ArchivedLogs:Unhoned

Unhoned
Dramatis Personae Hive, Selene	2013-12-28 '
Location <NYC> Lower East Side
Historically characterized by crime and immigrant families crammed into cramped tenement buildings, the Lower East Side is often identified with its working-class roots. Today, it plays host to many of New York's mutant poor, although even here they are still often forced into hiding. It's growing late in the evening, and the streets of the Lower East Side are dark, lit yellow and neon by streetlamps and shop window signs. Hive adds a small pinpoint glow of red to this, the cherry of a cigarette fresh-lit and held in bony long fingers. It's pleasant enough for winter in New York today, so he's not particularly heavily dressed. Threadbare canvas jacket, faded old jeans, battered sneakers held together by duct tape. At the moment he's leaving the doors of the Mendel Clinic, the distinctive building often mobbed with protesters but quiet outside this late in the day. He pulls his cellphone out of his pocket, thumbing through the screen -- property listings for real estate for sale in the neighborhood. In posture and expression he looks half-aware, shoulders slouched, steps scuffing as he walks, eyes half-lidded. His /mind/ is more alert than the rest of him lets on, habitually filtering through the thoughts around him. Passing through the neighborhood, routinely scanning people as Selene walks by them, she spots Hive, scanning onto him. Dressed in her black peacoat, trousers, and furry boots, Selene screams 'wealthy' in her mannerisms and dress. If Hive tried to scan her back, he'd notice a very powerful barrier pushing him back, defending her mind from prying. Approaching Hive's area, she grins, trying to pull basic information, name, age, occupation, off him. Selene notices something off about him, and stops in her tracks, not moving, just standing there, staring at him. Hive makes a scrubby two-inches-from-homeless counterpart to Selene's expensive attire. His surface thoughts are a mire of twisted-up unhappiness when scanned, a sick fretting worry buried under a steadier determination. He's easy enough to pry at, at first. Hive. Architect -- even easier to divulge given that his thoughts as he browses property listings are strongly geared towards what places would be easiest for him to tear up and entirely redesign. And that the sleek crystalline glass-and-steel building he's just left was his own design. It gets less easy to pry a moment later, when mental prying is answered with a reflexive razor-sharp /bristling/, sharp mental claws reaching out with a strange underlying /hunger/ to them to latch to the mind that pokes at him. Not so much prying as just lashing out. When Hive speaks, his mental voice is similar -- a knife-sharp /stab/ that slices acutely painful rather than simple pleasant conversation. << Fuck. Off. >> Selene allows the voice in, her own mental voice stabbing back, like a shark lunging for prey. Her shields loosen, not enough for digging, but enough for communication. << Oh dear, a rival. Though, your shielding's a bit weak, Mr. Hive. Architecture? Hmm, fascinating. Might need to hire you sometime. >>. Selene tries prying for an address, though this is harder than a name or occupation usually. She approaches Hive closer, much more interested in him than before, a grin coming over her face. << Nice work on the clinic, by the way. Quite amazing. >> Hive's mind tightens up, walling off harder than before; it's still possible to poke through with some effort but doing so now, while it might net information, will also net a painful /stab/ of mental energy. << I said fuck off. >> It's unpleasant again, not out of any aggression but simply /because/ Hive's mental voice comes with too much raw power to /hone/; it doesn't speak so much as /bludgeon/ its way into his unfortunate conversation partners' minds. His shoulders tense up. He stops walking, pausing under a streetlamp to take a long drag of his cigarette. << Yeah. My work's the shit. What do /you/ need built? >> << Heh. I don't do what others tell me to do. >>. Selene's withdrawing her prying, sticking to communication as she grins. << An office, perhaps. I'm trying to start up business here, grab partners, the like. My name is Selene Gallio, perhaps you've heard of me? >>. Selene's making a risky move, but the way she sees it, the only way to prove she's a mutant is for Hive to reveal himself to be one, and even then that's not enough evidence. Besides, business is business. << Your mind hurts, by the way. Like I said, you need to hone your powers better. >> << Office. What kind of business. >> Hive's voice doesn't really /mellow/, but some of its edges blunt. Slightly. It's the best he can do, still painful but at least a clear /attempt/ to be less terrible. << Should I have heard of you? >> He leans back against the light post, dropping his hand to his side. His forefinger taps ash slowly from the end of his smoke. << Hard to sharpen a sledgehammer. >> << Real Estate. >>. Although this is a lie, Selene not having decided exactly what she's going to do, her mind presents it in a trustworthy matter, calm and collective. Her mind is still locked enough to prevent Hive from realizing this lie telepathically, and her face is pretty calm, smiling. << Well, depends on how much you know about Europe. Wealthy heiress, reclaimed the Gallio fortune long unused. Came from France, to here, to set up shop. >>. When Hive refers to his mind as a sledgehammer, she grins. << Just requires the right touch. >>. << {From France?} >> Hive slips into French with ease, though his accent here is distinctly Quebec and not France. << {Don't pay much attention to European -- heiresses.} >> He sunds amused at this title. << {I like people who make their own way.} >> Instead of responding first, a mental image of a phone number is transferred to Hive, along with a schedule of when to call. Selene also swaps into French, an accent straight from France itself. << {Italian in heritage. Born in Rouen, however.} >>. She turns on her way, grinning. << {Oh, I've made my own way, alright. More than most people, that's for sure.} >>. She then begins to walk off, taking any mental messages Hive sends back with her.