14184/Communication is a Two-Way Street...

Communication is a Two-Way Street...
Date of Scene:	19 February 2023
Location:	Bushwick <Mutant Town>
Synopsis:	...and in this metaphor, Doug is the crossing guard while Tommy doesn't bother looking both ways.
Cast of Characters:	Tommy Shepherd, Douglas Ramsey

---

Tommy Shepherd has posed:
    There's a place in Bushwick, pretty new, that does Korean fried chicken and karaoke. Mutant-owned, of course, but enough of a novelty in the area to draw in crowds from outside of Mutant Town.

    Nice place. Terrible wait time for food though, still working out the kinks of a new opening, and Tommy glances at his phone for the fifth or sixth time in... ugh, like ten seconds. He's terribly impatient, and when the hostess quotes a half hour wait for anything out of the kitchen, he texts the guy who put in the order and scrolls through his delivery app for other potential gigs. Nothing though. It's Saturday night so plenty of people wanting food delivered, but also plenty of people working delivery, and Tommy's not feeling much like running halfway across the city tonight.

    He could. Easy. But he's not gonna. Instead he loiters at the top of the steps leading down to the karaoke bar, doomscrolling on his phone while he listens for the next potential disaster of a song cover.

Douglas Ramsey has posed:
    Which is when this blond guy rolls in. Blond hair combed into a flip. Brogues. *Bow tie*. He takes his coat off, rolls his sleeves up and then addresses the hostess in *perfect* Korean, which gets her attention. They have a brief conversation back and forth, and then he takes his own phone out and looks at it.
    He looks up at Tommy - and for a moment he looks faintly stricken, like he's seen a ghost. Then he shakes it off, and seems to regain his composure.
    He says something else to the hostess, and then he walks over to the bar and orders a beer for himself. He looks back at Tommy, and then he gestures to him to come over.

Tommy Shepherd has posed:
    Look, Tommy is just minding his business over here. If a delivery guy in a hoodie and jeans is enough to cause some rando to get all weird on him, then--oh. Fuck. Right. Sometimes Tommy forgets that he's a doppelganger for a much more famous mutant than himself.

    "I'm not him," is what Tommy says once he, yes, comes over as beckoned. Unusual a thing for him to do, obey like that, but he'd rather get this over with and go back to wasting time on his phone. "So whatever beef you have with Quicksilver, it has nothing to do with me."

    The bartender asks him if he wants anything, and Tommy gets as far as requesting whatever this guy is having before he's carded, and so instead Tommy smoothly transitions into an excuse about being on the job, so he can't drink. It's technically the truth. Just not the right reason why he can't drink.

Douglas Ramsey has posed:
    "Quicksilver?" Doug says. "No, kid-" Though Tommy is barely younger than he is. "You look like *Magneto*."
    He gestures at the Bartender, and has a brief conversation with him in Korean again, and then the Bartender just nods and pours Tommy the same thing Doug's having, which is beer. "It's fine." He says, "I'll cover for you." He tilts his head at Tommy, and then says, "I do have a question for you though--why did you make the snap decision there to give him your real ID and not your fake one?"

Tommy Shepherd has posed:
    This news seems to puzzle Tommy for a moment or two, so at his processing speed, it's enough to stun him for a considerable amount of time. "Oh," is all he says at first, kind of lamely, but then he adds, "I guess that makes sense, that's his dad right? But I've only ever seen Magneto on tv, so."

    He shrugs one shoulder and then folds his arms over his chest, eyeing the beer like it might be poisoned. He has no idea what this guy might be conspiring to do. "I'm not getting banned from anywhere that sells Korean fried chicken." He sniffs as a waiter leaves the swinging doors of the kitchen with a tray loaded down with the stuff. Spicy. "Plus it'd be one less place I can deliver food for."

    To say nothing of him just trying to be an upstanding citizen. Which, given his guilty look as he does finally take a swig of beer (something he's used to enough that he has no visible reaction to the taste beyond a briefly thoughtful expression) probably factors in at least a little bit. But not enough to actually stop him.

Douglas Ramsey has posed:
    "I lived in Genosha. For a little while." Doug says, as he takes his own beer in hand. "Have a seat." Then he puts his forearms on the bar. "Don't worry about it." He says, easily. "If I'm going to break the rules, I'm going to break them good and hard. I'm sorry - you really do look so much like him. It's the stare, you know? He had a way of looking at you but looking like he was looking at something behind you. It made you want to step out of the way."
    "You've got that too. Except you've got more of a look on your face that says 'You're annoying and you smell bad, go away.' This is all just subjective interpretation, of course." Doug waves a hand. "Do you like chicken feet? Unlike wings, they're still cheap."

Tommy Shepherd has posed:
    Tommy doesn't sit, precisely because he's been told to do so. Not that he's always so combative, but the mention of Magneto -- or maybe it's just that his similarities in looks with someone else who came before him -- clearly has him on edge, judging by the set of his jaw and the way his shoulders are hunched up. An elbow on the bar is as close to acquiescence as he gets.

    "Everyone's annoying," he mutters, before he clears his throat and takes a sip of his drink to aid the process, then says louder, "It's fine, there's just a wait for my next order here. Kitchen's backed up." That much is fine to share, he supposes; no personal info beyond that he's here to pick up food for a delivery, which he's already revealed.

    The question about chicken feet earns a couple of blinks. "Uh, can't say I've ever tried them, but there's not much I won't eat," Tommy says, though he sounds skeptical nonetheless.

Douglas Ramsey has posed:
    Doug puts his elbows on the bar and his hands on his chin. "Well, let's order some then. You can get them poached in broth or fried and coated in an incredibly spicy dry-rub. Whichever you prefer. If you don't like them, pick another side. It's on me." He gestures. "That was an invitation by the way, not a demand."
    He tilts his head, and then drawls "Since you're practically overflowing with questions, I was educated by Magneto's best Frenemy, Charles Xavier. Which brought me into contact with Magneto. I wouldn't say I was close to the man - I wouldn't say *anyone* was... but I did know him. Do? Who even knows anymore."

Tommy Shepherd has posed:
    The offer of food is a hard one to turn down for someone with a speedster's metabolism. So he doesn't. Instead Tommy just says "Whatever," truly unbothered by whichever option Doug decides to order. Maybe it'll come out in time for him to try it, maybe he'll have his delivery order and he'll be gone, who knows.

    He blinks once at the continuation of this stranger's story, and then blinks again at the unfamiliar name. No, Tommy doesn't know who Charles Xavier is, and so he says "I have no idea who you're talking about."

    He takes a solid swallow of beer, not enough to seem like he's trying to power through it, but it's a calculated amount to get him out the door quicker rather than slower. Not one for making friends, apparently. His eyes scan the restaurant, flicking towards the open swing of the kitchen doors and the front doors of the establishment in equal amounts. He's tense despite affecting a loose, casual posture. "Why are you telling me all this?" he asks.

Douglas Ramsey has posed:
    "Because sometimes after I've had a long day I forget that I can read things on a person's face and I forget that there's a difference between subconscious expression of a thought and saying it out loud. Also, I've had a long day staring at a computer-" He gestures, "And you were an isolated voice in a room full of people very loudly communicating. Who happens to look uncannily like a man who I respect, deeply dislike, admire, and fear."
    "Charles Xavier... founder of the coexistence school of thought on Superior-Sapiens relations?"

Tommy Shepherd has posed:
    Tommy stares for a beat or two -- long enough from his side of things that he's lapsed beyond discomfort into almost zoning out on this stranger's face -- before he says "Uh, okay," and does a mental side-step of that part of the conversation. Given his own unique existence with a frame of reference that moves much faster, relatively speaking, than most other people, he doesn't really have much of an issue just giving something up to 'mutant problem' and moving on.

    "Well, I'm also not him, so it's... fine?" His expression crumples a little bit, which is too much emoting and he immediately covers it up by taking another drink.

    Then he pops his tongue. "Nnnnnope," he says. "Still nothing. Is he a politician or something?" Briefly he looks a little guilty -- again -- though this time it's about the whole not keeping up with politics thing. He knows he should be better about it.

Douglas Ramsey has posed:
    Doug's eyes go half-lidded. "He runs the School for the Gifted up in Westchester?" He says, before he takes a drink himself. "I get the impression you've humored me up to about the limit of your tolerance. So bear with me - is there a way of communicating or a language you prefer to use that causes you less discomfort? Because I can tell there's kind of a mind-body slash world disassociation thing going on here."
    "And there's no reason you should sit here humoring some tired guy whose mutant power is 'Talk real good' when I'm like a record at Thirty-three and a third."

Tommy Shepherd has posed:
    Oh. The puzzle pieces snapping together in Tommy's head is practically visible on his face as the realization hits. "Yeah, I wasn't one of the lucky ones who got the Hogwarts letter -- sidenote: fuck JKR -- so I don't know anything about that." His eyes drift away but if he was radiating discomfort and distrust before, now it's thinly veiled anger. Not directed at Doug, at least. But it's certainly there in the set of his shoulders and the shift of muscles on his face.

    "There's nothing you can do. This is just how my life is like, so don't worry about it," he says, shaking his head dismissively. His voice is suddenly very tired. And then he takes a half-step away from the bar, just long enough to catch a waitress passing by. Somehow he manages to be polite and pleasant for a whole ten seconds to ask her about the status of his order, which she heads off into the kitchen to inquire after.

    Then Tommy's back at the bar, downing the rest of his beer.

Douglas Ramsey has posed:
    Doug sighs, and then puts his hand over his mouth. "My thoughts on Charles Xavier are complicated. More complicated after two or three beers." He grins. "I was only admitted there under duress, you know. That's the longest of long stories. I generally agreed with LeGuin's opinion of her work."
    "...Call me the man on the street, then. I brought up the school and you started emoting like the parrot that starts cussing out that cage when its owner starts stomping all over it. So, please. Express yourself. I welcome it." He takes another drink of his beer and then he winces, before he flexes his fingers - and his hand transforms into something shiny and black, threaded through with crawling gold circuitry filligree. It seems to move whenever the eye's not looking at it. "Excuse me. That's better."

Tommy Shepherd has posed:
    The continued discussion of Charles Xavier -- now a name attached to a murky, featureless face in Tommy's head -- isn't what does it. It's not the weird arm transformation... thing, either, though Tommy does look down, look back up, then look down again, eyes slightly wide. It's the other man trying to encourage him to express himself that shuts Tommy up as tight as Fort Knox or whatever other tightly locked down facility one prefers to use. Asteroid M, maybe.

    "I'm good," he says, and in a flash there is a crumpled bill being smoothed down on the bar next to Tommy's empty beer bottle. Just as the waitress from before comes nearly skipping out from the back of the kitchen, her ponytail swaying behind her. She looks disappointed when the flirtacious veneer Tommy put on before doesn't make a reappearance when he takes the bag from her, though he does manage a wan smile before he's just. Gone.

    The breeze that tugs at clothes and sends a few paper napkins flying is the only sign of his departure. Womp womp.

Douglas Ramsey has posed:
    Blink and he's gone. Doug flicks his eyes over to the door, and then he says, "...Huh." Then he sits back up, and asks for another beer in Korean. "...What an angry guy." He says. "Guess I can't blame him."