ArchivedLogs:Before This

Before This
Dramatis Personae Flicker, Paige	2016-11-18 "They really should put that in the brochure or something."
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Makerspace - Lower East Side
It isn't huge in this workshop, but it's well-ventilated and well-equipped. Like the Common house, this building -- small and shedlike and tucked off to a side of the courtyard -- is accessible to Commons residents via their electronic keycards. Stocked with plentiful tools for all kinds of workmanship, it has a small number of workspaces along the side of the room with a fair amount of open floorspace that can be repurposed as needed. In different corners there are a couple more specialized sections -- one front corner has been walled off into its own darkroom, and farthest off in back, cordoned off and thankfully left empty when not in use, is a squat furnace with a tendency to look like a pot of glowing lava when it is filled with molten glass. Unseasonably warm outside, today, and all the windows and the large front door of the workshop have all been thrown open wide to let the faux-spring inside. It's quiet in here -- mostly. Mostly peaceful. The city noises drift in through the open windows but are half drowned out by the sound of music playing -- something quiet, a distinctly not-Western classical style. For the most part the workshop is empty, except for over by the woodshop where there is a faint and steady scratching. Light, persistent, a constant backdrop for the music. Here, one young man is bent over a large slab of wood. Plainly dressed -- khaki corduroys, a light green short-sleeved polo. Plain-faced, too, apart from the heavy etching of scars pitted into one side of his face. He's busy doing some more etching -- in the wood, at least -- lightly carving a careful geometric pattern into its surface. The hand bracing his weight against the table, right now, isn't really a hand at all but a pincer-like claw, brightly colored in silver feather patterned on a ocean blue background. Not through any trick of genetics, evidently; the claw is attached to a very much mechanical segmented prosthetic limb, the faint outline of a harness visible under his shirt. Curiosity is evident on Paige's face when she enters the workshop with her hands stored in the large pocket of her oversized sweatshirt, hood failing to conceal her horns from view. Aside from her footsteps, she is fairly quiet as she meanders in, peering and glancing at the workspaces. She soon espies the hunched figure working with the wood and begins to approach. "Uh, hi," the horned woman offers. However, the sight of the man's 'different' hand causes her to stop in her tracks. The scratching sound stops as Paige draws near. Flicker's green eyes lift from his work -- a quick bright smile soon follows, warm and wide and easy. "Oh! Pardon. I mean hi. Figured I'd see you around sooner or later. Paige, right?" If he notices her sudden balking, it doesn't change the warmth in his expression. Paige's eyes quickly flit away from the man's claw first to his eyes and then his smile. "How do you...Does everyone around here know who I am now?" she asks, more than a tinge of anxiety creeping into her voice, though she gives a wry smile. "I -- yeah, I'm Paige. I guess you already know that I'm kind of new here. I'm still...trying to get a feel of the place." Her hands fidget in the pocket of her sweatshirt. "So, uh, what are you working on?" "Yes." Flicker is casual about this admission. "Everyone who cares to stay on top of all the notifications, anyway. It tells everyone when someone new moves in or a new guest is registered for more than a night or two. People feel more comfortable knowing who's staying in their home, y'know?" His smile slants just a touch askew. "Plus Jax used to like to bake any new people cookies. Guess we should get someone on that again --" He cuts himself off with a quick shake of head. "I'm Flicker. By the way. And it'll be a dresser when it's done. How're you settling in?" "Oh," the horned woman responds simply with a blink; it's clear that she was not aware of the notification system. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense. I, uh..." Paige trails off, reaching a hand into her hood to rub the back of her neck. "I mean things are alright. Well, better than alright." Here an actual grin shows itself on her face. "It's like a freaking paradise here, you know? I'm really not used to all of this," she says as she gestures around here. "It's crazy, to be honest. Living with mutants in a place like this." Another blink of her eyes and it seems she snaps out of her reverie, still grinning. "How about yourself? How's it, uh, going?” Flicker's eyes open bigger. Wide, abrupt. "There's /mutants/ here?" There's a hushed note to his tone, now. His clawed hand splays down against his unfinished wood board. "They really should put that in the brochure or something." Relaxing again, her reaches out -- out, out, his prosthetic arm stretches with a quiet shift of telescoping parts, its sinuous movement uncannily tentacular -- to stretch over his piece of work and pick up a thermos from an adjacent table. "I've never thought about it much as paradise," he admits more cheerfully, "But it is home." A distinctive blush reddens Paige's face in direct response to Flicker's facetious comment. "I meant -- I meant that it's -- that I'm living with mutants and it's a place like this and I---" the horned woman's stammering is cut off as she starts registering the movement of the man's limb. "I, uh..." she says, trying to pick up where she left off, but failing as she takes a small step backwards. She opens her mouth as if to comment or inquire about Flicker's arm, though she closes it soon afterwards. "I, uh, yeah - home. What's in the thermos?" Her voice cracks noticeably with this inflection. Perhaps she isn't very good at hiding her fear. "Apologies, I didn't mean to --" Flicker's own sudden deep blush throws the scarring on his face into stark pale relief, whiter lines stippled and carved through the flush of red. He dips his head apologetically, uncapping the thermos with quick press of button. "It's raspberry ginger tea." His smile is slow to return, hesitant and lopsided. "So living with mutants in a place like this -- paradise?" His fingers tap rapidly against the side of the thermos, though he doesn't drink. "We really /should/ change our brochure. Let you help with our marketing. Haven't lived with many of us before, then?" His mechanical arm retracts slowly, teeth briefly catching at his lip as he pulls it back close against his side. Tea. Tea is normal. However, Paige is swarmed with sudden guilt as she takes in Flicker's body language and apology. She has a pretty good feeling that her attention to his prosthetic limb is the source of his embarrassment. At the very least, the guilt reminds her that the man is actually a person first and foremost and -not- some monster to be feared. "I, uh, I'm sorry," she offers meekly, still blushing. "I haven't, no. I've never really lived with mutants before. It's...well, I've got these -things-," the young woman admits as she reaches up and grips one horn in each hand, causing her hood to fall off in the process. "And I, uh, well, I've never had them before?" Again, an inflection at the end. "I mean, you know, I've had them for a few months, but not...forever." Flicker winces, a brief tightening around his eyes at the apology. His gaze skips up to the horns. Then back slightly down to Paige's face. "Guess that's a -- huge adjustment. I'm --" He shakes his head, tone empathetic buy any actual words of sympathy swallowed momentarily in a gulp of tea. "Where have you been before this? I mean -- I don't mean to pry. It just -- can be hard to find safe spaces. While you're adjusting all over again to -- life." Capping the thermos again, he rests it down on a knee. Transfers it -- with a slightly self-conscious dip of head -- to his clawed hand. "-- I haven't had this forever either. Around here, people are mostly pretty decent about -- all the different ways we're weird." "Before?" Paige repeats, releasing her horns and letting her arms fall back to her sides. Her eyes do glance towards Flicker's clawed limb, but they do not linger for more than a moment as she quickly pries them away. "Before...I, uh, was in school. Going to college. My parents...they wanted me to major in business. Before that, it was the summer. I was home in New Hampshire. Small town, mostly...mostly all anti-mutant." She dips her head at this, apparently ashamed. "I...I don't think I was the best either." Her hands find their way into her pocket again and fidget with each other. "More recently, I was just, uh, hanging out in coffee shops here. New York. Trying to sleep some during the day so I could stay awake at night. And, yeah, I’ve met a bunch of these decent people already. That’s how I got here.” "What did you want to major in?" Flicker's nose crinkles up slightly as Paige's head bows, his own smile relaxing into more ease here and his head shaking. "We all come with our baggage. I went from Nowhere, Idaho to Mormon Mecca and neither of those were exactly --" His teeth catch again, this time at the inside of his cheek. Chewing for a moment before finishing, "-- the picture of acceptance. Unlearning that is -- sort of an adjustment, too." His fingers scuff through his hair. Blush not entirely faded. "I'm glad you're here, though. Do you know what you're going to do now?" "What did I -want- to major in? I don't know. It's just that business seemed so -boring-. I mean, I get it. It's a solid major with a solid degree that can lend itself to many opportunities. I was more interested in the 'human' aspect of life, though," Paige replies, eyes still focused on her boots and hands still fidgeting in her pocket. A shrug of the shoulders is offered to Flicker in response to his question. "Thanks. For, uh, being glad." She lifts her head back up, watching his face. "Now? I, uh, well, I don't know." More fidgeting. "I'd think I should get like a job or something. To, you know, pay for things. I sort of freaked before leaving school and I don't really have, uh, access to my bank account anymore. I've kind of got a debt now, too," the young woman confesses, another embarrassed blush creeping across her cheeks. "I have to pay back Evolve and, yeah, I need...to buy...things...stuff." "Don't have access?" Flicker's brows pull together briefly. "What happened? Are your folks keeping you from it? Are --" Brows uncrease. Eyes slightly wider. "They aren't a danger to you, are they? I know family can be -- a little -- but are you safe? Now?" His cheeks flush again. "As safe as you can be," quieter, "living in the world." Opening his thermos again, he takes a quick sip. "What do you owe Evolve for?" "They'd...probably kill me," comes Paige's gruesome response as her eyes flit away from Flicker. "One way or another. Shoot me, lock me up...I...haven't told them. I, uh, gave my card to my roommate and told her to make purchases now and then. I don't know; I was being paranoid. I didn't want them to get any idea of where I went. I mean, I...I -love- them, but I---Uh, Evolve, right." Another topic is always worth an escape attempt. "They have that 'suspended pay' model and, right. I think I’m, uh, as safe as I can be?" "I bet Dusk could help you with that." Flicker's musing is quiet. His head shakes quickly afterward. "/Kill/ you? Eesh. That --" This time his wince is sheepish, inadequate. "Really sucks. /That/ kind of small town." Another shake of his head. "Oh! You don't have to pay them /back/ for that. Other people pay. It all washes out in the end. If you get a job, though," cheerfully, "I'm sure they wouldn't say no to more business." "I don't know. Maybe I'm overreacting to the whole family thing. It's just...they were never very -subtle- in their feelings about mutants. My brother always tells stories about how law enforcement had to put these awful mutants...you know, uh, down and stuff. And my mom kind of worked against any pro-mutant or mutant-neutral policies. As for my dad," Paige breathes a hesitant, stressed sigh. "He...he always kept his gun loaded." Her hands come out of her pocket, but continue to fidget at her sides. "I mean, that's why my brother...taught me how to use a gun. To...protect myself." Now it's her turn to shake her head, her gaze again returning to Flicker, as she attempts to give a wan smile. "Really? I didn't know that. That's good, I guess. Really good." "Gun loaded?" This actually puts a faintly /amused/ smile on Flicker's face. Lips twitching up, once, quick-bright. "What, to stop the roving bands of mutants terrorizing rural New Hampshire? All two of us?" "Two?" Paige asks with a confused look before blushing again. "When you put it like that...I guess it sounds a little silly. Okay," she sighs, the corner of her mouth twitching upwards. "-More- than a little silly. But I'm being -serious- here. They'll lock me up for sure. They don't believe it either - how mutants just, you know, exist. They'll probably think I sl---" Apparently the young woman thinks better of her words and cuts herself off, leaving her thought unfinished. "I don't think most bigotry is all that /rational/." Flicker's head dips. Cheeks darkening again. "But that doesn't make it less dangerous. People like that are mostly the ones who --" He puffs out a sharp breath. Shakes his head just as sharp. "That's rough. That you can't -- go back there. Losing the support of your family is..." His voice has softened, slightly. He tips his head up, turning a curious look at Paige. "Think you what?" "The threat doesn't have to be rational to be real," the horned woman agrees with a nod. Paige's eyes search Flicker's face before she concedes to sheepishly answering his question."They'd probably think I -- I, you know...-slept- with a mutant and that's how..." She gestures to her horns, her ears, and her boots. "How this all came to be." While her eyes are still on the young man, her blush has only deepened. "I...want to go back," comes her confession. "But I know I can't. But, uh, what were you saying? 'People like that are mostly the ones who' what? And, uh, how's your family with the whole mutant thing?" Apparently she must think that the creepy tentacular limb is Flicker's 'mutation' as she glances towards it. "Oh -- /oh/." The flush of red burns straight up into Flicker's ears. "It's, um, its. It's not contagious. Not. Usually." He rubs at the back of his neck. "Are you ever going to try talking to them, then?" He takes another quick gulp of tea -- then promptly sputters on it. It takes him a moment to swallow properly, stop his coughing. His eyes drop to his arm. The claw turns over, opens, closes. "This isn't -- it's a /prosthesis/." His eyes have gotten slightly wide again, tone a little abashed. "Oh, it -is-?" Paige blinks, leaning to inspect the scary object closer, forgetting that she hadn't actually vocalized her suspicion. "It's just...so...I, uh, sorry. We don't--I've never really seen a prosthesis like that before. I figured it was just--I guess I really shouldn't assume." She eyes it for a moment longer, only letting out her breath when she stands up straight again. Paige snickers a bit. "I know it's not contagious---wait, what do you mean, not usually? And I don't think there's much talking could do. I mean what would I even tell them? Hey Mom, hey Dad, I'm a mutant and I have horns and my feet are weird and, oh, it just happened one day because that's what life is! Yeah, right." The young woman lets out a huff before peering at Flicker, furrowing her brows. "Are you...are you embarrassed? It's...about the arm, isn't it?" A sigh as she massages her temples. "Shit, I really need to learn not to stare." "There aren't many like it. It's more functional than most traditional mechanical arms but people get --" Flicker hesitates only a bare moment, glancing to Paige and then back down to the arm, "-- squicked by things they think look too freakish so a lot of designs that are more /useful/ but look less traditional don't -- catch on." He shrugs, a short-quick twitch of his non-mechanical shoulder. /He/ leans slightly back when Paige leans closer. A very faint tensing of muscles -- though his colorfully-painted arm lifts a scant few inches for better ease of inspection. "Anyway, it was custom-designed for me. So there aren't. A lot." Her last question just makes him blink. Give her a longer look, head tilting a little to one side. One side of his mouth pulls up in a crooked smile. "It's not," mildly, simply, "always the most comfortable, being stared at." The smile fades again -- expression just thoughtful, now. "It was just a question." "I should really know better," the horned woman admits with a roll of her eyes. "I've had...more than a fair share of people staring at me, even had a few...yell at me. I've been trying to stick around, you know, mutants --" Paige winces, correcting herself. "-Other- mutants. Still, I feel like the whole 'new girl' thing has yet to wear off." Fidgeting and a shrug. "Personally, I've been trying to avoid mirrors and I’m still trying to get the hang of walking." "I wish I could tell you /that/ gets better around New York." Another wince. "But there's bigots everywhere. Unfortunately. Just -- easier to find other people to stick /with/ in a big city than a small town." A faint shiver runs through Flicker. He sets his thermos aside. "{I'm sorry.}" In quiet Spanish, as he picks his chisel back up. "I can only imagine that takes -- some time." Paige, herself, winces at the Spanish. It seems that nearly every mutant she has met can speak some foreign tongue. However, she is glad to not understand the words. "Right," she sighs, folding her arms. "Time. Do you know Isra? She told me that it took her -years- to learn how to walk again. Years. And I don't think my feet are even done changing into...I don't even know, to be honest." She holds up a hand and closes her eyes for a moment. "Sorry. Ignore me. I know what you mean. I just keep deciding to regale people with the stories of my problems when they're not even that life-shattering." The young woman's eyes go to the chisel now in Flicker's hand and then to her boots. "Right. Well, if you, uh, ever want to be someone to 'stick with', I'm staying in one of the guest rooms. But you already know this." "I live with Isra," Flicker confirms. "No? It seems to have done a pretty good job of --" He pauses, cautious. "Disrupting your life, even if it's not shattered. I don't think anyone can really blame you for needing to -- process." His smile returns here -- bright, easy, though quick. Head bowing slightly back over his table, the quiet scratch-scratch-scratch resuming with his careful slow etching. "I know. I'll be seeing you around, no doubt." "Ruined." The word is whispered, muttered beneath her breath, but Paige nods to the young man. "Thanks, Flicker. For listening and...just being really awesome. Show me that dresser when you're finished, huh?" She turns to leave, a very fast glance given to the mechanical arm, and starts towards the door. "I hope I'll be done processing soon. See you later."