2011-11-18: Twits In South Street Seaport


Aiden_icon.jpg Kisha_icon.jpg Quenton_icon.jpg

Summary: A random meeting ends with a lot of tension.

Date: November 18, 2011

Log Title: Twits In South Street Seaport

Rating: PG-13

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.

Christmas music blares over the speakers at the small mall at South Street Seaport. One person seems to be getting a lot of looks though as he walks through the mall dressed in skinny jeans with straps and buckles hanging off, a black button down shirt and a big pair of blue feathered wings tucked against his back. He currently stands outside of a store that sells various nicknacks like oriental swords, native american dream catches and other items that shouldn't belong in the same store front. He seems to be obliviouis from the stares, and the occasional scoffs and scowls at the fact that someone would so openly be a mutant in public.

It's a rare occasion which brings Kisha out from her fortress of solitude. In this case she's heard about a special offer in one of the electronics stores in the mall at South Street Seaport. Of course given how her last shopping trip went she's taking extra special care and has double checked every potential source regarding potential threats, even going as far as to check her former classmates facebook pages for signs that evil is afoot. "Eugh. I forgot to factor 'festive' music into my cost benefit analysis," she mutters barging through the crowds with scant regard for politeness.

Quenton had to wait for the automatic doors to swing open before moving in, growling to himself, hands clenched into fists and balled up in his pockets. He wears his typical wear, black shirt. Black jacket. Jeans. Shoes. Sunglasses. All black. He's too musclebound to be given too much crap about his lack of color, and when he pauses to sort of stare at Aiden's wings, Aiden can sense his emotions, in fact, perhaps moreso than most readings. A big ball of fear and anger. That's Quenton. "Jesus." And then Kisha passes, and red eyes follow her but don't linger. A group of human jocks pass by, one trying to nudge Quenton with his shoulder. When Quenton doesn't budge an inch, they mutter an insult but keep moving. Welcome back to the city, Q.

Ususally it takes some effort on Aiden's part to sense what someone is feeling but when Quenton comes close enough, all that fear and anger hit him like a truck to the point of wincing. He actually stumbles forward a bit, having to brace himself on the glass before looking around to see what the source of all that emotion is and the goth's eyes settle on Quenton. He just stares at the teen not sure what to say.

Kisha pauses when the winged guy almost falls over, nearly getting trampled by one of the jocks on the perimeter who only avoids her at the last minute when he spots just how much engine oil she's got on her. "Are you okay?" she asks indifferently. "I could contact mall security and have them call for someone trained in first aid." She peers in through the shop window he was looking through and tuts. "Or perhaps were you feeling unwell at the display of crap this shop is selling? Those replica swords couldn't impress a caveman. I doubt it's even sweat shop labour quality."

"What?" growls Quenton, agitated at the winged man's stare and averting his eyes, before staring at Kisha and her impassive tone. "I'm not the one who's looking weird here, angelcakes." Yeah, he's getting a little rusty, but he hated being singled out. Still, he probably was overly critical, and that fear jumps a little. "You're brave for showing the fact you're a mutant here." His anger level seems to fluctuate, rising and falling irregularly, being held stable by just the tiniest bit of control. Something Quenton over exerts himself mentally to maintain. "Maybe they should start a sweat shop?" he then follows up on the girl's comment.

Aiden shakes his head at Kisha and offers a smile. "No, it's okay, just a moment of dizziness is ally." He says as he straightens himself back up, raising a drawn on eyebrow at Quenton. "Angelcakes? I've heard a lot of things but Angelcakes is a new one. Though I think having a nice rack would give that nickname justice." He says messing up the back of his hair. "I don't know about brave I just don't care what others think, I have a right to be here and look at the cheap sweat shop swords." He says offering Quenton a grin but it almost seems forced. The emotion coming off of him just unnerves Aiden, if it's in a good way or bad way he's not quite sure. "Thanks again, sorry if I worried you, I'm alright though. I'm Aiden by the way." He says offering a hand to Kisha that seems to have a blueish blob of a tattoo on the back of it.

Kisha glances at the offered hand, then shrugs. "I wasn't worried. I simply followed accepted social protocol," she states. "And I'd rather not if you don't mind. I dislike touching people, plus my hands are probably dirty." She pauses then checks. "Yes. Definately dirty. As for them starting a sweat shop that would be foolish. While you might be able to get away with making clothing that way in New York running a poorly trained sword making facility would be far too obvious. The sheer number of injuries would be expensive to cover up and if you didn't the police would catch on fairly quickly."

"Oh. You're one of those." Quenton lifts his eyes briefly to the ceiling and rolls them, and he drops them back to the girl and the winged man. "Could be opened off shore. You don't look like you get out much, so what do you know about the intricacies of a sweat shop?" As if Quenton could spell that big word. "And anyway, you're mighty brave, because people like to jump mutants. I saw what humans do when they're ang-" he catches himself, muttering something, an insult, perhaps, to his own name.

"I fly, normal people don't fly." Aiden points out with a casual shrug. "Besides I have ways to protect myself, I'm good at easing anger that someone has built up inside of them, granted it's only for a bit but enough to protect myself." He says that more as a hint to Quenton than a general statement. "Anyway, I like my wings, do you know how uncomfortable it is to shove them under a jacket? And how your clothes look when you do that? Besides, I'm happy like this." He says with a shrug of a sholder before Kisha gets the same eyebrow raise that Quenton did before. "Well as long as your hands aren't covered in toxic dirt I'm fine with getting a little dirty and I think he was just joking around with you." He says as if he's talking to someone younger.

Kisha laughs at Quenton. "So you're suggesting this store has the funds to set up a sweat shop and ship product? You really aren't very bright are you? Why set up a manufacturing facility overseas when you could simply buy from an existing one? The number of swords they sell won't justify the cost of a dedicated production line," she informs scornfully. "And while you may not mind dirt I still would rather not touch people. Especially not those who have the capacity to manipulate thoughts or feelings. It's a practical precaution. Especially as my research has indicated supernatural threats often require physical proximity."

"You really aren't very bright, are you?" mocks Quenton, that anger level of his spiking. But he sets the cap on it, fists in his jacket tightening. "I was kidding, anyway, you social reject." His eyes slide towards Aiden a moment, at the man's words, but he doesn't say anything. He doesn't know the other mutant man can sense emotions, so he just reads it as a statement. "Sounds handy," he allows, at least.

There's another wince as the anger in Quenton rises and Aiden has to take a deep breath before reaching out to touch Quenton's arm. He doesn't use his powers but tries to speak to him calmly. "Dude, take a deep breath and just exhale slowly letting that anger escape when you breath. She's not worth getting angry over, okay?" He says before looking at Kisha and giving her a weary look. "And listen, I don't know what the hell is up with you but have you been following me? Stalking me? Yes I am an empath but I don't go around broadcasting it. And if being a mutant is being supernatural to you, then just wander off and leave us alone unless you like being an utter annoyance and irritating people."

"You literally just said 'I'm good at easing anger that someone has built up inside of them'. It doesn't take a genius to put that together with wings and get empathic ability," Kisha points out idly. "If you want to keep that part of yourself a secret I suggest you don't announce it to the whole world. /Also/ I never said anything about mutants being supernatural. There is a distinct difference between the two and plenty of data to support the claims. Didn't you see on the news when New York was invaded by demons? Hardly anything to do with mutants. As for my gaining amusement or pleasure from your emotional states I can honestly say I don't care in the slighest."

"She's just emotionally crippled or something. Trust me. The whole world irritates me," Quenton mutters. Whether it was in defense of the girl or just trying to justify his anger, who knows. He's perhaps just as emotionally crippled, just in a different way. The hand on his arm spikes anger and fear, and he resists pushing the man away, just going rigid. "I seen a lot of people like her and me." An exhale. "Anyway, how do you know I'm one?" His eyes flick to the winged man's face. The emotional discharge in Quenton of course is a hint, and at this proximity, he can probably see the red in Q's eyes.

"Okay so next time I'll keep it in mind that someone with wings automatically is empathic. Gotcha! If I said I have amazing skill when it comes with fire, which is true, do you assume I am a pyromancer and can throw fire balls across the room?" Aiden says to Kisha quite put off by her attitude. "Sorry girl, I wasn't living in New York then, I missed that news flash." His arm lifts off of Quenton as if he's touched something hot and then apologize. "I'm sorry, really, I didn't mean to over step a bound. And I didn't say you were a mutant, actually I assume I'm the only one who is here. You guys just aren't close minded assholes." Which is the truth, he never assumed anything. Though now the red in the eyes does raise suspicion and Quenton's attitude.

Kisha rolls her eyes. "If you'd said that after using the line 'I have ways of protecting myself' then yes I'd have given it consideration as a possible secondary ability," she notes matter-of-factly, glancing between the pair and frowning. "I didn't live here either, but it did make international news. It's not been the only incident too. The entire city is one great big series of death traps. For the record I prefer the term emotionally stable, crippled implies it's a disadvantage and lets face it most of the time emotions are a horrific liability."

"Oh. You said leave us alone, I sort of assumed…" Quenton shakes his head. Hold up. He doesn't get sheepish. So instead he just clears his throat, sort of backing away. "Doesn't fucking matter." He's probably proof of Kisha's words, his own emotions battling against each other. He glances over towards Kisha. "Well. Doesn't matter what you prefer, yeah? You don't have regard for people's feelings, so don't see why people should have regard for yours. Hell, I get shown that all the time." Which in Quenton's head, is a good thing.

Aiden rolls his eyes and shakes his head, the visible markings on the back of his hands going from a blue to a reddish colour. "Oh come off it. Get the fuck over yourself and stop bullshiting. But I get it, you're smarter and better than me." He says taking a mocking bow to Kisha. "Now if you excuse me I think I'll head into this sweatshop of a store and see if they have any cheap ass swords that can handle being on fire for a few minutes." He says before glancing at Quenton with a bit of a frown and pause as if he wants to say something but desides against it and just heads into the store.

Kisha turns her head a fraction to keep Aiden in her line of sight as he storms off. "It was a statement agreeing with your general point," she explains. "It wouldn't bother me in the slighest whatever you called me. It /does/ bother me that the winged gentleman missed entirely the point regarding the store not being a sweatshop but using sweatshop labour to procude it's goods. But only in regard to the wasted effort. Anyway unless you have any amusing parting shots in mind I should really return to my planned shopping excursion. Death rays don't build themselves you know." She smiles in such a way that it's not entirely clear if she's joking on the death ray front…

"Your face is amusing." Yeah. That's the best Quenton gots. Wait. He musters up something else. "And you smell like gasoline." Maybe that's not an insult to her, but he throws it anyway. Better than throwing a truck or something. The fact that she smiles is something new, though, not that he knew her long enough to determine if that's rare or not. "And I hope you're serious about that death ray thing. I've been looking for something to destroy."

As Kisha speaks back to him, there is a pause in Aiden's step but he doesn't speak to her, instead he directs his words at Quenton without look at him. "I can feel it, like it was revealed, I'm an empath. I'm sorry for whatever happened that caused you to feel that way." He says simply before adjusting the duffel bag on his shoulder and continuing into the shop.

Kisha sniffs her t-shirt. "With the missing bit of ear? Yes quite droll," she agrees. "As for the gasoline you're mistaken. It's a mixture of engine oil and a few other industrial chemicals. The composition of which /is/ similar to gasoline I'll admit. As for my planned death ray you'd have a job destroying it. I have a secret underwater base after all." And with that she turns and slips into the crowd, using her small size and complete disregard for other people to vanish from sight amidst the shoppers.

Quenton watches after Aiden, furrowing his brow, emotions mixed, before he shifts slightly, about to reply, but just closing his mouth and gritting his teeth. "Well. I can breath underwater," he mutters after Kisha. No he can't. But he grumbles it to her back anyway, irritation back in his little superhumanly emotional radius.

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