17009/See Yew Soon

See Yew Soon
Date of Scene:	24 January 2024
Location:	See Yew Soon, Hell's Kitchen, NYC
Synopsis:	Mark and Phoebe meet up for their quasi-weekly check in to make sure Mark's in good brain space. He learns some of her background. Banana slugs are exchanged.
Cast of Characters:	Phoebe Beacon, Mark Grayson

---

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    See Yew Soon was a kind of hole-in-the-wall with a side dining room populated with castoffs from various school function sin the 1980's. The red pleather seats were cracked and showing their insides -- or patched with colorful duct tape. The tables were a little cramped but covered with a miasma of half-wiped sauces and bleach water to sanitize it all, with colorful red and white check from an Italian place that closed down. The walls were decorated with happy little people eating noodles or breathing fire because of the noodles. There's a little sign that says "YOU ASK FOR THAI SPICY WE GIVE U THAI SPICY NO REFUNDS FOR INFLUENCERS"

    This nonchalant place is where Balm -- Phoebe -- had offered to meet Invincible so that she could do a check-in on him.

Mark Grayson has posed:
It's not a place that Mark's ever visited before, to be honest. When Balm's invitation arrived, he was in between things. The story had already dropped that Nolan Grayson had died in a small plane crash in Hawai'i, and for the last week, he's been dealing with half-hearted condolences and the like. His girlfriends/roommates knew the truth but had done well in playing along with the story. But there were some things they weren't there for. Such as being asked at the Dean's office if he needed a few days off all while looking at a copy of one of his father's books right there on the shelf. That was rough.

Which made it easier to accept the invite as he steps into the dining room, his eyes adjusting from outside to inside light as he shakes off his coat at the door, looking around the place. "Wow, I should have checked the Yelp reviews first." he comments dryly before looking around for Phoebe.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "WHAT SIGN SAY! NO INFLUENCERS! NO YELP!" comes a call back from the kitchen, and a tiny lady hops up on a stool and straightens out her apron chattering along in Thai.

    The door opens behind Mark, the bell ringing as a young woman walks in, smoothing down some pink kinks and coils. She has a nose ring in her nostril and in her septum, and her ears are peirced up in several places as she pulls off a pair of motorcycle gloves to stuff in a messenger bag that has a Gotham City Punk band logo on it. She *almost* runs into Mark.

    "Ohmigod sorry running late to meet someone!"

Mark Grayson has posed:
"Yelp isn't Influencers!" Mark yells back, and while he doesn't know Thai, he's heard his mom use a similar tone and cousins of those words she's using. Quietly, he adds, "oh god, she's probably going to spit in my food now." And he was debating what horrors that could become him and that he should stick with just the water - BOTTLED WATER - when the door opens behind him.

He doesn't have spidey senses, but he does have situational awareness - so when he hears the door open behind him, he manages to twist to move out of the way, just to realize. "Oh no, you're /totes/ late." he offers with a small smirk. "He probably bailed on you and now you're stuck with me."

He's dressed in a warmer color of sweater, because someone is trying to introduce color in his life and it's not yet warm enough - but the peek of a retro-designed collared shirt peeks beneath the cashemere which has been paired with blue jeans and a pair of boots. "Hi." he offers in greetings. "I've already started things completely on the wrong foot."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "How can you start something on the wrong foot if they're the only feet you have?" Phoebe asks with a grin. she was wearing black jeans, a black T-shirt with a skeleton, its head on fire and the caption 'aaaaaaaaaaaaaa' and a light gray jacket with an orange stripe along the side.

    "Hi Mrs. Biu! He's with me." she greets the venerable woman behind the counter, who scoffs and goes "He having Thai Spicy?"

    "I... actually don't know your spice tolerance." Phoebe gives an embarrassed smile and rubs the back of her head.

Mark Grayson has posed:
"Oh that's easy, when you have two left feet." Mark replies with a small smirk as he gestures. "After you." Since she knows the owner apparently, she may already have a favorite table. Falling into step behind her, he looks about and then Phoebe asks the question on the food.

"Know what? I'm feeling adventurous today." He shrugs his shoulders. "Lets see how Invincible I really am." Because he's doubt that as of late.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Remind me not to dance with you ever. I'm bad enough on my own." Phoebe gives a wry grin.

    "I'm going to have the Pad Thai, tofu, extra bean sprouts, Thai level two." Phoebe states, looking up. "And the spring rolls, and a coke. Whatd'yoo want, big guy? My treat." Phoebe turns back to Mark.

Mark Grayson has posed:
"Oh, I'm terrible. Do not recommend." Mark smirks lightly. "I constantly get my ass kicked at DDR." As he looks over the menu, he pauses, and asks. "May I have the Pad Se Ew with beef, and a water, please?" he ventures forth with a smile. It'd been safer to order what she ordered, but well, here we are.

Though there is a chuckle at being called a big guy. "Naw. Big guy was..." he pauses. "...well, dad was pretty beefy." he manages, a shrug of his shoulders at that idea.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I'm little. All guys are big guys." Phoebe gives a wry smile, and grabs a number tent and goes around the corner to pick a steady table to park her butt at.

    "So. How have things been processing?" she asks gently, dark eyes looking over to Mark as she cracks open her coke.

Mark Grayson has posed:
Moving to take a seat once Phoebe has found a table, Mark settles in across from her and glances at his hands. He didn't bother with gloves; he doesn't need them, or the sweater. But it's better to keep up the appearances. That was a slip up.

Then comes the question, and he draws in a breath. "I mean, it sounds so easy, right? He's 'dead', we have a fake funeral and move on with our lives." He chuckles. "I suppose that's been the easiest part of this all, considering that the alternative really sucks." he admits, a shake of his head before he blows out of his breath. "So... it's still processing?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I'm glad you're being honest, with me and yourself." Phoebe gives a soft smile, fiddling with her bottle cap. "I don't imagine it's easy, having to go to a faux memorial when you're still processing the trauma of the fight. Do you feel that the funeral offered you any closure?" she asks, her eyebrows rising up as her dark eyes look over to Mark.

Mark Grayson has posed:
Mark considers for a moment and then scrubs his face with the base of his hand. "I'd love to say sure. I know mom makes it look so easy. But standing there, looking at an empty casket. With the two people beside me that suffered as much physically as I did? No." he admits. "I watched him fly away. Knew that I couldn't stop him if I wanted to." he takes a drink from his water. "We're working back to normal. But every once in a while, I still catch myself looking up, wondering. Worrying."

"I feel like that stupid meme about the kid who's dad went out for a gallon of milk. Or cigarettes. Whatever. You know he's not gonna come back." There's a frown as he takes another drink. "Except in my case, if he does come back, we may have bigger issues than milk and cigarettes."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I don't think it's as much the meme as it is Post Trauma Stress. You always feel like you have to Watch Out for the next threat. The next challenge. The next pain." Phoebe explains, "and there is a cognitive dissidence between what you know happened and what you have to say happened, everyone is sorry for your loss, but not for your father's betrayal and what happened in the subsequent attack." Phoebe replies thoughtfully. "How does it make you feel?"

Mark Grayson has posed:
"I've been worrying about how everyone else is handling it." Mark admits. "I call mom nightly. I worry how Bunny's coping." But he can't get in too deep with that, what with the pills, the fight... he's been keeping a close eye on her, perhaps protectively so. "And Sunny." Because Sunny is a Viltrumite as well and pretty much woshipped the ground that Nolan walked on. "I actually considered breaking up with them... so they wouldn't be in danger anymore. That's about as dark as it got for me. Not that I would have."

A sigh as he considers the water and chews on the inside of his gum. "He'd still be here if I had agreed. Not that I would have. Sunny wouldn't have, in either case. We grew up on Earth. Her and I. We don't have that... I don't even know how old my father is?" he finds himself realizing. "Oh yeah, way to find out you may be immortal, right?"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I can relate. As long as I don't have any kids there's something with a vested interest in keeping me alive." Phoebe replies quizzically and with a very dry note in her voice. Their food arrives, with Phoebe's full of peanuts and tofu and beansprouts and Mark's with slices of tender beef. Phoebe takes a pair of chopsticks and splits them before she stirs her plate.

    "For what it's worth, the relationship with Sunny and Bunny may be an excellent vehicle to keep you grounded. You recognize they're also processing their own trauma as well, and that they may try not to lean on you too much. You can be there for them, but you can't make a milkshake from an empty ice cream bowl, right? So you have to take care of yourself too. You're not skipping meals, hydration, or personal hygene, right?" she wrinkles her nose. "That was a hard part for me -- making sure I was taking care of myself. Turns out it's super common with guilt and PTSD."

Mark Grayson has posed:
"Lucky you." Mark says dryly, but with a mote of amusement, before he takes out a fork because he's a filthy casual to eat with, twirling the noodles around the fork as he stabs the beef. "Yeah. They keep me focused on things, like schoolwork and to live our lives."

"I'm keeping on my training, making sure to drink plenty of water..." and then he laughs, an amused little sound between bites. "I live with two women. Do you think they will /ever/ let me skip on a shower or a meal? No, in that, I am spoiled."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Look I don't judge, maybe they like Man Funk smell." Phoebe laughs. She rubs the back of her head, and she shrugs her shoulders. "So you mentioned that you keep up contact with your mom. How's she holding up -- if that's all right for me to ask." Phoebe reflects a moment, and she looks over to Mark. "I'm not associated really with any of the young hero teams out there, so it's not like I'm reporting this to anyone. You don't *have* to answer anything I ask... I just..." her eyes fall, and she flicks over a couple of peanuts.

    "Want to make sure people don't go through what I did."

Mark Grayson has posed:
"It's not that!" Mark protests, and then he sighs, drawing in a breath. "I've spent most of my life dealing with things on my own. I've had a few friends..." He's stayed in contact with William through all of this, but still hasn't told him the truth. It's easier that way. And Eve? Eve is... happy, he hopes, wherever she is.

"I'm still processing, still getting used to it all. Having people to rely on. To talk to. I just. It's hard to find the words." And in true Mark fashion, in a move that those closest to him /immediately/ recognize. "I mean, if you want to talk about? More than happy to listen." A small smile offered.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "It is/so hard/ to find the words. There's millions of words on Earth, and I speak eight and a half languages, but you really can't find the right sounds of syllables to express it." Phoebe states with a gentle voice.

    "So, bit about me then so that you know where I'm coming from." Phoebe begins, and she sips her coke a moment as she considers how to begin.

    "So. When I was fourteen, I developed healing powers. I immediately decided I was going to be a superhero and help people, because at the time I was a good Catholic girl and thought that's what God wanted me to do. Most people's religions don't... mesh well with reality, though. Cognitive dissidence again. I fell in with a group of young heroes under the leadership of my first mentor, Red Robin. However, a lot of my peers had mentors who were like them. Red Robin had Batman. Wonder Girl and Wonder Woman. All the Flashes. After a couple of years, I thought I Found mine. He was a curmudgeonly wizard from Liverpool, all arrogance and piss and whiskey, with a constant ring of smoke around his head. I needed help with a magic problem, and he decided to help me."

    Her eyes lid in memories.

    "He held me accountable for my actions and helped me fix my mistakes. We butted heads -- a lot. A lot-a lot. I lived in a room above his bar, and barbacked totally illegally for him. He became my mentor, my friend, and eventually adopted me, with his partner-in-business as my secondary guardian. I had a sister, Geraldine. I was getting ready for my first holiday with a new family, with a sibling, with a group that I thought really understood me."

    Phoebe pauses, and then with forced nonchalance in her voice states:

    "He turned out to be a demon meatpuppet pretending to be The Person I Thought He Was and after a suitably traumatizing possible apocalypse the business parter-dad and I parted ways. There's days that I'm still processing shit. It's not nearly at the same level as what you're going through."

Mark Grayson has posed:
Mark chews on his food as he listens to Phoebe, by stuffing his face, it keeps him from interrupting and keeps his attention foused on it. "So. Easier story. Born to a Viltrumite and a human. Spent my whole life listening to my father's tales of heroics, not ever getting to share them becaue that was the secret. He didn't have powers anymore." A pause. "That might have been a lie. Who knows? Anyway, always... someday, you're going to get these powers too. And guess what, I did."

"And he offered advice, but you know what he did for the most part? He made me go through it alone. And when he thought I wasn't pushing myself hard enough? He'd have something happen to make sure I push further. Why? Because Viltrumites can only grow when they experience setback. Not like... learning a lesson. Just get punched, you come back and punch harder. And then, when I thought I was becoming what he wanted me to be?" A sigh, and a moment to recover. "He finds out that the girl that's really interested in me is just like me. And this starts this whole idea that perhaps with us, he can carry out this whole mission he had planned since he arrived here. Even before. We can overthrow a planet full of people, and a way large slice of heroes and villains that may be against it. But it's this whole thing and when I don't go along with it? I find out what my own teeth taste like, much less my spleen. And then... fled. To who knows where. So. Yeah. I'm processing. But you ever seen when you get a new program and it's like... seven years to install? I feel like that."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "It doesn't get easier, but... it does get softer." Phoebe recounts quietly. "You're always going to have the scars and the memories. You're always going to question your own memories and recollection and possibly even ask 'Could I have stopped it'--"

    Phoebe shakes her head, and she pulls out a cloth headband to pull some of her hair back.

    "Spleens are *gross* by the way. I'm so fucking sorry you had to eat *that* one." she reflects.

    "It takes time. And you probably don't want it to. You wanna be over the hump and better and not constantly looking for what was taken from you -- that sense of security, you know?" she states quietly.

    "And you don't ever get that security in people back."

Mark Grayson has posed:
"Yeah. I know." Mark takes a last bite of his food and sets it aside, fork resting on the plate. "There's already been the... I could have noticed this sooner thing. Like, I'm going through my whole life looking for some clue that my father had powers and just hid them all that time."

He reaches up and rubs the bridge of his nose. "It's gonna take time. And yeah... things are screwed up. My biggest fear is that those closes to me now don't have security in me. I keep waiting for that shoe to drop, you know? Not just at home. But in the field as well."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Have you considered talking to those closest to you and expressing those fears?" Phoebe inquires, dropping back into professional mode after commenting about eating their own spleens.

    "Especially those you're also in working in the field with. It will help assuage your fears, and possibly open the door for communication about concerns they may have. And I realize opening those doors suuuuuuuucks." she draws the word out with understanding.

    "You can't change the past. You can only change what you do now to affect the future you have here on Earth, with Bunny, Sunny, your teams, your mom." she gives a smile.

Mark Grayson has posed:
"No, because everyone's processing right now and it's weird, and I just... I haven't thought to." he confesses, and Phoebe can see the realization hit Mark like a truck loaded with bricks. "I... I should do that." And by the look on his face, he looks like he should be doing that /right/ now.

"We'll see on the field stuff. Maybe I'll just be good with just helping others for a while. But you're right. I have to push forward." he manages as he closes his eyes and breathes out. "Thank you for the talk." comes his quiet, sincere comment.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Forward, *at the pace you feel comfortable at*. You're grieving." Phoebe states, and she gives a small smile. She reaches into her bag, and she pulls out a folded up sheet of paper, and slides it over to Mark.

    "And there is no timeline on the resolution of grief."

Mark Grayson has posed:
Accepting the sheet of paper, Mark looks it over, as he responds to the comment offered with a small smirk. "When it comes to timelines? I have nothing but time." he admits with a chuckle. "Apparently. And I know. I know. But so are others. They need me."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    It's a sticker sheet of banana slugs. They are scratch and sniff and smell like oranges.

    Phoebe is trying so hard to keep a straight face.

    "You are wanted and I can tell you're loved. Let those be your strength along with you muscles, huh?"

Mark Grayson has posed:
As he looks at the banana slugs and he can smell the slight tang of citrus, Mark raises a brow in confusion. "...orange you glad they don't smell like bananas? Really?" he asks, giving a roll of his eyes, but he does remove one of the stickers and sticks it on Phoebe's hand.

"And you're not alone either. Ever need something really heavy moved, let me know." Putting the rest of the stickers away, he takes out his wallet to take out a tenner. "You covered the meal, I'll cover the tip." Setting it down, he gives a wave. "I'll talk to you again in a couple of weeks." he offers. "Give you an update. I'll see you later." And with that, he's on his way out.