2010-12-16: From Foes To Friends?

Players: Jordan Mayfair & Zoya

JordanM_icon.jpg Zoya_icon.jpg

Summary: Jordand Mayfair and Zoya meet up and become "friends"

Date: December 16, 2010

Log Title: From Foes to Friends?

Rating: R

NYC - Central Park

Central Park is a large public park in upper Manhattan, largest areas of green with people reading, having a picnic, or playing Frisbee. Walking paths can be found all around the park. In-between the large area's of grass, the park is shadier with many trees. A large road circles the park where joggers, bicyclists, and inline skaters are commonly found.

It is a miserable afternoon, cold and chilly in New York City, only the most foolish or most dedicated would be out here in this weather jogging. Jordan Mayfair is one such person, dedicated that is. Wearing designer sweats, Jordan is jogging along a semi-secluded path in Central Park, he knows this park and most of the city like the back of his hand and as such knows how to avoid the touristy parts and the homeless bum parts as well. Listening to his iPod to the latest music by an up and coming Israeli/Russian musician, Dov Alperin, Jordan jogs along bopping and mouthing the words to the song, oblivious to the world.

Zoya might be closer to the foolish than the dedicated. She doesn't jog, doesn't follow a specific path, doesn't wear designer anything and has no music but the random beat within her own head to go by. It's cold out, but she's used to it, seemingly outside today for no other purpose than to walk through the park without any aim or direction to guide her. Maybe fate intended it to happen but two of the park's few residents at the moment are destined to meet a second time, on a collision course with one another down this path. There's a chance that the Ruskie won't recognize you, but the only thing different about her are the claw marks across her face. They're almost completely gone by now.

Sticking to his routine jog, Jordan makes his way down and pauses from his run. Reaching for bottled water he was carrying with him. He stands in place and takes a long swig followed by a hearty “ahhhh.” Enjoying the water, Jordan stops a moment and squints as he thinks he sees a familiar face. A sinister grin shows on his face as he notices the rude Russian girl from a day back in Westchester. He did not appreciate your manner or approach, especially potentially outing Shifter as a mutant. It would be wise to avoid her as he knew she carried weapons. He remains where he is and ponders what if any action he should take. To help with that decision, he telepathically scans her mind for surface thoughts.

Zoya is a woman of few words, and many thoughts. Trying to pinpoint anything coherent is like trying to dip your hand into the ocean and extract exactly one cuttlefish. There aren't many people around so she isn't so obsessive over labeling and classifying everyone around her but her thoughts are far from still. Motion, movement, distance, repetition, distance to cover, places to go, but where with no destination? Local. Fill the pockets, shelter to find, money for food, ambush, theft, power. Energy, momentum. Person. The moment she realizes that she's no longer alone things sharply change, covering a range of emotions that could make a paranoid delusional person look utterly sane. Yet it isn't fear that drives her mind, its hatred. Hatred along with a tiny voice amidst the turmoil reminding her that there's a chance with everyone that they're more than just human. Slowly she cracks her neck, pale eyes staring across the distance at you. Recognition hasn't found her yet, but now there's a new person in her space.

Getting a peak into the delicious mind of Zoya’s, Jordan would be afraid, but instead he finds this delightful. Sensing the pure animosity, he should go away, but like a car crash he jogs forward, ever so pleasantly. Coming within a few feet of he grins and waves and offers, “Privyet.” That Russian, he picked up one some floozy he met awhile back. He stands a moment so that she can be sure to recognize him.

Zoya doesn't take long to recognize you when you're up close and personal. She's more puzzled by the casual greeting than bumping into you again, completely at random in a city of this size. Her first impulse, thought loudly enough that it wouldn't take much effort to read, is to pull a gun and put one between your eyes by way of returning the greeting. Yet that tiny, nagging voice returns. 'He may not be human.' You're one of a very select number of people that has had the chance to see how her mind works and lived to process such information, thus far at least. "Radi yebut v," she says more for her own benefit, "Have lot of balls to ever show face around me again. As long as are here can answer question for me," she continues while holding that level stare. "Are you mutant?" There's a lot of weight riding on that question, yet she asks it so casually.

Smiling at her, he ponders how he should answer, but getting the thought that she would want to kill him. He also rethinks how much of an effort she made to out Shifter. She is either a mutant hater or mutant supremacist. He exhales, “Would it make a difference, girl? Somehow I think you would hate me either way.” He takes another swig of water from his container and puts it away in a small backpack he is carrying. “Are you?” He takes a swig, “It’s clear I’m resourceful whether I am a mutant or not.”

Zoya keeps her expression level, unphased by your trying to dance around the issue that's plaguing her mind. "Is simple question and simpler answer. Yes, or no." There actually is a difference, saying no is likely to get you attacked something fierce on the spot. Saying yes just means that she hates you and might shove back if it comes to more than words. "Also seem to recall sayink sometink about you not talkink down to me," she warns in a dark tone. "I am, and am proud of what I am. Sometink your lackey should get through his head, no? Do not care how resourceful you claim to be, answer my question."

“Mutant, huh. And proud of it?” Mayfair takes a seat on a bench, “I don’t have to answer your question verbally. My dear.” He then telepathically speaks into her mind, “This is one of my talents. What are yours? And as for my lackey. He is a work in progress.” Jordan relaxes, “How do you help our cause? What can you a little Russian girl do?” That last part is said aloud.

Zoya doesn't need to answer your first question, you could see it in her eyes. She shouldn't be afraid of the world for what she is, the world should be afraid of her. Speaking right into her mind earns a visible reaction, those pale eyes widening a little further. Then you go and call her girl again. In a flash her hand darts out, striking the back corner of the bench you've taken refuge upon. The strike itself isn't all that strong yet the edges of two boards loudly snap off like twigs, clacking against the ground several feet away. It's all done to put emphasis on one word, "Do -not- talk down to me!" Could she murder you over your choice of words? Most likely not. But for one of the elite, one of her own kind, speaking to her like a child? She's come way too far for that.

Jordan looks over at Zoya and notes her eyes widening as he speaks into her mind and ponders what little thoughts and secrets she is trying to hide. As she breaks the planks of the bench and his eyes move and follows the pieces fly through the air and land with a thud. Turning back to look at her, he smiles and his eyes seem to light up. He stands up and after a few seconds, claps as if applauding at a show. His enthusiasm is like that of a child with a new toy. “Nice display. It seems you have earned my attention,” He bows his head, “Apologies. And what should I call you, then?”

Zoya actually got an apology. That saves her the effort of demanding one. For perhaps the first time since these two have bumped into each other you seem to know the exact right thing to say. It's almost possible to feel the waves of anger cascading away from her, equal footing has been obtained and that's about the bare minimum that she expects out of anyone she isn't planning to destroy. "Zoya," she responds in turn, arms folding together before her as if to restrain herself from the urge to break anything more that's bench-related. "You?"

Playfully repeating her name, “Zo- Ya. That’s a pleasant sounding name.” Jordan bows his head as if it greeting a formal head of state, “Pleasure acquaintance. The flatscans call me Jordan. Those in our species refer to me simply as “Brain.” He taps his head and speaks telepathically to her, “Thus my mutant blessing.” He returns to speaking verbally, “I can sense you are uncomfortable with telepathy so I shall refrain and respect your privacy.”

Zoya quickly finds that she doesn't know what to do about you. Really it's a good thing that the conversation has leveled out, it helps her sort through the confusion of the situation. "-Brain?-" she asks, regardless of your initial reasoning. "Am sure are many more like you, why are you one with title?" Some of what you say, flatscans in particular, goes right past her, but the relevant stuff she seems to comprehend fine. "If can read mind then why go through all of dis shit? Could have figured tinks out in seconds first time around."

“As I said, I respect privacy. Even in those who I feel deserve less.” Jordan smiles, “Plus I saw you in action. Your little display with the bench, something tells me that is just a fraction of what you can really do, Zoya.” He exhales, “At times, stealth is necessary. Other times, the direct approach is warranted. Tell me, Zoya. Why do you seem as if you simply wander around. You had claw marks from when we last met. Encounter dangerous situations often?”

Zoya gradually shifts into a more level state of mind, going so far as to take a seat on that bench as well. It seems like she'll be here for a while. Making no effort to confirm or correct your suspicion she moves right along, "Because that is what I do." Mention of the wounds is enough for her to reach up and brush the tips of her fingers across the fading marks before responding, "Often enough. Sometimes I find it. Sometimes it finds me. That time was second, before ask. Some kid in bookstore, anytink he read came true. One of them did not agree with me any more than I did with it."

Jordan hmmmmns and listens as she speaks, “Boy who made whatever he read real.” He taps his chin as he tries to think, “Sounds like Bookworm.” He describes a pasty white nerd looking boy who fits the description from her encounter, “Were the items he was reading a bit fan boyish. Something like comic books sci-fi, dungeons and dragons type stuff, myths, monsters and magic types?” He ponders, “I had heard something about an incident involving him.”

The recognition coming across Zo's face is obvious, no need to be a mind reader in this instance. "Da, was him exactly. Giant lizard and spider, white-furred gorilla, man with bow and pointed ears…" she goes on. "Was reckless. Now is under 'care' of some mutant control group, did not stop to find out which one." She's a bit torn between saying its his problem now or feeling that he was worth busting out of there at some point. Probably more the former, at least for a few more weeks. "Could be useful if applied self better." Meaning, terrorizing humans and not mutants.

Jordan starts laughing, “Not everyone you mean with powers is like us, Zoya.” He turns to look her in the eyes, “Bookworm is not a mutant. He is an altered human like the Fantastic Four and some of the Avengers. He got his powers in some sort of science experiment gone bad.” He sighs, “It’s a shame now that some of the flatscans can become like us, but not have to endure the difficulties some of our kind deal with in life. It’s unfortunate mutants don’t work together to deal with such matters.”

Zoya slowly sets her jaw with that level of realization. "Then will know what to do next time see him," she flatly declares. "Dis shit used to be easy, were either one or other. Was no grey area, notink to question. Gets on last nerve, still have to worry about it." Just like that she's regretting having not pulled the trigger, would have served the kid right. Changing subjects she regards you with a fairly critical eye once more, "And what about you. What do you do with self?" Shifting conversations without a clutch, another one of her specialties.

Jordan nods and relaxes a bit around Zoya now, “Well, to the humans, I am a lawyer which provides me certain luxuries that I use for myself and, at times, to assist our kind. As I am doing with, ‘my lackey’ as you put it.” He shrugs, “In other arenas, I use my resources to.” He pauses a moment to ponder how to verbalize his thought, “finance some our kind to the benefit of Homo Sapiens Superior.”

Zoya gives you a peculiar look with that last part. "In other words you fund what they would consider terrorism, no?" Hot damn, and to think she was contemplating murdering you. That could have been a major loss! "Am goink to take shot in dark here, 'Brain,' and assume then that you are always lookink for new talent to do dirty work that you cannot take part in because of your position?" Why else would you fund it? She wouldn't say no to getting paid for some terror induction.

Grinning widely, “Terrorism. Me? What they consider terrorism, I consider, philanthropy.” Jordan carefully coins that last word, “But I am always looking to fund young people who can use a little helping hand. Discreetly of course.” He smiles, “But, dear Zoya, I believe you cold use some of my philanthropy and legal services should the need arise. Pro bono, of course.”

"Have twisted way of approachink tinks," she observes when the offer is laid out. "Came very close to not beink settled on such terms. You want us to work together? Okay, am game. First tink will need is cell phone, make sure cannot be traced back to either of us. Beyond that?" she says with a light roll of her shoulders, "Havink steady supply of ammo does make tinks easier." No questions asked as to what the jobs would entail, strangely enough. If it involves showing the world who's boss it seems that she isn't a picky creature. "You get me phone and are free to keep in touch, do not have schedule to follow."

“Very well, then.” Jordan rises and stretches, “We will be in touch. I will find you.” He opens his backpack and out drops a rolled amount of money onto the bench. “Treat yourself to something nice and I will have what you have asked for and more.”

Jordan nods his head and smiles, He then places his headphones on. “We’ll be in touch.” He then jogs off.

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