2012-01-02: Случайная встреча


Dashenka_icon.jpg Taylor_icon.jpg

Summary: Taylor and Dashenka happen to meet in Mutant Town on a wintry day.

Date: January 2, 2012

Log Title: Случайная встреча

Rating: PG


Mutant Town, also known as District X, has become a haven for mutants. This section of town doesn't care what you look like, accepting all mutants no matter what their appearance. Most of the businesses in this section of town are mutant run ranging from small convenience stores to clothing shops to restaurants to night clubs. The buildings here aren't the high rise buildings you might find in mid-town but most are about 5-6 stories high. Mutant Town might not be the most luxurious section of town, in fact it's fairly run down, but this section of where mutants are safe and welcomed regardless of race, religion and culture.

Given that it was Taylor's second day at Xavier's, the young mutant has decided to go clothes shopping for clothes more suited to this unusual anatomy. Which has brought the felinoid teen over to Mutant Town. Presently, Taylor wears a light black jacket, not terribly suited to the weather, and a pair of black slacks.

Not all shops in Mutant Town are actually mutant-related. There are a few culturally themed stores here, too, such as this tiny hole-in-the-wall Russian Imports place. From inside there's lots of yelling in Russian, and Dashenka bursts out the front door, walking backwards, shouting at the proprietor in her native language and shaking a fist at him while clutching a manilla envelope in the other. "Pust' tvoya mat' gnit' vzamorozhennom glubiny ada vy bespolezny opravdaniyacheloveka!" When she's clear of the door she slams it shut and turns around to storm away only to nearly run over Taylor.

Taylor's ears perk up slightly at all of this foreign people talking, and the teen peers towards the import store to try and figure out what's going on. That is, until Dashenka comes out and storms out, at which point Taylor kind of floofs up in surprise as being nearly overrun by the girl, "Whoa! Calm down!"

Dashenka manages to stop herself before she runs over the mutant. Her cheeks flush red with embarrassment as she apologizes in her thick Russian accent. "Oh! Am sorry! Did not mean to run you over." She clutches the envelope close to her chest. "That mudak vor… he makes me angry. Loose head and not see where going." The large young woman is currently dressed for the weather, although just barely. She's wearing a thick wool olive Russian army coat that looks like it's old enough to have seen the rise and fall of the Communist empire, and a matching full length wooll skirt to match. The army coat is open to reveal a simple white blouse that's way too thin for this weather, but it doesn't look like Dashanka is in any danger of catching a cold.

Taylor nods at Dashenka, looking up at her, being nearly a foot shorter than she is, "Well, yeah, it sounded like you guys were arguing pretty serious in there. I heard it from the street, what did he do to you?" The felinoid teen peers at the jacket, examining it curiously for a moment, before looking back up to listen to Dashenka.

Dashenka bares her teeth at the mention of the shop proprietor, too feral and angry to be a grin. "He stole things from me. Personal things." She clutches the manilla envelope a little tighter, before she notices the Ocelot's interest in her jacket. That seems to smooth the edge of her mood and the bearing of teeth turns into a grin. "You like jacket, yes? It belonged to great-grandfather. It was from First World War." Indeed, upon closer inspection the jacket does look like it's been around for that long. It's been patched up here and there and, yes, there does seem to be the remenants of bullet holes near the hem.

"Oh, uh, my grandfather was from Belarus… he talked about things from his time, I guess, I was justkind of curious…" says Taylor, a little bit awkwardly. "That's pretty, wow, that's a pretty old jacket. It seems to have held up pretty well…" The felinoid teen looks at the envelope and asks, "What got stolen from you? Not fucking cool that someone'd do that."

Now that they've been talking for a while now, it's pretty obvious that when she gets her ire up, Dashenka's eyes turn an ice blue. Like, for example, when she talks about the store owner. "No. Not fucking cool, as you say." the big woman agrees. "It is…" and here she hesitates. "… personal. Belonging to mother." That's not quite the truth, though, and the big Russian is terrible at lying. Quick to change the conversation she asks, "What about you? You sm..look new."

"Alright, not gonna pry into personal things, especially given that you could probably throw me pretty far. I look new? What does that mean? I mean, I'm fifteen, so I've been around for awhile…" says Taylor, head tilting slightly. "Or do you mean new to the city? I mean, I've only been here a couple days now."

Dashenka scowls a bit at first as Taylor misunderstands her, but then the mutant gets it and she nods. "Yes. New to city." A hesitant pause before saying, "And I would not throw you. I did not throw that man," she says indicating the Russian Imports store, "so I have no reason to throw you."

Taylor laughs softly and says, "I was joking, sorry, I'm going to guess that English isn't your first language… I didn't figure you'd throw me." The young ocelot person says, "As comforting as your reassurance is… I'm not sure how you can tell that I'm new to the city, though? Am I looking at the tall buildings too much?"

"You…" smell like you've been rolling around in the hay and haven't had time to get your fur encrusted with grime of the city. "… Yes." admits Dashenka. "Am familiar with look. Had look too when I first come to city." At the mention of her English, she flashes a brilliant smile. "I am Russian. From Moscow! Like Yakov Shmirnov!" Hey. There's not many famous Russians that Americans would know. "Or those Tatu girls. But older. And one of me."

"Yes, you sound Russian. Like I said, my grandpa came from Belarus, and the accents are kinda similar but not really?" says Taylor, considering the response. "So you were actually born in Moscow? What brought you to this place?"

Dashenka's eyes flash ice blue again, but her tone remains pleasant. "Russia is still…. afraid of Mutants," Dashenka says, struggling to find the right word. Afraid isn't quite it, but it'll do. "Am here for now for…. what is words…. yes, Political Asylum."

"I guess I didn't know that. I mean, lots of places are scared of mutants. I mean, even here, but at least we have some rights? I dunno. I've only been a mutant for like a week now," says Taylor, raising an eyebrow curiously.

Dashenka looks thoughtful for a moment. "I do not think that is right. We are mutants from birth. It is only later that we find out." She shrugs, and gives the ocelot a friendly pat. "Do not worry. I know what is like to wake up with fur all over. Is scary at first, but later, not so much."

"I'm more concerned about my face than the fur. I used to have such a nice face, but now…" Taylor trails off, scuffing an awkwardly attached shoe against the ground. "You don't look furry, though. Did you… stop being furry? 'Cause I kind of want to stop being furry. A lot."

"Pfah!" exclaims Dashenka with a wave of the hand. "You have nice face still." she says, with only the kind of certainty a Russian can have. "I can go between. Mostly at will. Some can, and some can not." She gives the younger mutant another friendly squeeze, "Do not fret. Some people, when they see you, they see mutant. These people do not matter. Other people when they see you they will see…." she pauses realizing that she doesn't know this person's name. "… whoever you are. Regardless of fur, or twichy ear. Just like when people hear me, all they hear is Russian. They do not think of me as person. They do not matter."

"It's just not the face I'm used to seeing when I look in the mirror, I guess. Kind've miss it," says Taylor, a little awkwardly. "I sure hope I figure out how to look more like me again. But yeah… I guess yeah, people who just see mutants are assholes. And anyone who sees you as just Russian is an asshole, too. You seem like an alright person to me."

Dashenka gives Taylor a sympathetic nod. "Do not be too sad. I am sure new face is just as good as old." Now that she's gone and given a new mutant a pep talk it's time for her to go. "Now, if you excuse, I must return home."

"Oh, yeah, I shouldn't keep you from going home," says Taylor, nodding in realization that neither is at their destination, "I should get going too. I'm going to a boarding school now, I guess, and there's a curfew. Seeya, umm, I didn't get your name. I'm Taylor."

Dashenka grins and offers a hand to shake. "I am Dashenka. It is good to meet you," she says. "Boarding schools are good. You will meet many friends there."

Taylor nods at Dashenka and says, grasping her hand reasonably firmly, "Well, I hope to see you around again sometime, Dashenka." The ocelot person nods once more and then starts heading off to get more of that shopping done.

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