one over. "I think Uncle Sam's been pretty all right, lately, a certain senator Williams aside trying to make us the next Red Scare like we was Commies or something." The surf album's side comes to an end, another record drops under the arm, playing some Seekers, which is more sedate and a different style altogether. She peels the pull-tab from her own beer and drops it in. "Salud," she says. "Anyway, unless it's one of the things I didn't hear about, it's been all right on that front. What'd you know about high level government, though?"

Forge walks on over to take the beer. "Thanks," he nods, cracking the can open to take a long drink. "Whew. Thirsty. What we need in Washington is more focus on the actual Reds. I fought in Korea. I've been working for the government for about ten years now. I know a lot of secrets. And I know what the real threat is. It's not this school."

Julie hrms, offering one of the stools scattered about the shop, near where her improvised office is, as well as the record-player which is playing some Byrds-like tunes at the moment. It looks as if she's taken her Nomad to the races, as there's numbers and letters in soap on the windshield and she seems to be in mid-tire change. "I guess there's someone there that thinks different, then?" she adds to Forge.

A 1964 BSA Lightning Rocket growls up the drive, it's driver wearing a leather riding jacket but not bothering with the helmet. Kwabena pulls it into the garage and immediately reaches for a pack of smokes once the engine is choked to silence, lighting up with the signature clink of a zippo flicking open and shut.

Forge adjusts his jacket, and finishes off his beer quickly. He really was thirsty. "Oh, politics change. You'llsee one party or the other position themselves one way or the other, depending on who's in power, and what the party in power is doing. Occasionaly you get folks pushing something on principle, for good or bad. I think Williams is one of those. Unfortunately."

Forge looks over to the car arriving, nodding to the driver.

Forge looks over to the motorcycle arriving, nodding to the driver.

Julie glances up and waves from inside the bay there. But the presence of the cameo-colored Nomad and music playing generally means she's around, and *probably* not teaching a class. She scoots over to pick up a pack of Chesterfields from a workbench while he makes his way in. "Pretty much, that's the only reason I don't tell Uncle Sam what I can do right now, that and all the other reasons that ain't too bright these days. But you meant something in particular?

"Diz?" Kwabena calls out before he can actually see Julie or her counterpart. "I can smell de Chestahfield from outside garage." Heavily accented, the man is clearly from Africa and has yet to fully master English. When he finally does spy them, he shoots a nod her way before looking the unfamiliar man over. He's hesitant to remove the sunglasses from his eyes for a moment before reminding himself just where he is, and finally does only to reveal clearly non-human eyes of a bright silver color, which linger upon Forge's hand for a moment. "Bettah not let her too close to de thing," he warns Forge. "She will take it apaht."

Forge looks at his hand. Having waved with it, not having thought about it, then Kwabena's eyes. "Yup," he says with another nod, recognizing each other's oddities. Then taking in the joke. He looks to her, and to his hand again. "Is that a habit of yours, Diz?"

Forge then nods to Julie. "I do mean something in particular I can't actually say what. But there are rogue agents in the Government who are after mutant kind."

Julie smirks to Kwabena as he comes in, "Hey, what, I just lit up, you dreaming or grown some kinda uncanny smoke-sense you didn't mention?" She still smirks cheerfully, and points into the open back of the wagon, "Got some suds in the cooler, grab yourself one." She shrugs to Forge, "You'd like 'er better after I put the pieces back." She indicates her own vehicle. Which is, come to mention it, surprisingly-nice, perhaps mandatory girlie-colors aside. Especially considering racing harness is still dangling inside an otherwise street-custom car. But she nods, tilts her can of beer, yes, it's cans, this time, toward Forge. "Not just ours, either, like Shift here could tell youse. So, who you talking about in particular, there? I guess how rogue and who knows, that kinda thing."

Magic words are spoken. Kwabena makes a beeline for the trunk, cranks open a can of beer (because pop tops don't exist yet), and gulps a few down before turning back to Diz and Forge. "She is woman aftah my own heart," Kwabena tells Forge, thankfully now not needing to go through the hassle of American niceties and introducing himself, since Julie did that for him. Also, beer. He likes it a lot, and gulps down some more. "Nothing like cold beer when it finally becomes sort of hot."

Forge ponders a second beer. He is thirsty. But decides better of it. "Agreed. Shift." he nods again. "So it sounds like all in all, things are peaceful here at the Institute right now? No odd threats? I'm glad." Looking again to Diz. "I can't actually disclose to you exactly what the threat is I'm talking about. But it's advanced, and dangerous in the wrong hands. A few here at the Institute know."

Julie nods. Glances over to Kwabena on that one. There's Ghana, after all, about which she says, "I'm just getting tired of everyone thinking they can snatch our kind up for experiments or whatever. Nega and I just walked into some thing where there was these mutant hoods on some kind of narco thing, crazy. More or less got killed by some other guys, but I can't help but think they shouldn'ta even had to be there. That gang you hear about or not, you know?" She shrugs, and has a pull on her beer. She does look a bit anguished a moment, and something rattles in a toolbox nearby. "One of em, coulda been Iggy's big brother or something, if he had one." She sighs a bit, and breathes. Says to Forge. "You know what kind of advanced, at least? We seen some pretty wild stuff in Africa just lately, could answer that description."

Admittedly, Kwabena can be a bit standoffish, but he does smile in a friendly way when Forge confirms his other name. "Nice to meet you," he says, leaving the cigarette perched between his teeth so he can offer a handshake. "Got a name?"

Julie's mention of Africa has his expression darkening again. "You know, if I wanted to be buried alive, I would listen to Jay and de Americans. For all hours."

Forge does shake hands. His prosthetic looks like it could be strong, perhaps, since it's metal. But he's not crushing or anything. "Forge will do. But I wish I were merely talking about experiments."

Julie does give the prosthetic a bit of a glance as it's employed, glancing that over, and also retrieving another pair of beers for the boys. Diz usually paces herself, for her own part. And is smaller. Sighs to Kwabena. "Well, that's why we got a team. I saw that, I didn't know what I was gonna do." She does reclaim her own beer at that. She glances back to Forge, and says, "Seems like a lot of what you're not-saying is about someone attacking *here,* am I wrong?"

Julie's timing couldn't be better. Kwabena has just finished the first can and casually crushes it before tossing it into the nearest wastebin, then happily accepts the second round while puffing on his smoke. "It all worked out. More or less." The other conversation, well, he's only picked up parts of it, so he's content to listen in for a moment without contributing.

Forge raises his palm to wave off the second beer, with a murmured "Thank you I'd better not. And you're right. Someone has an interest in attacking here. Is attacking Americans instead of the Reds. Just the kid of internal conflict the Russkies would love to take advantage of. It's good your situations worked out."

Julie nods, to Forge, settling down into her swivel chair, very teacher-ly except for the Moon Instruments googley-eyes on a decal on the back. She waggles a hand. "More or less, I guess." She adds to Kwabena, "You come from real pretty country, you know, Kwabena. I kinda got to fly over some in that Sikorsky after all." She does lift a chin toward Forge, "You figure there's a way you can help out, then?"

"Yes," Kwabena agrees, "Except for missing mad scientist and crazy Earth lady mutant." There's a vitriol in his tone suggesting that the whole matter of Ghana has him feeling quite irritated. "You know, I've been trying to find some few things about dat, anything I can, and coming up dry, every time. Is irritating as hell." He turns from Forge and gestures toward Julie with his cigarette wielding hand. "You and I both know, is not ovah." Yet then she's complimenting his home country, to which the vitriol dies. "Yes. Ghana is wondahful place, was good to be home for some time."

Julie nods, to Kwabena. "Yeah, I guess some of these things take time. How bout we get Forge settled in here, guess he's got some tales to tell the Prof."

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