20339/Home Sweet Dump

Home Sweet Dump
Date of Scene:	30 March 2025
Location:	X-Factor Investigations
Synopsis:	Mutant Town's Newest Bougie Apartments. Reserve today!
Cast of Characters:	Jamie Madrox, Christian Frost

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Jamie Madrox has posed:
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Ratzenberger... but there's really no way to guarantee that the cat didn't see anything traumatizing in the day and a half that it was missing. But rest assured, we found Mister Meowstopheles far faster than any similarly-priced detective agency would have been able to. And that's a Madrox promise."

Sitting across the desk from a semi-satisfied customer, Jamie Madrox adopts his best used car salesman grin. Hands on the desk before him with the fingers interlaced, he taps his thumbs together rhythmically to help disguise the tedium of this conversation, but his smile is starting to show its cracks.

Across from him, an elderly lady pushes her little red glasses up on the bridge of her nose, and inspects the cat in her lap more closely. She insisted that it was a Russian Blue, but Jamie is fairly certain it's a British Shorthair.

"He hasn't been eating his treats since he got back. That's not like him at all. Are you sure one of your detectives didn't do something to frighten him?"

Upstairs, Jamie Madrox is busy trying to program the robot vacuum cleaner to stop driving over the steps. This is the second robot vacuum cleaner that has done that, and they're not exactly cheap to replace. True, the ones that he purchased were from a guy downtown who insisted that they fell of the back of a truck. But how many trucks laden with robot vacuum cleaners could possibly be driving by Mutant Town per month? Better to not chance it, and fix the programming.

But while Jamie is upstairs working on the vacuum cleaner, and Jamie is reassuring the client that her cat is probably not suffering from PTSD, Jamie Madrox is out on the front stoop, taking a break from all the racket inside the headquarters of X-Factor Investigations, LLC. A thick cloud of Thin Mint-flavored smoke fills the evening air around him, courtesy of a vape that is only slightly smaller and lighter than one of the bricks that the building was made from. A little before 1900, if Jamie remembers his history right.

He usually doesn't, except where the deed to his beloved three story building is concerned.

Across the street, the music from the Power Plant can be heard. Sounds like it's techno night, but Jamie doesn't really know the difference between techno and dance music.

Above, the stars are probably shining as they always do, but it's impossible to tell against the lights of the city. An empty fast food bag drifts down the sidewalk, like some sort of modern day tumbleweed, before getting stuck temporarily at the base of a light pole.

Evenings in Mutant Town aren't peaceful. But they're nice and predictable. Which, to the enlightened mine, can seem something approximating peaceful-ish.

Christian Frost has posed:
The perfectly white trench coat lined with black fur clashes with the predictability of this Mutant Town night. Christian Frost sweeps down the street, surprisingly steadily for the lovely evening at the Saint's and Sinner's Club he is coming from. Hands in his pocket, bounce in his step, feeling so incredibly Alive in the ways that a good day and good line of snow ensure. Though even that not so good establishment is not up to his general standards for a good time, it is somewhere he can guarantee to get a fix that is not cut with Kick.

And it clearly wasn't! No voices! No powers at all! Everything is good!

Being a mutant drug addict in New York, comes with some requirement of Christian lowering his standards until he can get clean or get a dealer he trusts. Minor inconveniences that his current trip is one more step towards. Establishing himself in New York.

If the jaunty walk and perfectly pressed and color coordinated outfit is not enough to put Christian out of place, the fact that he has not been mugged yet might. Still, as he nears the dilapidated dump of a three story building that is home to X-Factor investigations, he will stop with a hum. A phone pulled out of his pocket and checked before hands return to pockets and looking over the building more carefully now.

Unimpressed is perhaps too kind a word.

"Looking for a Mr. Jamie Madrox-" Christian approaches the minty haze around Jamie. He's leaning forward, all smiles pausing briefly to glance toward the Power Plant and noise. Oooooo, perhaps this will be a quick conversation and he can see if that racket would go well with the high he's walking the upswing of now, "Sorry for the lateness, time got away from me. But I simply do not trust the mail system in Bushwick, is Mr. Madrox in?"

Jamie Madrox has posed:
If the passersby could have read the thought bubble above Madrox's head, they would have recognized that it was a prayer of sorts requesting a rich simpleton with an easily solved problem. For that is the sort of financial tailwind that X-Factor Investigations, LLC could really use right about now. These missing cat cases would end up being a loss, if Jamie actually had to pay any employees. But forcing oneself to work for free is not an acceptable long term solution, unless one is filled with self-loathing and a lack of empathy for ones own decentralized identity.

And now, emerging from the grubby streets of Mutant Town, a caricature of a rich simpleton so uncanny, that for a moment Jamie is tempted to once again believing in God!

Coughing a bit on his artificially-flavored cloud of mist, Jamie covers it up with a quickly balled fist over his mouth. The vape is hurriedly pocketed, while Mutant Town's most reasonably-priced detective stands up to extend a hand. The familiar used car salesman grin makes a reappearance, as he tries to look like the sort of person who could help someone with their problems in exchange for a fair hourly rate and a reasonable markup on expenses.

"You're in luck sir. 'I'M' James Madrox, Esquire... but please call me Jamie. All my most important clients do."

Christian Frost has posed:
"Mr. Madrox! Esquire! Wonderful to meet you sir! Jamie it is!" A hand is accepted in a warm handshake, enthusiastic and bright in the way wealthy simpletons manage to still somehow be people. How does one have enough money for coats made of many very cute small animals and still remain people? Money is an odd thing, it's like they are another breed.

"I thought I'd pop over and introduce myself-Christian Frost at your service sir!" Frost? Wealthy! Telepath? Not at the moment! Christian? Perhaps less familiar, but a large amount of hubba-bub in the financial news when this heir to the Frost fortune was disowned!

Christian himself breaks the handshake to reach into his coat, pulling out a folded piece of paper, his words continuing, "As I said, I don't trust the mail, I didn't mean to get here at this late hour but I was able to get ahold of this, over the counter, didn't need to go to auction even-"

The words remain bright, the paper is creased perfectly, and unfolded will reveal a photocopy of a tax lien certificate with Christian's name on it.

A tax lien certificate with Christian's name on it and the address of that very ugly building that Jamies currently work in.

Tax liens are a relatively common thing on businesses and buildings in Bushwick. Tax liens investing also happens to be one of the few investments that Christian is able to do entirely above the table. The lovely blacklist that his lovely name just so happens to also grace, does not extend to, or at least cannot be enforced, at the level of city and governmental work. Thus, despite the underhanded ways that Christian generally maintains his lifestyle, the influence of the world of mortgages and loans from public sources through property and business investments tend to cover him on the papers that matter.

Christian has no interest in competing with banks for family home mortgages, no interest in competing with trust fund brats who think they know how the game is played because they have the startup to buy a few good investments. No, most properties Christian is confident he can flip for profit and in the meantime, it's a hands-off way of financially covering his more lucrative work. Christian is generally only interested in properties that have a low chance of being redeemed. It takes a little finesse, a little leg work at first, then waiting and a usually a nice payout at the end when things inevitably foreclose. Restructuring, retrofit or upgrades, get the location back into the game is easy, turn around and sell. Real estate and property flipping is barely step into the business race again and allows him to skirt the edges of the blacklist.

As far as Christian can tell, X-Factor Investigations falls nicely into this category.

Business rarely or barely in the green, location has some potential, would take some work, buttttt-A private detective service he has financial noose around? Maybe one less private detective Emma can send after him should she start worrying too much.

Not that Christian tries to worry Emma, that just happens. The smile hasn't shifted, hands back in his pockets the moment that he's not holding the paper, leaning forward expectantly, ever so slightly more of a bite to the words,"Jamie, my good man, do you think we could talk? I'm sure it can be brief."

Jamie Madrox has posed:
The thought bubble above Jamie's head definitely didn't have anything about getting his building swiped from him for peanuts. Jamie possesses a singular ability to commit to the grin, even as the rest of his face begins to melt into an expression of confusion, followed by abject terror. Even as he skims through the document, he attempts to maintain an air of friendly warmth, rather than professional detachment. It's his brand, but at the moment any feelings of friendliness are rapidly being overwhelmed by a sense of very visceral revulsion.

Silently, he's thankful that he didn't complement the man's shoes. It was on the tip of his tongue, and how he's glad he didn't bother.

"There... uh... has to be some sort of mistake, Mister Frost. This building isn't for sale..."

"That is... our taxes are all paid up. So many taxes. Business license... payroll tax... income tax... all the major taxes, really. And the mortgage company covers the taxes on the building so..."

Jamie's face loses all color as he remembers that he in fact paid cash for the place. Taxes and insurance are his responsibility to keep up with. But surely he wouldn't have forgotten to do that, right?

ELEVEN MONTHS AGO...

"Don't forget to drop that check off, Guido. These bloodsuckers want their tax revenue."

"Sure thing, Boss."

TODAY...

"Friggin' GUIDO!"

Holding up the paper once again, Jamie assures himself that this isn't merely a joke, nor a clerical error. He's forged enough documents to recognize the sloppy handiwork of the city.

"Let's... uh... step inside here Christian. I'm sure we can get to the bottom of this little misunderstanding, while I have My Guy look over the paperwork."

He puts in the code for the metal gated door, and then opens the ancient wooden one behind it. Stepping out of the way while he holds the door open, he struggles to bring his smile back to the front of his stubbly face. It comes out looking more like a twitch.

Christian Frost has posed:
"I am sure it is not." The words have remained warm. Unlike Emma, should Jamie be familiar, Christian's Boston accent is clear and unhidden. Similarly, this is no ice queen, Christian's smile might have an edge to it, it lacks the flat emptiness his sister has mastered. "Of course, I'm happy to talk things out. Thank you!"

Following as directed, Christian's attention shifts from Jamie himself to openly appraising the building as they move inside. Still unimpressed, but the bones of the place might be worth salvaging. Perhaps-

Or perhaps not, this area could use one less brick monstrosity and knocking the thing down might be a kindness to the area.

"If I'm to be honest Jamie, I think you should mark yourself lucky that it's a lien on the building and not the business. After all, a lien on the business would include the building, all other assets and your accounts receivable. This simply includes interest on top of the property taxes, I'm not suggesting you are at risk of losing your livelihood sir."

Hmmmm, Christian will stop once fully inside, looking over the interior with a soft tutting, "Building this age? Copper piping I'm sure-when was the last time a health inspector wandered through here? I'm not sure this shouldn't be yellow-tagged."

"But of course, I'm here to discuss the lien, not if the building is already condemnable." Christian will turn to Jamie, catch that twitch and nod, complete understanding from this man of course! Just trying to own this fine property! "This is why I wanted to come in person, I think expecting a letter to share news is simply in poor taste."

Jamie Madrox has posed:
While Jamie is watching the game on a projection television that still works well enough to not be left on the front stoop, Jamie is mindlessly swiping through matches on a dating app while sitting on the toilet. All the while, Jamie is struggling through a case of writers block to finally finish the script for the streaming series that will make him rich and famous. If only he could get past that first paragraph.

"I mean... it's a little rough, maybe. But these old buildings... you just don't get that kind of craftsmanship anymore. They don't teach bricklaying in schools... damn shame."

Jamie really wishes that he could take another hit from his vape, but perhaps it's best not to display any obvious signs of weakness in front of this guy who apparently is not as simple as he is rich.

"My office is right this way... hey you!" He points to one of the copies of Jamie Madrox that's currently lounging nonchalantly with his feet up. The dupe points to himself, incredulously.

"Yes, you! How about getting a pot of coffee ready, huh? The good kind. The kind in the fancy can."

"Aww... I was gonna watch porn on my phone and eat Little Debbies!"

Jamie shoots figurative ocular daggers at this most lazy of dupes.

"He's kidding. We don't like porn or snack cakes..."

An elderly lady emerges from an office that has a cardboard sign taped to the frosted window on the door. The sign reads 'X-Factor Investigations Jamie Madrox, Pres' written in crude sharpie.

"Another one of your cat scaring goons? You should all be ashamed of yourselves... but you'll regret scaring my cat when you get my one star review on Gripe!"

Carrying her cat, the lady leaves as indignantly as she arrived, practically slamming the large wooden door behind her.

But the good news is, the office is free now.

Christian Frost has posed:
Bricklaying, Right. Christian will simply nod, "Sure, if that's what you're into, I'm not going to argue."

It would seem Christian was warned about the multiplicities of Jamie that keep this fine establishment running, but at the conversation, Christian cannot help but laugh. Yeah, this building as as good as his. And here he considered this particular PI a potential problem? Fears laid to rest, though perhaps not quite as useful a pick up as he'd found in the mean time.

"Nothing wrong with porn and snack cakes! Let the man have his evening, it's after hours already boss, it sounds like you should only be scaring cats on the clock!" Christian has offered the retreating woman a little wave, then will head into the newly vacated office. The Jamie who'd been handling the Cat-problem will be waved at as he enters. Christian barely gives the very sub-par chairs a look before plopping down into one, somehow managing to make the thing look like a throne. Amazing what confidence and nice clothing does for one's appearance.

"Andddddd here we are, what sort of concerns can I lay to rest? I was thinking this establishment would do very nicely as a set of apartment buildings if the bricks must be kept. Historical restoration living is all the rage in some circles."

Maybe he could put a little park here, fountain and a pond? The building is coming down.

Jamie Madrox has posed:
Adhering to social niceties in only the most token of fashions, Jamie brings up the rear and closes the office door behind him. More from formality than any actual need for privacy, as all of the other people within the place seem to be himself now that Mrs. Ratzenberger has taken off.

Porny McSnackCakes settles back in for his eventful evening, having narrowly avoided doing any work the entire day. He's currently at almost seventy six hours, and still going strong.

The Other Jamie stands up from behind his desk, and gives the man in the fancy coat a very broad, used car salesman grin.

"Oh! A client! Well, you're in great hands, sir! And one thing you'll notice about X-Factor Investigations is... we've got a lotta hands! Ha!"

The Other Other Jamie gives the guy behind the desk an unfriendly stare on his way to the desk.

"Save it, bud. This isn't a customer. This m... gentleman has allegedly purchased the lien on our building." Tossing the paperwork on the desk, Jamie waits for Jamie to read through it before asking him in a low voice.

"Is this legit?"

"Yeah, probably..."

"Sonuva..."

Jamie places his fingers on Jamie's forehead, and Jamie's body distorts and warps as it is resorbed by Jamie. Leaving only one Jamie in the room to worry about, he sits down in his well-worn chair, which creaks furiously as he does so.

The chair has been through a lot. Like, a thousand different Jamie Butts.

Putting his hands on the table, Jamie interlaces his fingers, and tries to keep from glowering.

Slowly, a smile spreads across his face.

"Look, sir... all of this is very premature. I know a thing or two about the tax code, and I know that I still have the option to redeem the lien before you can take possession of it. So I appreciate the visit, but since all I have to do is come up with..."

Reaching for the paperwork, he flips to the page that mentions the amount that he must pay up, and the date by which it must be paid.

For like the third time tonight, the color drains from his face.

Christian Frost has posed:
"Hello there Jamie. Not a customer, no siree!" Christian will nod easily, content to wait as the two Jamies panic and become one not-glowering Jamie. This is watched without comment, Christian's relaxed demeanor unchanged. Smile unwavering as the other man seems to need a moment to fully comprehend his situation.

"Yes, you only need to come up with quite a tidy sum of money in not as many months as I think you'd like. You Would have had more notice if I'd gotten this at Auction, New York only has one or two a year. But no one wanted it." Christian shrugs, "Their loss-this has been sitting idle for a few months already, perhaps you've gotten a few things in the mail about it-Perhaps not."

This is Bushwick, and Christian's apparent distrust of the mail service is warranted. Him coming in person is perhaps fortunate that not all the time to fix this situation has slipped away without Jamie being aware he was in dire straits.

"Now I'm not going to be unreasonable about this-" Christian's tone is a tad bit too reasonable, the sort of tone one uses for children or convincing family members that you don't trust the opinion of. His words too warm, "You pay your interest on time and I'll handle all the fees with the title company when foreclosure comes around. I'd usually opt for a quiet title, but I'm willing to negotiate. Like I said-It's a good thing it's just the building and not your business."

Christian is on his feet again as he speaks, the drugs are hitting in full force at this point, and holding still on uppers is always difficult. Christian's wandering of the office is random, peering at things, opening a file cabinet at random and pulling a paper out at equally random.

Investigation nonsense. Christian isn't able to focus on the printed words and simply doesn't care. Papers put back probably where they should be, "Anyhow, I really think this is an opportunity for you! X-factor Investigations could be doing bigger and better things than scaring missing cats, don't you think? Why Mutant Town has a mutant trafficking problem, think of looking into that?"

File cabinets abandoned, Christian is back at the desk, walking around to Jamie's side of it and leaning on the back of that very abused chair, peer at the papers other than the one he's brought. Equally uninteresting, "Hey, maybe I'll hire you all some time myself, you're free to upcharge me, I won't even act like I notice!"