2012-04-24 Doc at the Bay


Cyril_icon.jpg Mike_icon.jpg

Summary: Someone sees something and then something talks to someone.

Date: April 24, 2012

Log Title: Doc At The Bay

Rating: G

NYC - South Sea Port

Located at the mouth of the East River is South Street Seaport. What was once a fishing port is now a mall. Outside,
the docks are lined with people and street performers, from contortionists to singers, mimes, and living statues.
Large boats are on display for tourists on the side of the docks. If you're lucky and are here at night, a live band
might sometimes be performing.

It's just past 3pm, local time, and the waters of the East River are that peculiar semi-transparent murk color, not quite blue, not quite green, definitely not something you want to swim in, or drink, or touch. While there are docks, they aren't nearly as easily accessible as they might have been once. Still, if anyone is looking down, sideways, through the dock, there is a rather speedy little submarine sort of thing just pulling up next to one of the docks.
Disturbingly, it then crawls onto the dock, and with a vaguely star-trekkish flicker, appears to become a jet-ski, with two people standing next to it.
"I'll meet you back here at 8pm, Agent," the younger of the two says, then finds his way through a maze of stairs to the mall above.

Sitting on the edge of the docks is one Cyril Ozyrel, a man in just casual business attire. Sitting next to Cyril is a small silver feline with black rosettes. They both watch the submarine climb on to the shore and turn into the jet-ski. Cyril is grinning as he watches, and the cat just looks bored.

The young man stops, and says hello to the cat. He does a quick bit of triangulation and a few ray-trace simulations, and winces internally … dammit, that spot is NOT supposed to be clearly visible from above, but the damage is done.
Whoever that is would definitely have seen him dispossessing the jet-ski, and would probably have seen Agent Wallace enter the secret passage … well, maybe not that latter bit.
He looks down at the water below, the big ship that looms nearby. "Fishing down there is lousy," he offers.

"Is it? I'm not all that much for fishing." replies Cyril with a small grin, "Do you come around here often? I tend to enjoy the water." Selene looks up towards the young man and mewls softly. The cat likes him, at least!

"I come and go, it's on the way to or from my research. It's relatively private, since this," Mike gestures to the mall area behind them, "tends to be crowded and stupid. There are better views of the water, though."
Mike offers a fingertip, slightly sharp metal underneath the image induced human guise, for the cat to mark and scritch against if she chooses to.

"The average New York citizen will wander around the city, oblivious to what really goes on. If you keep an eye out, you tend to notice things you probably should not." says Cyril while offering a hand, "My name is Doctor Cyril Ozyrel. Do you possess skiis often?"
Selene just pleases herself by rubbing against Mike's hand, as cats often do.

"Saw that, did you? Yes, when I need to get to or from my research location." The name doesn't match anything in Mike's personal database, so he activates his tight-beam radio, and makes a fast query to one of his friends back at Barnes. SHIELD will sometimes run a quick "Wants/Warrants/Exceptional Persons" query for the robot kid if he doesn't abuse the privilege, and this is one of those times. He continues to rub against the cat for a few seconds, waiting for the return on the query before he'll accept a handshake from the Observant Dr. Ozyrel.
"Not bothered by mutants huh?"

"Oh, you know. Mutants are people, too." replies Cyril, shaking Mike's hand and releasing it, "You're not a mutant, anyways. You appear to be a machine." Selene moves from Mike's hands to his legs, and begins cuddling there. "As far as I can tell, anyways."

"I should APPEAR to be a human, or this image inducer isn't doing its job. But yes, I'm a machine nowadays. How about yourself?"
The robot kid allows the cat to rub up; it's not as if this were a dog, after all, the natural enemy of car feet. He's a bit curious about the beast; not too many cats are this courageous, being out in the open in an area that isn't their personal territory. Especially one infested with seagulls.

"I'm a doctor for a clinic in Hell's Kitchen. I'm sorry if I'm being a bit brash at the moment, but something recently has affected my mood." says Cyril with a small frown, "What's your name?"

"My name is Mike. I'm a student, private school. And this is New York, and it's not the middle of a great catastrophe nor a protest, so. You're not being brash, you're being outright weird. But that's fine, I'm OK with wierd. So is this mood thing related to …OK, cat, fine, if you want up you can." Mike half-crouches so the cat can jump on him if she really wants to, forgetting to finish his sentence.

Finally! A machine that knows how to respond to cats. Selene hops into Mike's arms and proceeds to be very pleased. Somehow, cats always know to sit on important things. Cyril sighs, "It's related to many things. Some of them personal. You'll forgive me if I continue sitting here for the moment. You're more than free to join me, however."

"I have no choice, I am inhabited by a cat." Mike is warm, after all, since he now allows enough of his motor heat to bleed through to 3D-space to provide an approximately human heat profile. He dedicates one hand to cat-holding, then, and remains crouched. It's as comfortable a position as any, literally, so why not?
"So, how did you come to be owned by this particularly intelligent and personable feline?"

"At one point in my life, when I was at my lowest, she found me and has been one friend who has consistently never let me down," replies Cyril with a faint smile, "I do believe she's also tired of being around machines who won't cuddle with her. Or perhaps she just wants you to talk to me." Whatever Cyril said, Selene meows, "Her name is Selene. It appears she likes you."

Machines who won't cuddle with her. Normally cats don't think of machines as "cuddly" that much. They do think of humans, animals, and other cats as such. Disregarding the highly public figures of Iron Man, War Machine, and the Vision, all persons unlikely to be around this odd doctor, Mike knows of fairly few who would fit that description.
All LMDs, except those who are actual decoys, will always say "KITTY!" and charge towards a cat disturbingly, until explained why not to, and even then they will happily allow cuddles. Decoys act like the human they imitate. But there are one or two other androids around, especially that disturbing killbot Echo.
"How many machines does she typically encounter who would be suitable targets for her cuddling instincts?" Mike smiles, scritching at the cat's ears gently.

"That information is classified, Mike." replies Cyril with a grin, "Enough. What school do you attend?"

They did provide a cover school, back in the old days. But the name has gotten out, even though the location has not.
"It's called The Barnes Academy." Nothing else does Robot Cat Stand say, because, well. Classified.

"Barnes Academy?" echoes Cyril, curiously, "I'm going to take a super-secret guess and say that Barnes is a secret mutant school. "Let me say, by word of mouth, which is the only safe way to go about it. That the clinic I own is completely mutant friendly, should you or any one you know need medical services."

"It's a publicly registered private school, open to anyone who meets the application requirements, like most private schools," Mike says blandly. "And while some of the students are mutants, others are not."
That's very much from the pamphlet they send to recruit students and/or teachers (those who aren't SHIELD or SWORD agents) and it sounds very much like Mike was just reading off a pamphlet.
"But I'll let people know about your clinic." Especially, Mike thinks, he'll tell that semi-creepy doctor deLucci about it. And maybe send an email to Emma or Scott to check the guy out for remote support. Mr. Lensherr might also be amused to learn… though he'd probably try to HIRE the man. Still.
"How freely do you want me to spread the news?" Mike asks, less blandly.

"As free as you like. I wouldn't spread it to anti-mutant pro-aggressive protestors, but those more familiar with appropriate resources than I might be advantageous resources." Cyril says while reaching into his jacket. A business card is removed and passed to Mike, "My clinic is in Hell's Kitchen. A not ideal place, you might think.. But people need assistance there, and I help those who need it."

"Good." Mike glances at the card. Faxes it to SHIELD (attn: Dr. deLucci), to the Genoshan Embassy (attn Prof. Lensherr), and to the X-Mansion (attn. Headmaster/Headmistress) with a short note about this fellow. Good things may come of this, if he's not a fraud, and if he doesn't watch out.
"What are your specialties, Dr. Ozyrel?" Mike decides to find out if the Doctor can assist him in his own research.

Selene is purring at this point and rubbing against Mike's chest. D'aaaw. "Considering I have information on you, I suppose it would be fair to say that I am a mutant like yourself. My power is biological modification. My specialty then… Is surgery." declares Cyril, "My doctorate is in medicine."

"That's good. Better than pediatrics or gynecology anyway. What do you know about cybernetics?" Rude Mike! He seems a bit eager at that question.
"I'm attempting a redesign of my current chassis, and I'm trying to get as close as possible to a human being, while still retaining at least some of my current advantages. But the problem is, humans are very complex machines, and I can't piggy-back off other designs because it has to be something I understand very well."

Cyril shifts uncomfortably, perhaps by the nature of the question. "Eh, well…" The doctor's head tilts a bit, "I can't say I know much beyond the procedure for installation of prosthetics."

"That's fine. I was just curious. I've got a good basic design for the musculoskeletal system using electrocontractile folded graphene fibers, and a decent design for a power system that simulates eating, but the sense of smell and taste are giving me trouble." Mike scritches cat fur. "Its not hard to get a chemical analysis system but really, getting a working mapping to taste and smell… that's hard. It would be better if my brain had been designed with those features, but I wasn't really expecting to need it."

"That has a lot to do with neural science, and I can't say neurology is my specialty. Medical science is such a large field, really." says Cyril with a chuckle, "It's even more difficult when humans innately have vastly different perceptions of their senses."

"I'm not sure how much difference is really there, but people certainly THINK they're different, subjectively." Mike shrugs, slightly disturbing the cat. He would expect the usual Paw Over Mouth trick at about this point if she were truly wanting him to be quiet so she could sleep, but that's not likely to have the desired effect, Mike can still talk with his mouth covered.
"That's my next research stop this evening. Assuming… no, drat. Just got a cancellation email from the guy who was going to get me access to the databases at Columbia. And I don't want to try to hack into it." Mike sends a reply, 'No prob, let me know if/when later, you owe me a game of redride.' All without showing it to the world at large.

Selene does little to deter Mike, for she merely hops out of his arms, now being fickle enough to nuzzle against Cyril. "C'mere, Selene." Mutters the doctor, picking up the feline. "She wants food, as cats often do. I believe I will return to my apartment, and I won't mention anything about today. I am good with secrets, call it a doctor's thing."

"Well, good meeting you. I'm sure you'll hear from some people who can help you connect up - networking resources, that sort of thing. I'm going to see if I can salvage some of this. Off to the library, gotta run."
The young man nods to Cyril, sketches a vague bow towards the cat, and sets out toward the taxi zone at a rather fast sprint.

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