2010-12-10: Late Night Smoke


Index_icon.jpg Mike_icon.jpg Quetzal_icon.jpg

Summary: Quetzal, Index and Mike chat while enjoying the cold air outside.

Date: December 10, 2010

Log Title: Late Night Smoke

Rating: PG

NYC - Ellis Island

For generations this was the gateway to America, with literally millions of immigrants pouring through the doors to find new lives and new hope. These days it's a museum dedicated to that heritage. Wide corridors and high ceilings cause every sound to magnify and echo and distort. That, combined with the weight of history, tend to breed a sense of reverence and quiet not unlike a library or church.

Even though it's late outside and it's cold out, Quetzal has come outside for a cigarette. Sometimes…well a lot of times, he just needs one. He's only half dressed for the weather, wearing a leather jacket with a patch from his squadron in the SDF and a patch from his squad in SHIELD, the first reads 303 Hikotai with a silhouette of a Dragon and the other reads Nightwolves with a wolf face. The jacket is covering the kimono he's wearing cause he was relaxing in his room. Sometimes he needs a cigarette and needs it now. Verde is curled up as his feet as a tiger at the moment yawning. He speaks to his companion in Japanese since without anyone else around, it's the only language he knows.

Soon, that language barrier would be shattered as Index wanders out to join Quetzal. Not for a smoke, but merely to catch some fresh air for a little while. He's used to more outdoor work than an underwater base, after all. He is currently holding a copy of Ibsen's A Doll's House, his fingers keeping the page number, and keeping his arms around himself as he walks out into the cold. "Hey, Quetzal, what's happening?" he says, looking over towards the other agent.

Quetzal looks up at Index and nods. He doesn't even realize he switches languages. "A bit actually. Just met some idiot in mutant town that claims I'm neutered and an blind fool because of my job." He says with a shrug like it doesn't really bother him. "Thoughts are just wandering a bit right now, needed a smoke. I'm horrible about these things." But yet he makes no effort to quit. The tiger next to him gets up and yawns. "Hello Index." Verde says. "Don't mind Quetzal tonight, he's been drinking a bit."

"Wait, you haven't been neutered? Well, won't Fury like to hear about that little oversight!" says Index, making a snipping gesture with his free fingers, "Anyways, don't worry about idiots who don't know our business. That's the job. You never get recognition for it." He smiles at Verde and says, "Heya, Verde. Does that mean you've been drinking by proxy, or does the link not work quite that way?"

Quetzal looks down and shrugs. "Nope, still have both balls accounted for." He says with a chuckle. "I think it's more that he chooses what he wants to believe and all this bullshit about mutants and his people. You know, I never really thought of myself as separate cause I was a mutant." He just never was in a situation that segregated him for it. "I also am curious as to what student is spouting that we suppress the students, threaten them if they leave, follow them around and claim we'll use their weaknesses against them. I mean, those are some pretty harsh lies to spew." He says as he looks down at Verde and smiles, letting the cat answer. "Yeah, it means I have too that's why I'm not moving around much."

It may be Friday night after Tourist Last Call, but Ellis Island has enough of a full-time population that SHIELD agents can blend in, if in fact most of the night-staff at the museum aren't actually SHIELD by default. Someone in the uniform of one of the night watch appears, on foot, walking to a nearby parking lot where four small electric cars are parked, and after fussing for a minute or two with something like a a finally says, "OK, fine, I can't tell which one is you. You win, this time, Drakos."
In a blink, a young man in Barnes uniform is standing by the car, one hand on the hood.
"Told you, it isn't that easy." He glances over and sees the two teachers, and says, "Oh, this is where the smokers went."

"I don't really think of mutants as seperate from regular folk like me, either, except that they've got party tricks, interesting pasts, potentially the life of a party," says Index, opening the playbook and entering it into his inventory so that it vanishes away. "As for the horrible lies, that one's news to me. Given that the students aren't really supposed to be talking too much about it in the first place, and this particular kid's giving us a bit of a bad rap… hopefully we can figure out who it is and figure out why they're talking so much shit." He turns his attention towards Mike, tilting his head slightly, "Hey, there, student person." He does remember Mike's name, being good at retaining information, but he'd rather pretend he doesn't.

Quetzal smiles at Index and raises an eyebrow. "Life of the party eh? And honestly, my party trick is knowing what you're talking about." He says with a chuckle. "Actually Verde here, that all happened by chance. Magic I think." He says as the tiger nods. "Yes, I'm magically bound to Quetzal and him to me. He's named after me you know." Says the tiger almost smugly. "When this fellow named Bruce told me about this kid, I actually told him it was a load of bullshit." He says taking a long inhale before looking over at Mike with a questioning look. "Smoker actually, I'm the only chimney here."

Mike grins (holographs are fun!) at the man who failed to find him, who might be recognized as Agent Kozlowski, a wanna-be weapons researcher trapped in the bureacracy, and seeing the two agents, Kozlowski salutes, waves, and says, "Have fun, Mike, we can try this tomorrow," before heading back towards one of the concealed entrances.
"Hello, sirs," Mike says, walking towards them. "We were trying out a new kind of detector. Anyway, I meant it was the place where people in general go to smoke. Uhm, is someone spreading stories again?"

"I dunno, talking in languages is good stuff. I mean, sometimes when I take public transport, especially in far away countries, I feel like everyone's talking about me. You never get that problem!" says Index, grinning at that, "I'm all magical and stuff too, like a sorcerer with a crappy spellbook but damn good stage wizardry." The agent looks towards Mike and says, "People are always telling stories, some of them true, some of them complete fabrications. I just think the fabrications are a wee bit of a shame sometimes when they aren't /really interesting/."

Quetzal smiles and has to admit it's true. "Well half the time, they are talking about you." He says with a wink to Index. "Well at least me cause some areas where there aren't a lot of tourists are always weirded out to see foreigners." He doesn't always let on he knows though. "Hello there and someone always seems to be spreading stories, especially when goverment groups are concerned. I don't believe we've met. I'm Agent Quetzal, I'm the language teacher here and future trainer in piloting." He loves to fly them planes. "I'm horrible at making up stories when there are way to many of my own that are interesting." The tiger shifts into a bright green bird and flies up to land on Quetzal's shoulder. The Bird tilts his head at Index and speaks. "Why do you need a spellbook for magic."

Mike comments, "I checked to see if there was a Snopes page on SHIELD, but there wasn't one in particular. Just a few things in the common myths, about stuff like flying cars and assassins, that say 'unlikely since no evidence can be found,' and that surprised me a little."
The kid shrugs, and looks carefully at the former tiger. "You ARE green, I'm not having visual systems failure. That's a good trick. Hello, Agent Quetzal, I'm Mike Drakos. I'm a student here. I'm pretty sure I haven't met you either, sir," he says to Index. "I was unavoidably away for most of October and part of November. Same circumstance as Agent Bey."

"Well, I don't, I just need my focus." He pulls out the two cellphone sized magical blocks from his pocket, showing them to Verde, "I was just making a wizard joke, though, but I'm linked to the magic that I use. It's just not really great wizardry. Not that I care. The less cool the powers, the more cool it is to see them used like a pro." He tucks the magical blocks away and also introduces himself to Mike, "Agent Index, drama teacher and go-to guy for all training concerning espionnage, clandestine operations and covert operations. And I figure with a name like Verde, he better be a little green at least. And yeah, I read some reports on that, hope that wasn't too tough for you?" He tacks on to the end to Quetzal, "Well, most of my good stories are classified, so I've got to mix it up a little."

The bird answers and nods. "I can be green sometimes." Which is where his namesake comes from, the green of the Quetzal. "I don't know any magic I just know it created me." Which sounds weird but the bird doesn't seem to care. Quetzal then nods to Mike. "Ah I read about that as well. It can be tough being away from home for so long and I'm glad you're all back in one piece. Some of my good stories are classified others are not but I don't think most are appropriate for the students." He says as he doesn't think telling about the time him and his team were ordered to destroy a small AIM facility and everyone in it.

"You must've been a field agent then," Mike says. He turns to Index.
"It was boring," Mike says, "because there was no internet, no people to interact with except the other people from Xavier's, and I almost wrecked myself running in diesel mode because there wasn't any gasoline, but I think the least fun part was being attacked by things that wanted to rip me apart, and then being rewritten into the sort of thing that the demon who ran the place thought would work. Clockwork on the macro scale just can't do the work."
He shrugs, again. "On the other hand we did get back, and I'm finally caught up on my regular schoolwork here so I can work on my own research as well."

"Well, that sounds pretty unpleasant. I could tell you about the time I was held in solitary for three months on suspicion that I was stealing government secrets in North Korea, to emphasize that sometimes life throws nasty curveballs, but that never happened. But other stuff did," says Index, shrugging at Mike, "Welcome back, though." To Quetzal, Index says, "Yeah, I feel the same way about magic. I know like the bare minimum."

"At least you were with other people, and Index, nine months." Quetzal says. "It was pretty much solitary for nine months for me." He says taking a last drag off his cigarette before putting it out. "Anyway I'm glad you're back safely Mike. And your own research? May I ask what that is?" He says curiously as he reaches up to stroke the bird on the head.

Mike thinks about that. "Never happened" means that it either happened or something sufficiently similar did. In any case, he's not interested in debating "kidnapped and ritually murdered" vs. "captured and tortured in a secret prison" because frankly, why quantize misery?
"Yeah, I did know many of them, too. But I had to do damage control to keep my Mom from trying to yank me out of here too. I finally had to play the 'can you protect me any better' card, which was kind of mean. And my own research… I need to figure out how I work. If I do that then I might be able to re-do things so I'm not just the car that walks like a man."

"Wow, outdoing my fake sob story, that's real classy, Quetzal," says Index, obviously trying to make a joke on the matter, but notes to the other agent with an understanidng nod, "Solitary is tough to deal with." He shrugs and looks towards Mike, nodding his head, "Yeah, that was kind of a freak accident, but we'll have to do a security procedure thing just to make sure it doesn't happen again. Good luck on your project though."

Quetzal laughs at Index's comment. "What can I say, I'm a classy kind of guy." He knows he really isn't. "Well it was how I found Verde and the reason I got out of there." The bird looks back at Quetzal and ruffles it's feathers before saying, "It was a joint effort." He then turns to Mike and nods. "Also if you mother ever wants to come down here and meet any of us to put her mind at ease, she's welcome to do so. Or I can fly out there to talk to her." He says as he does want parents to be understanding of their students schooling. "Speaking of freak accidents…well..not so freak or accident but apparently there are some shootings going in mutant town?"

"Can you even do that? I mean, security procedures for interdimensional incursions? It wasn't like we had any warning - I tried to send out a signal as soon as things got weird, but I have no idea if it got anywhere, and the whole thing took less than five minutes. I think Mom is OK with things now, but it's the nature of mothers to worry." Well, good ones. He looks through his memory …
"Yeah, not just Mutant Town, sir. I was part of a group attacked in Salem Center back in the spring. There was also an attack later in the summer, and I know at least one SHIELD guy was involved, but you'd have to check with records. I don't know anything about them, what's classified and what's not, so even if I had drawn some different sources together for conclusions I wouldn't talk about them without clearance."
Seems that security protocol worked with at least one student.

"Nah, we can't do that, but we can definitely talk about it and fill out paperwork about it and consult some interdimensional specialists about it to figure out proper procedures when something crazy like that goes down again, but without warning, it's pretty hard to figure out how to proceed, you're correct," says Index, nodding at Mike. He's not really particularly high on the totem pole, but he still manages to hear about how problems will be responded to. "As for those shootings, maybe that's why that woman was all up in our respective grills when we were in Mutant Town? Probably just being extra paranoid with extra attacks. Still doesn't excuse being rude, though."

"Oh I ran into her again." Quetzal says lighting up another cigarette before crushing the empty package. "At a bar in Mutant Town, oh did she seem pleased to see me." He says with a chuckle. "But I guess there is a rally soon…a block party which will be a trap for those mutant hunters. I promised Rashmi I'd go if I could. Probably off the clock so to speak, just make sure that things don't get too….chaotic." Protect not only the hunted but the hunters from their targets. "I'll definitely have to check more records, I've been looking at some."

"I don't … what woman would that be, sirs? I'm afraid I haven't been able to follow the news or get out much since I got back." Those who knew Mike from before might think he's been brainwashed, given his attitude about school officials. But then again, he's also wearing a paramilitary looking uniform. DEFINITELY brainwashed. Probably starved and deprived, or worse, allowed to work on experimental engines. Also? Time to talk to Rashmi; something is UP.

"Oh, she wouldn't have been in the news, this one, she was just rude to use the other day while I was showing Agent Quetzal here the city," says Index, gesturing towards the other and noting, "And how was she when you saw her again? I do so hope she's been eating right." He makes a clucking sound with his tongue and then listens to the plan, "Yeah, there might need to be some responsible people there to keep that event contained."

Mike would twitch but since his expressions are all voluntary simulations anyway, he doesn't. He just nods thoughtfully, realizing that there is not only every likelihood that he wouldn't be permitted to go, but that his Mom would be furious if he even asked. Also, flying bullets, while not as dangerous to him as they could be, were still far too dangerous.
"I hope you have backup then, sirs. I'd be surprised if Magneto wasn't going to show up at some point."

"Like I said, she seemed Thrilled to see me." Queztal says with a grin. "She seemed like she was getting friendly with the man who believes SHIELD equal mutant hating world suppressors. What was it he said….we hunt mutants for training." Qutezal says sounding amused. "Ah do I miss those training days." He says sarcastically. "Oh I know Magneto is going to show up, and don't worry about it Mike. I know the drill I've been doing this for a long time, even if I'm not as mobile as I used to be with the bum leg now."

"Oh, man, I loved training, too. I won't talk about it in front of mutants though, too many feelings to hurt," says Index, shaking his head and chuckling, "I have no idea how people get these ideas into their heads. I'm totally cool with mutants, and given that so many of our co-workers are metahumans, it's kind of hard not to shake your head at that kind of rhetoric." To Mike he adds, "There'll probably be backup. I'm not really a field agent anymore, but they'll probably use me as one."

"Wait, hunt mutants for training? Like, the training exercises they were holding for the older guys where they simulated that gang that was hitting Central Park? I heard about that one. But it wasn't just mutants, it was metahumans of all sorts. What's wrong with training how to handle that? That's what a little of our training at my other school was, though most of that stuff was for the older kids." Mike is assuming that these guys know what Xaviers is about, but even if they don't know, it's clear to him that whoever has been complaining has been blowing stuff way out of proportion.

"I think I'm filed under 'too old to be a field agent', 'to cripled to be a field agent' or 'too mentally unstable to be a field agent' but over all I think I'm mentally fine." Quetzal says as the therapy did him well after his ordeal. He looks at Mike and chuckles. "No, no, no. It was a joke, some bartender was saying that SHIELD agents hunt mutants for training. I just found the lies amusing, especially since I am a mutant. Like we use random mutants as target practice. You know, like the evil scum SHIELD is." He says with a grin.

"Aren't you younger than me? You're sure as hell prettier," comments Index to Quetzal, "Though I guess I'm not mentally or physically held back from having to do real work, either." He sighs, and crosses his arms, "I can tell you, though, that simulating situations where you're going to be facing metahumans is pretty indispensible. For some metahumans, their powers might be so overwhelming it'll cause you to freeze. And on the field, that'll cause you to die."

Large eyes blink, audibly, because Mike needs to oil his facial servos. He puts it on the list for when he gets inside.

"Of course you do, that's why we trained once or twice against simulated other mutants. SO. Bartender. Right. Same one spreading the stories around about Barnes? I thought we were not to admit that this place exists, but if we did, it's just a private school on the south side. Why would anyone from here be telling a bartender they were from here? The college-age guys know better, and anyone young and stupid enough to blurt shouldn't be allowed in a bar in the first place."

"I believe I am younger but it still doesn't make me a spring chicken. Also prettier….my squad mates used to call my Pretty Boy all the time. I'm good for smaller missions but nothing like what I used to do." Quetzal will freely admit. He doesn't think he'd be as good as he once was. "Don't worry about it too much Mike, we'll figure out who is blabing a bit." He says as he might have to come up with an idea to find out which student it is. "Even though I am a metahuman, we didn't have to fight many of them. But some of the training can be intense when you don't have combative powers."

"You're going to have to call yourself a spring chicken from now on for my benefit, though. I've still got a spring in my step. I'm not yet hanging from the precipice of death, clinging to the edge with only my wrinkled, gnarled fingers, croaking in my faded voice helplessly for a hand up as time grasps at my ankle. I'm young at heart. And you didn't tell me you had a nickname already built in?" says Index, smiling slightly as he speaks, before he nods at Mike, "Yeah, you'd think so, but there are always people who feel like being idiots. But like Pretty Boy's saying, shouldn't be too much of a worry."

"Yeah… I can do amazing things with any motorized vehicle. On my own, I'm not that special, especially not compared to you guys here." Spreading the transmission grease a bit thickly, our Mr. Drakos. He's curious now about Index, but out here, he doesn't have access through the routers to the school web, so he can't look him up. He watches Verde pretending to be just a bird, and wonders what that thing really is, but quickly enough returns his attention to the other agents. "Were you always called Quetzal, sir? Or just since you bonded with your friend? And pardon if it's intruding or classified, but what do your blocks do, Agent Index? You said they're a focus?"

Being called Pretty Boy almost feels like old times. "There is nothing special about a person that isnt' there already Mike. My only power is of language, it's a great ability though but it doesn't stop bullets." Though it causes him to read body language in a fight. "Just since I bonded with my friend here. Since the first time I saw Verde was as this bird here, a Queztal." He says reaching up to stroke him lovingly. "Though I actually have to get back inside shortly, the cold is starting to get to my leg a bit."

Index nods approvingly at Quetzal and Verde's interaction as he tells part of his story before he pulls out his blocks, "No matter how I pull them out, one's on the right, the other's on the left. They've got magical properties. I used them to store stuff in some kind of extradimensional singularity where time's ceased being a concept." He pulls the book out of his inventory and reads a couple lines, before closing it around his finger again, "There are rules involved, it's unnecessarily complicated." He glances towards Quetzal and says, "Abandoning ship while the night's so young? Well, I'll talk to you later."

"I read of a mutant boy who had a language power like that," Mike says, recalling the plaque on the dorm at his old school. "He died from a bullet, but they never explained the details. He used his power in amazing ways, until then. I guess you were skilled and lucky both. It IS getting colder out here."
Not that the robot kid really notices; his engine runs a little faster is all. As Index pulls the blocks, Mike shakes his head, "Pull them out of what? I can't see what you did there…" and then the book appears, which gives him a sharp moment of confusion. "What direction was THAT? I don't think it was ana or kata… I only saw it here."

Quetzal smiles at Index and nods. "For tonight I am. Maybe tomorrow night you can I can hit a few bars in the city, relax a bit." He says as he gets his cane that's leaning against a bench and Verde flies off of his shoulder and lands on the round as a German Shepard. "It was a pleasure meeting you Mike." He says with a nod of his head before smiling at Index. "Have a good night." He says as he starts to walk slowly back inside.

"No, it wouldn't be, it would be pulled through sixth-dimensional travel if you think about these things in a certain way. But we're not going to talk about the specifics of that, 'cause then we'll be here all night talking about string theory and interdimensional interactions and all that. I'd rather just say, 'it's magical, oooooo'," explains Index, even thought it's not quite an explanation. "And the blocks, I dunno, I keep them in my pocket or whatever. But even if I lose them, I can pull them out of some pocket I have on my. If they're not in a pocket, I can pull them out from the band around my pants or wherever they are? Anyways, more magic."

"Sixth dimensional travel. OK, why do you want to… ow. Now I know why Theo went catatonic. I can handle four easily, five with a little work. Six at once and I start to run out of modeling space, and I don't have the quantum computation grid working yet. Speaking of research." The kid looks at the two stone blocks, staring a bit. "Obsidian, rectangular, semi-transparent in the frequencies I can currently see. I suppose there's a spell embedded in those, that if I had the right senses I could analyze. But short of finding a technomancer, that's not going to happen. My guess is that you are either a component part of their storage system or something that's in it, so you can always find them. Are they the head and tail of a queue or is it less straightforward?"

"It's less straightforward. I can see which side is pointed up on the stones, and I can change storage flow based on the way they're facing. Basically, they store stuff in a universe that has different physics conditions, which sits orthogonal to the five dimensional blah blah blah. I said I'm not going to talk about this. Physics isn't really my thing." Index raises the book and says, "Drama. That's my thing. Or telling fake stories about myself, like I said."

Mike grins, shifting to a slightly challenging stance. "OK, but since you admitted that we'd otherwise be discussing higher math all night and most of the kids here can't begin to follow it, I suspect you actually do know more about me than you were letting on. I'm not really a theatre kid - I was never around one place long enough to learn how to fit into cliques, and theatre is the biggest, brickiest clique wall in every school I've been to. But that can't be the case here; it's too new. So do you have a second agenda, besides getting to know another student?"
Index smiles slightly as Mike lays out his line of reasoning, "Well, well, very clever, Mr. Drakos. You're right. I do usually know quite a lot about students before I meet them. I'm an information junkie, which played to my hands when I was employed on the field, but here it comes off as creepy. So I pretend for first interactions, but apparently not too hard." He flips the two items into his jacket pocket and notes, "As for a second agenda, well, it's hard to say. What do you consider an agenda?"

Mike shifts again, into a 'sharing' frame, leaning back as if he were leaning against a wall, hands moving to elucidate as he explains. "Every teacher I ever knew had at least four, that they sorted differently based on who they were intaracting with. The better teachers, when they were around students, the foreground agenda was that they were working to help the students learn, not just their subject, but in general to develop as people. The background was that they wanted to be valued as teachers, for personal and professional reasons. Sometimes there was a third agenda that came in as a sort of filter over the top of both of those. For Gym teachers, it was team sports that could get their teams sponsored and win in their league. For Drama teachers, it was to find the True Actors. There were corresponding equivalents for others whenever the trump motivation didn't come in and wreck everything, the trump being the stupid standardized tests."

It might come as a surprise to Index that Mike's never been in theatre; his stances and attitudes are almost textbook — in fact, they may well be textbook, or copied from film actors, should someone with the right background look.

Index catches the mannerisms coming from Mike, watching the way that he moves with some small amount of interest, while listening to what he says. "I'm a drama teacher, there's not really standardized tests. That being said, I'm not really a regular kind of teacher, either. I want people to think, use their brain, pick up little hints dropped, intentionally or unintentionally. But I'm here because I'm not on the field anymore, and I'm just trying to give you guys stuff that I wanted to know when I was out on the field doing whatever crazy stuff that happened. Also, I just love theatre, have since I was wee. So if I have a particular agenda, I'm not really aware of it, but there's probably a few layered up anyhow."

"I'm not sure if I want to become a SHIELD agent, but I might. A future version of me that won't be my future was in training for it. I don't want to be him when I grow up. He never did get a sense of taste back, for instance. But I am a mutant, even if I don't have a human body any more, and I know I show up as such to some of the more sophisticated machines, especially when I use my powers. So anything that you can show me, that's got to help."
The kid turns off his image inducer - which means, his feet, hands, and face stop looking the same; apparently he's actually wearing that uniform over what appears to be a metalflake-white automobile-inspired robotic body. It has no facial expression, and relatively little in the way of body language since when it isn't moving, it's absolutely still.
"For obvious reasons," the robot says, "I've been studying acting to help convey emotion, because I'm no longer built to show them easily. That's my secret agenda."

A gentle breeze blows off the Hudson River and increases in strength. Though there was no reports of wind, "Howdy, gentlemen." Can be heard coming from the wind as suddenly the Texas Twister arrives and lands near the two, "Out late?" The Texan dressed to the tee in denim, denim jacket, denim shirt, denim jeans. The only known denim are his leather boots and white hat, which he removes as he runs his fingers through his auburn locks.

Index looks over Mike for a couple moments and then nods, "If you need help with that secret agenda, I can help you. For if it makes you a good agent in your future, or if you use it for something else." He turns towards the new Texan voice, "Yep, out for a smoke," replies Index to Tex, even though he doesn't smell like he's been smoking, nor has he any kind of cigarette in his hands, just a book that he's holding the page for, "How has been your evening, Agent Tex?"

The student out past regular curfew (by now) would be eligible to be chided for being out late, or not getting enough sleep, but Mike's alternate phsyiology has its own limits that are pretty well understood by his academic advisor and he's not subject to the 'minimum 8 hours' rule, but rather a 'minimun 4'. So he's not yet in danger of violating the 'get to bed, brat' rules. But he does check his chronometer.
"I have an hour before I need to prepare for backups, and I was out helping Agent Kozlowski with one of his projects, but he's gone in so I was talking with Agent Index, with the secret agenda of being outside and seeing sky that isn't covered in acoustical tile."

"Not bad at all, Agent Index. And if you don't mind, I think I will join you for a smoke. I've cut down, but just can't quit yet. Should probably see Angelo about that." He pulls out a cigarette from a pocket in his jacket and lights it. Inhaling and enjoying the drag, he exhales and listens to the student and blinks a minute and nods to himself, "You must be Mike." With his free hand he extends it out to Mike to shake his hand, "Agent Drew Daniels or Texas Twister. I'm faculty at Barnes like Agent Index."

"He teaches something," Index offers as a further explanation, crossing his arms and then saying to Tex, "Well, maybe it'd be good if you're trying to quit or cut down. You just won't look quite as cowboyish without it, though, which'll pretty fundamentally shift the way I view you." He smiles and then nods at Mike, "We were just talking about higher order mathemagic a bit. You a fan?"

"I'm not convinced that smoking and being a cowboy are intrinsically related. The three actual cowboys I met when living in Montana were more likely to chew and spit. The ones who smoked were the teachers, the police, the … everyone else. But that _was_ in the last century." Mike turns his image inducer back on, so he can smirk sardonically, and salutes Index and Tex. "I'm sorry, but I just realized I _am_ out past curfew, and I should be back inside so I can be a better role model for the ghost boy." Who is older than Mike and should be providing HIM with a role model, really. But not one that the adults would respect. He waves and starts trotting back towards the ingress, running at nearly 20 MPH by the time he gets there.

Watching Mike run off, "Not a strange boy at all." Drew continues smoking his cigarette, "He was one of the boys that went missing when he visited Xavier's, right?" He asks catching the last glimpse of Mike as he enters the ingress and then leans against a railing and enjoys the New York Skyline, "Have you decided on a show yet for the students?"

He lifts the playbook he's holding, Henrik Ibsen's A Doll's House, "I've been thinking of this one. I'm a fan of Ibsen, honestly. And even though I'd rather do a musical, for end of first term, maybe something less wild would be best." Index glances at the cigarette for a moment and then notes, "Yeah, he was in the extradimensional event."

Tex looks at the book, "Henrik Ibsen's A Doll's House. "I love Ibsen's work. Are you going to use the original ending or the alternate ending." He finishes the cigarette and tosses the butt into the air and his wind carries into along to a garbage bin. "Poor Noraand I felt bad for Dr. Rank."

"The original ending. I'm not a rube!" scoffs Index at that, "I'd rather have the real version than something watered down to make last century's audiences feel a little better." He enters the book into his inventory, opening it again for that, and then notes, "I feel bad for the whole situation, but I kind've liked the overarching subversiveness of the play according to their society all around. I also think it's too bad that particular society bred people like Torvald."

"Well, I would say that it is not only that particular society that bred characters like Mr. Helmer. There was a production a few years back on Broadway which actually showed both endings. It might be a good idea from an academic standpoint to show both and perhaps lead a discussion about them." The cowboy smirks to himself, "Never thought I would be having a discussion on Ibsen's A Doll's House." He shrugs, "It is actually one of my favorite plays." He reaches into his pocket to pull out another cigarette, "Want one?"

Index shakes his head at that, "Oh, no, smoking would ruin my singing voice. I only say I smoke so I can just stand outside without seeming weird about it." He shrugs and adds, "I will explain both endings to my students, but I'm only going to show one in a general performance. I'm not a huge fan of watering down ideas for any reason."

Tex hmmmns and then puts the cigarette away, "True. My smoking in front of you probably doesn't help that singing voice of yours either, does it." He takes one last look over the New York night sky. "Well, pardner, I best be getting some rest myself." He tips his hat, "And let me know if you need any help with the show."

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License