Smoke through the gaps in the urban slums [Damien]

[Pyro]

No one notices the kid in the dark denims, rendering the way he's drawn the collar of the faded khaki combat jacket up a rather superfluous disguise, but whatever. It's the symbolism of the thing that matters, the way that he can kid himself it means no one's looking, or that when they do they can see he's someone who should be left alone. Really their avoidance is nowhere near as active; truth is, no one cares.

He shakes his head at the offer of milk, taking the mug gratefully and retreating to a corner to nurse it, a splitting headache (the result, no doubt, of a combination of sleep-deprivation and mentally slamming it against a brick wall for what seems like forever) and a few unspoken but pressing questions he doesn't feel like considering right about now. The lukewarm and disturbingly shiny liquid is about all he feels ready to face.

Funny how it's the little things that get to him. Like how he's now drinking coffee as a drink (black, and with so much sugar a graininess competes with the drink’s characteristic ‘oily-chalky’ quality) and not as something to do with Bobby and Rogue back when skipping classes was the height of his adolescent rebellion and pouring his allowance into the Starbucks coffers the most pressing engagement. Needing a shot of caffeine to function is something adults do, and he… oh. Yeah. He's an adult now, isn’t he? And that... that is, well, terrifying.

[Damien Schwartz]

A boy in black combat boots, black jeans, a dark purple tank top, and a black, short sleeved, unbuttoned shirt enters the cafe. His eyes are a strange dark green shade, and his hair is spiked, with the help of probably a whole package of hair gel, and it is quite obviously dyed black, but is it from blond? Or perhaps some other lighter color? He grabs a 6 ounce cappuccino, puts lots of sugar in it, and sits in that exact same corner.

There was a lap top on that table even before the boy entered the place, and it quite obviously belongs to him. There is a crimson engraving, with italic letters on the lid. It says "Damien Schwartz". He sits at the table, and logs into the computer and starts surfing the Internet. He is not going to start any conversations, as he is still quite afraid of his new surroundings. How did people handle mutants here?

After a few minutes, however, the boy gets bored with the Internet, so he closes the computer and leans back sipping his coffee, his eyes making a point of not looking at the other person at the table. He takes out a small photo album and stars going through the pages. They don't really contain photos, but rather postcards, each showing a different place of the world. The Alps, the beaches of Hawaii, the islands of Greece, and many others.

Finally, choosing one, Damien takes it out. It shows a Greek island by the name of Zakynthos. "This evening..." he mutters to himself. He could do with a nice swim in the sea.

[Pyro]

Pyo barely glances up when the newcomer takes a seat, only taking in the laptop. Pricey enough on its own, and customised... The photo album too suggests a life of luxury. Something about the boy seems... lost. Confused. A newcomer to the city, maybe, yet to find his feet?

Fate throwing him a couple of aces to go with the bum hand she'd dealt so far? He knows not to read to much into this given how Lady Luck loves to screw him over, but also can't afford to miss such an opportunity, especailly since he's already had to hand over more hard earned cash than he can really afford in the pursuit of caffeine.

He hates starting conversations, and isn't planning on being the one to do so. Not as if he's got anything to interest this guy. Better to bide his time and wait until an opportunity presents itself. He'll have to play it carefully, given how he's fallen out of practice since those early days on the street before he got picked up by Xavier, and his post-frostbitten-Alctaraz fingers lack the casual grace they had before.

Starbucks' new no-smoking policy is annoying as all hell, preventing him retrieving his lighter to break the tension. Instead he resorts to rotating the stirrer (not even a spoon, for crissakes, a wooden pole annoyingly reminscent of a matchstick) between thumb and middle finger and deliberately not-looking at the boy.

[Damien Schwartz]

Storing the postcard into a pocket in his jeans, he drinks another sip of his coffee. OK, it's time to see if he did something since he came to this place.

First, find a job? He's a waiter at that one cafe, it pays well. Check.

Second, find some kind of room? Right across the cafe is the hotel where he rented the room. Check.

Third, enroll in Xavier's Institute? No, he still couldn't find the place, and people just didn't know. If he only managed to touch someone who knew the location. Failed, need to work on that.

He looks at the other boy at the table. Should he try? It's just one person in the whole city, and even if he did hate mutants and was a discriminator and knew about Xavier's, Damien can easily get away from him, right?

"Excuse me...." he stops. He really doesn't know how to start conversation. "Sorry to bother you, I was just wondering- do you know where I can find Xavier's Institute for gifted individuals?" he asks finally, his hands clenching into fists of hope under the table. He has to ask, doesn't he? He can't just walk up to the guy and touch him to see where the place is and if he know this.

After a few seconds, he changes his mind. "Sorry, I was wrong to ask, I'll just leave" he says and starts packing up.

[Pyro]

He didn't just say that

Aside from the dull crack of the wood splintering as he fumbles the last twist Pyro thinks he maintains an admirable degree of control at the mention of that place, his take on this guy's situation turning from 'Poor sap ready to be exploited by yours truly' to something nearer a twisted pity. No doubt he's just got off the plane from wherever - is that a German accent? - convinced that he's found his salvation.

Maybe he has. Maybe not everyone is destined to find that place such a disaster, fated to fuck up the way he did...

Whatever. He's getting maudlin and the boy is about to leave. "Hang on.." He sets down his mug, briefly lamenting the fact that if they leave now he'll have really wasted the money, and leans back in the chair, the leather making a dull squeak as if in protest at what he's doing, though he doesn't know whether that's a protest at getting involved or at how he's still looking for a way to turn this to his own profit.

His tone, when he speaks again, is an approximation of worldliness which doesn't sit well with his diminutive stature, or the youth which still lingers beneath the premature maturity forced on those who got through Alcatraz. The way he says the name itself is equally ambiguous, familiar but with a touch of something darker. "You're looking for Xavier's?"

[Damien Schwartz]

Damien stops. Perhaps he will find out this way? He needs to know the place. So he turns around and sits back down.

"Um...yes, I am." he says quietly as his eyes go up to those of the boy, hope edging their every inch. Still, he notices that something is wrong. Just a feeling. He didn't ask the wrong person did he?

Oh, no, please don't have me mess this up... he thinks as he keeps staring at the other person. Quickly, he finds a place to go to in his mind if the need be. All he has to do now is concentrate slightly and blink, and he'll be there.

He can't help having the feeling that he just got himself into some trouble. It was so much easier back in Berlin, when he pretended not to be a mutant at all. And this all happened just because of the fucking salt.

If he hadn't teleported the salt to his hand, he wouldn't be sitting here now, laying all his hopes that he finally got someone to tell him where the place was and that this someone wasn't one of the "other" mutants.

[Pyro]

"Can I ask why?"

He's mentally smacking himself before the question is out, telling himself he doesn't care, but the conviction in those blows isn't his usual fiery passion. What the hell is this? Some sort of twisted attempt to spare someone else his fate? Since when has he ever cared what happened to anyone else, or thought of his own path with any sort of regret?

It's just the caffeine withdrawal talking. The sensible voice is the one pointing out it's not such a disasterous question - at worst showing a touching concern, even if it's only born out of propriety, and at best a wierd sage-like quality implying some sort of insider knowledge - and praying he's as naive as he seems and hasn't yet found out about everything which has come before.

[Damien Schwartz]

"Well....um..." he doesnt give a real answer. In truth, he never thought about it. It's just a place he's supposed to go, isn't it?

"Well, I'm supposed to go there...I guess..." he starts insecurely. He still doesn't know what to think of this person in front of him. If only he could get a handshake, hopefully a longer one, so it remains in his mind for a week.

"Look...I should probably just go..." he starts once more, but doesn't move. Just give me a touch and I'll be going. he thinks. Someone enters the coffee house, and the bell on the door rings.

For some unknown reason, Damien snaps in the direction of the sound, as if he is being chased by the police and is now fearing for his life. At the move, the cup of cappuccino turns over and spills. It spill all over the seat, but not on Damien.

"Ah, Scheisse! [[meaning "shit"]]" he says as he quickly looks over to the napkin rack. Well, there's no point in hiding when the guy already knows enough. His left hand goes under the table, and he blinks, and suddenly his hand comes out and he starts wiping the coffee off the seat with about thirty napkins in his hands.

[Pyro]

Wow, is this kid jumpy. Pyro's glad he can say with no gliding of the lily that he was never that nervous; even back before he joined the Institute at the 'tender' age of 12, there was nothing that tender about him, nothing so green. It's almost entertaining, in a pathetic sort of way. The freaks at the leather emporium will walk all over him, of course, take all those insecurities and convince him he belongs with them, put him in a little suit and send him out to fight the bad guys who dare to ask why they should be ashamed of mutation..

Hmm, and there he was thinking he'd given up on the Brotherhood spiel.

Luckily that little display distracts him from pursuing this line of thought any further. The blinking is a neat trick, one he watches with dispassion, figuring to react would only spook the boy more. Not a patch on his power, of course (he does love it, despite everything) but not bad.

"Kein Problem" He half-laughs, using what little German he half-picked up at the Institute in European-Diplomatic-Studies, or whatever the hell it was, trying to make light of the situation and put his companion at something like ease. "Wow... you're really on edge, mate. Sure you're okay?"

[Damien Schwartz]

Damien relaxes a bit. OK, so he's talking nicely, no devious intentions hidden in his voice or anything. And he knows German. Is that a plus, though? He is definitely confused now, so he makes the best of the situation and just keeps cleaning up until it's almost as it was earlier.

Dropping the napkins into a trashcan, he returns to his seat. Of course he could have just teleported the things into the can, but he preferred doing things manually. It gave him a feeling nothing was wrong.

Oh yes, he still wasn't sure if his powers were a good thing or a bad thing. Was it a disease? He shakes his head, sending those thoughts off for later discussion, and looks at the boy once more.

"Yeah...just fine..." he mutters, now his face reddening slightly. He just embarrassed himself! And of course, he has to be such a weirdo! Who else could possibly blush about such a thing at 18 years of age? Sometimes he really irritated himself. And not to mention that the only things he actually liked about himself were his eyes and skin.

At the thought of his skin, he notices that the scarf is a bit loose, and a part of the scar is visible. As fast as he can, Damien wraps the scarf closer and tighter so that nothing is revealed.

[Pyro]

For once Pyro's being strangely diplomatic, making no show of noticing the boy's scar, though he's distracted from that quickly enough by the other eccentricities he's politely not-noticing, just continuing as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened. Which it hasn't, he reminds himself. This is what everyday life is supposed to be like. It's the life he's been leading until now which is somewhat... abnormal.

"So... you're German" The questioning tone flattens out as he continues back into the realm of established fact, taking a draught of his own coffee, feeling the slow burn in the back of his throat and the pre-dizzyness which means the caffeine will start to take effect soon. "And looking for the Institute..."

[Damien Schwartz]

So this starts irritating Damien. Hadn't they already established this? Why does he keep repeating this stuff?

He sighs, looking at the boy's eyes. "Yes, we already said this. I don't want to be rude or anything, but do you know where it is, and if you do, will you please tell me?" he tries to get them out of the repetitive situation.

He doesn't even know this guy's name, he notices after a while. But he isn't too keen on giving his own, so no question about it comes up.

"I'll be right back..." he says, and walks over to order another cappuccino. Upon paying, he makes and effort to touch the skin of the woman. He succeeds, but gets nothing useful, other than the information about some good Chinese restaurant.

Damien is really surprised by the general ignorance of the people in this city. It is as if they aren't even interested in anything other than themselves.

With a sigh, he slumps back to the chair and looks at his companion, awaiting an answer.

[Pyro]

He's half considering repeating the facts again - being deliberately irritating being one of the games he used to play fairly often - but thinks better of it. Which leaves him with something of a decision to make as to whether or not he can really just tell this guy where the Institute is.

Sigh. Is it just some embittered part of him talking, or have decisions really got that much more difficult since Alcatraz? Things are supposed to have improved for mutant kind, but as far as he can see they've only got more complicated.

"I could show you" he says, eventually, deliberately waiting until the boy is settled back in his chair before making the suggestion, eyes trained on his mug rather than on his companion. There's an obvious hesitance in his voice - understandably Xavier's is the last place he wants to be - but seeing how they react when he pitches up with a shiny new specimine for their collection could be entertaining, and it's not as if he has anything better to do. Besides, he still doesn't want this kid walking away until he's milked the situation for all its worth.

"Although I tend to make a point of finding out people's names before sharing this sort of thing" Time to launch into bad spy movie mode, just to ensure he's not going to run off and cry 'Mutant'. Undue attention is not something he's planning on attracting. "Anonymity's too much of a risk in our sort of business" That's a nice touch, he thinks, drive home exactly where we stand as mutants. All that remains is to see how the boy reacts.

[Damien Schwartz]

He nods slightly. Of course he can show him. He doesn't even have to get off the seat. But this requires a handshake. Yes, and the boy gave Damien a perfect opportunity.

"I am Damien." he says, and then stretches his hand out for a handshake, his eyes not showing his intention, but his mind begging the boy to shake it.

He pauses for just a second. "What did that mean? "Our sort of business"? What did you mean by that?" he asks, now intrigued, forgetting about his hand, which is still hanging in the air.

He is now interested. Curse his curiosity! Without it he would still be in Berlin, with his family. What family? They abandoned you! a voice inside his head appears, but he takes no notice of it, or at least pretends not to.

[Pyro]

Pyro moves to take the out-stretched hand, though really he has no intention of doing anything of the sort. This kid is a mutant, after all… who knows what his power is? Pyro has no intention of having his thoughts read, or his life sucked, or whatever. Already he’s counting down Three… two… one…

What did you mean by that?
Worked like a charm. He smiles – deliberately darkly – settling back in his chair and retrieving his coffee, lowering his tone still further. “Mutant business, of course. Risky as all hell, especially now… Can’t really trust anyone. Though of course you’ll know all this…”

Oh, this is too much like fun, playing with the poor kid. Damien’s put himself in such a pathetically vulnerable position – lost, alone, a stranger in a strange land and, to top it all, a gene-freak – and Pyro can’t help himself.