ArchivedLogs:On the Same Wavelength

On the Same Wavelength
Dramatis Personae Emma, Hive	2013-03-11 Speaking without speaking.
Location <NYC> Baohaus - Chinatown
Despite its unlikely name, this restaurant dishes up some of the best hot pot in Chinatown. A great place to go with friends, come pick a broth, pick ingredients, and enjoy the Chinese version of fondue, cooking meals yourself in the steaming soup. And, of course, don't miss the signature buns the place is named for! Post-lunch hour is quieter, at least somewhat. There's a group of college students at one table, a large family at another, one couple in a corner booth. Hive is sitting alone, a frown on his face and his phone in his hand. He has no food, yet, but he's currently ignoring his menu in favor of his emails. To telepathic senses he's not very quiet at all, but he's not exactly the most readable, either. His mind is a chaotic jumble, many disparate voices layered over each other. They all seem to be going about their own thing. Their own not-here thing. One (in rather a lot of pain) is reading, one is watching a movie, one is sleeping, chaotic dreams of scalpels and needles. Hive is somewhere underneath all this, grimacing at the idea of a trip out of the city, but he's hard to pick out of the mess. Emma enters the restaurant, senses open as usual, and is a bit surprised to see the establishment as empty as it is. Marveling quietly, she strides toward the hostess and is directed to a seat where she can spread out her work, glad for the reprise in Chinatown to get away from the busyness of the office, turning her phone it 'meeting' mode so that she doesn't get interrupted. She briefly scans the menu before getting started and is pleased to find that they have the soup filled dumplings here. Meal selection made, she opens up her laptop and gets out her tablet and begins syncing the two. She is /almost/ content to sit quietly and work, but that nagging question resurfaces in her mind. Where is all of that noise coming from? With her attention down, her mind sharpens one by one on the patrons in the dining room, assigning specific thoughts with their telepathic signatures. Finally, she gets to Hive and pauses, her mind marveling at his mess like an aficionado admiring the delicate weave of complicated tapestry. Physically, she looks up when the waitress returns to order tea and soup dumplings. Hive is still frowning at his phone, but it's the mind honing in on his that draws his attention. He doesn't look up, but the marvelling draws a cautious mental nudge back at Emma. Not prying, more like greeting. Or a chorus of greetings, his mental presence seeming more like multiple presences than like one. << And I thought I had a number of irons in the fire >> Emma's mental voice is quiet, for the time being, and devoid of personality. She keeps her presence as neutral as possible to start, pulling back from being invasive when the nudge comes. << Please, continue what you are doing. >> Her mind is buzzing over a couple different invite lists at first, but she puts them away and moves on to reading the news for current events, focusing more on stories that concern mutants. << I'll be glad when I can take them all out, >> Hive answers in a quiet mental grumble, although quietly beneath this is a soft hunger that gives lie to these words. It's a jumble, but it's one he craves, on some level. He puts his phone down on the table beside him, finally picking up his menu to begin the process of sorting what /he/ wants from what /everyone/ wants. << What are they saying about us today? >> << The usual. Menaces to society. Who cares if one does something really good, like saving people's lives. The Daily Bugle keeps hammering on the idea that rampant vigilante-ism will turn us into a slave state where humans have to admit they are inferior because they can't cope with disasters like people with super powers. >> Emma has a whole folder devoted to the Daily Bugle's rants on the mutant problem and vigilantes. << I actually like the ones about sewer monster mutants the best. >> Her tone, which begins to seep in with her sense of humor, is laced with how frivolous this amusement is. She can't use sewer monsters. << Sewer or not, we're all monsters, right? >> Hive answers in wry snarking, though underneath this there's an unconscious flux of images. Children stumbling out of cages dressed in scrubs, a skinny young man strapped to a table under operating lights, people being shot at as they run across a barren lawn. People in urban camo flocking in to get the cages /open/. He shoves these images back down beneath the general buzz of OtherPeople'sVoices. << Not out to help anyone but ourselves. The Daily Bugle can blow me. We can be a boon as much as a disaster. >> But even that is quiet acknowledgement that sometimes, maybe, it is disaster. << You have all of that in your mind and you think them any less monsters than we are? >> Emma is amused at Hive's answers directed at her, but is keenly interested in what he's squirreling away from her perception. << But yes. We are the 'other.' We are the monsters. So, fellow Monster, many headed Hydra, what should we do about it? >> The white clad woman looks up happily when her tea arrives with a small plate of peanuts to both stave off starvation and wet her appetite. << We think everyone's monsters. Or can be. Just takes the right incentive to bring it out. >> Hive finally orders, as his waitress arrives, hot pot with beef tongue, bamboo shoots, and bok choi, and a side of pork dumplings. His stomach is maybe rumbling at just the /thought/ of upcoming Food. << Do about it? >> His tone is flip, but again this surfaces images. Scalpels. Gunshots. Mutant refugees injured and being tended to on cots. Hive's mental commands guiding people to freedom. << What can we do about it? Fight back and prove to them we're the monsters. Give them something to be scared of. >> These don't come as genuine suggestions so much as further wry sarcasm. Maybe. There's fight layered somewhere beneath the flippancy, but it's quiet in the jumble. << I am judging the believeabilty of a pro-mutant public relations scheme - but your thoughts seem to indicate bringing it up is ridiculous. >> Emma receives her dumplings a little while after. Even as they arrive, she requests the dessert menu. Her laptop is closed up and set aside, with her open tablet on top, continuing to read as she pours herself tea and spreads her napkin across her lap. << What, like advertising. Mutants are people too. >> Hive sounds amused by this thought. He's picturing posters on the subway. Parents hugging their mutant children. Children hugging their mutant grandparents. << Couldn't hurt. Fuck knows we need some good PR. I mean, people are going to fear what they're told to fear. Might as well have someone telling them otherwise. >> << The trick is finding the mutant version of the PTA. Need good, upstanding mutants whose powers are innocuous enough be considered 'Mostly Harmless' by the general population - so they are palatable, but good enough representatives of the mutant population - well spoken, not 'yes' people to any given regime - genuine people. >> Emma breaks into one of her dumplings and soup pours out and gathers in the bowl under the delectable pastry. She spoons the dumpling with it's light broth into her mouth and chews thoughtfully. << But not the reluctant heroes. And certainly no victims. I can't have unpredictable people. Where does one find people like that? >> Faces float to mind. Flicker. Jackson. Eli (with a twinge of pain.) Jim. He shoves them back down irritably. << There's no such thing as people who aren't unpredictable, >> Hive says instead. << You should know better than anyone. You can look into someone's head and they'll still manage to surprise you. >> Emma considers the brief gallery of options Hive presents and stuffs them away in her mind for future reference. << Interesting how you don't volunteer yourself. >> She finishes off her first dumpling and moves on to her second, ordering a mango and a lychee sticky rice when the waitress walks by. << I shall have to have an ad campaign to launch an ad campaign. >> << You said the kind of mutants people think are palatable. Who the fuck is comfortable around telepaths? Even other mutants hate us. >> Hive reaches for his water, gulping a large mouthful down as the waiter comes with his dumplings, a bowl of broth set on his table's burner, plates of raw meat and veggies. << And how are you going to sell us? >> << Oh, I'd probably play into the population's rubbernecking curiousity first, give them a mutant they can know inside and out, journals, webcams, that sort of thing. Then, when people are comfortable, start throwing in a more politcal angle: What does Joe Mutant think of the current legislation against public mutant displays, the impending registration act. >> Emma considers lightly, very much not attached to any of these ideas, actually finding it troublesome, a side track to her other plans, but a means to an end. << It would end up just pro-mutant propaganda and would be railed against by conservatives and human supremicists, but the possibility of it doing some good might be worth it. >> << There's a possibility. Or a possibilty of getting your mutant reality TV star murdered. Got a friend who gets harassed daily for /saving/ the fucking Mayor. >> Hive stabs at his first dumpling with his chopsticks, irritably. << But, >> he allows reluctantly, << the right face, it might do some good. Bit heavy-handed though. Webcams and all. I'd rather just stick us in places we can do some good directly. >> MUTANT PRESIDENT. Well. This surfaces with a bubble of amusement. Maaaybe start with city council. Work their way up. << I don't suppose I could pay you to get this started, could I? >> Emma finds the whole idea of hiring someone sight unseen to begin managing this Mutant Publicity Program. The telepath connection could be untraceable and thereby never leading back to her or her employer. << By the way, part of your friend's problem is that he doesn't want the spotlight. He's basically playing hard to get with the most notorious players of the attention game. I don't really blame him, but the spotlight does offer some protection. You just lose all of your privacy to it. That is not everyone's cup of tea. >> Emma remembers her tea and drinks it even though it has gone cold. << Me? Hhhah, you don't want us doing publicity, >> Hive says, not seeming to notice the switch from singular to plural pronouns, << I mean, I'm the shittiest PR person, I just say fuck a lot. I'm an architect, I don't know fuckall about handling media. >> Though underneath he is entertaining the idea. Maybe not webcams. Just /palatable/ mutants nudged into strategically visible positions. << Oh well, I had to ask, didn't I? >> Emma just needs palatable mutants to push into political positions. After her light meal, she moves onto the desserts with great relish. << It's easy enough to encourage younger people to publicize themselves. Middle age, middle class individuals are harder. >> She opens her tablet and starts filtering through youtube, trying to see what is already out there. She uses a headset from her bag so as not to disturb the restaurant. << Middle age, middle class individuals are also stodgier. Probably want to appeal to the people who'll actually give a fuck about a nice pretty face in the news and chip away at the rest from some other angle. >> Hive is working his way slowly through his food, watching the broth bubble around the meat with apparent great interest. << What's your end goal, here? I mean, maybe you want to change the world. What're you changing it /to/? >> << I don't know. I just thought of it this afternoon. >> Emma is at least honest about this. She flips through page after page of videos, reading summaries and listening to short clips before moving on again. << I don't know if I care if they are likable and pretty. I think I'm more going for a father or mother figure to dispense with the mess left behind from the Liberty Island incident. Someone who says, 'all this mutant news is hype. Mutants have been around for a while and didn't blow up the planet. It's going to be okay if the younger generations finally decide to be open about it. >> Through this, another image surfaces in Hive's mind; a dragon, spewing a green cloud of gas out of its mouth. Melting away steel doors. Melting away flesh. His lips twitch up wryly and he focuses his attention intently on his soup and dumplings. << Someone trustworthy, >> he agrees evenly as this image fades away, << to sell your pretty lies. Could work. At least a little. >> Emma counters the image of a dragon with that of a yellow eyed demon living in the subconscious of someone that is very well known to be rich and extremely powerful. She doesn't give details, but lets those eyes stare at Hive the same way they stared at her, grasping and seeking, wishing to devour. << I'm not an optimist. I do know there are monsters in this world. But it's hardly useful to focus on them all the time. If pretty lies work at all, it's for the better. >> The minds joined with Hive's recoil from the eyes, shrinking back further into his head. Hive, though, presses forward, his own mental pressure bearing down with a touch that for a moment seems almost hungry, too. Not quite so predatory. More curious. << There's monsters in everyone. Just gotta figure out how to dress them up nice. >> << Ah ah ah, >> Emma chides as she slips that image back down under a shield, locking it out of Hive's immediate access. << Few monsters have that face. But generally, I agree with you. >> She is then distracted by a news story - an update on the missing girl. She's reviewing the information, then taps into the Associated Press directly to see what other photos are available, but haven't been chosen to go with the story. One causes her to gasp. Mummified? The gasp distracts Hive from the previous topic. There's another curious /press/, at the sound, Hive nudging over to try and see what Emma is looking at. << Mummified? >> It's not alarmed so much as a little puzzled. << What, who? >> Emma offers Hive a glimpse of the news article she's reading. << Something sucked the blood from a child and left his body mummified. >> She doesn't leave the image or the article for long, but lets Hive get enough of a look at the title to help him find it later. Hive frowns deep, at the shared images, and soon he's reaching for his phone with his free hand to take it, open a browser, look up the news. His frown deepens. << Sucked the blood -- >> This calls to mind images, too, a blood-armored monster grabbing bodies to suck them dry. Hive /shoves/ this image back, grabbing his wallet to tug money out, leave enough for the food plus a hefty tip on the table, more out of hurry than out of any great generosity. He gulps down an additional few bites of food, standing hastily with an inadvertent, << shitshitshit >> Emma's mind curls around the information she absorbs from Hive and processes it quietly. So that is what that thing looks like. Grotesque. << Intrepid heroes, >> she shakes her head as she remains where she is, quietly enjoying her dessert as she continues to surf news stories. << Please don't get yourself killed. >> There's a desire to help out underneath the message to survive, but what good could she do. They already have a telepath. << Ohhh, we've had enough near-death for one week, >> is Hive's parting grumble. He rather messily just grabs his remaining two dumplings. In his hand. And bolts out the door with his continued cursing fading away as he leaves.