Summary:Isis is tasked to go and locate a new mutant. This could be a bad idea Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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It's just after lunchtime on Monday and the crowd at Haley's Icecreamery is just dying down. It's nice place, the few tables that are there might be plastic but they're clean - which is something. The range of icecream available is astounding as well.
It's here that Allison Crestmere finds herself when the bell on the door jangles and a woman of middling height walks in.
That woman causes the few conversations to falter and draws nearly everyone eyes and it's not because her clothes hang from her frame. It's the feline-like features of her face and the cats ears that peak through her hair. The more mutanty mutants just aren't common in New York proper and her presence is causing a stir.
Well, it is, until a wave of calming emotion washes over those presence relaxing most of the patrons - visibly.
Allison's an otherwise unremarkable young woman.
Blonde? Check. Skinny? Check. T-shirt and jeans? Check. Sneakers? Check. So, she's pretty much like every wannabe-New-York model, of which there are plenty. Getting ice cream? Eh, maybe not exactly what models do, sure, but — oh well. To each their own. Also? Her hands don't look particularly delicate; to the contrary, she looks as if she works with them often.
Her attention is drawn to Isis.
There's a pause. She doesn't appear afraid or preturbed, but openly-mutant mutants aren't common in this part of town. Allison blinks, and then looks at the people around her; surely, she notices how they seem shocked, and then become calmly tolerant. That's odd, but oddness is part of being a mutant.
Which Isis'd know Allison is, from her description.
Isis scans the parlour as people start to relax, her cats ears tilted forward as she does. Her features, are human for the most part - just sharper and more defined, giving her that feline-like caste to her face.
It's not the counter that Isis heads to when she finishes that scan. Her grey/blue eyes fix on Allison and she stalks towards to her.
"Hello. I've been sent to find you." She says. It's simple and straight forward, no ire or anger, just a soft tone that is almost a purr. It just lacks a certain feeling of "polite company". She doesn't wait to be invited, just pulls out a chair and sits opposite the woman.
And no. The feline-like mutant doesn't introduce herself.
That seems to be all right.
Seems. Allison isn't difficult to read. She seems to have suffered some sort of trauma: the sort that doesn't make you care much about living or dying. She's cautious: the sort of cautious that comes with keeping a dangerous secret. If she's a mutant — Professor Xavier doesn't make mistakes — then she's one that keeps that part of herself in the darkness.
Which isn't easy these days.
"You have?" Allison's brows furrow. "I — why?" One brow stays up; the other stays down. And then, she frowns. "Who's looking for me?" And then, the caution flares up into something defensive. The blonde manages, outwardly, to keep composure. She even spoons some ice cream into her mouth, absently.
But the hackles are up.
Isis folds her hands on the tabletop and eyes the ice cream that Allison is eating. From one fingernail, a claw extends and the feline-like mutants hand twitches - like she might want to hook the tub towards her. She doesn't though.
The wave of cautious and defensive emotion from Allison gets Isis detached attention. Without thinking, she tries to calm the woman … reassuring and warm comes the return emotion.
"Professor Xavier. You won't have heard of him. He runs a school though for people like you and me." Her tone is low, no one will hear her over the general hum of conversation around them - even if she's still getting a few glances from others. "He found you. Sent me to get you."
Honestly. Charles could have done better than send Isis but she was the one who was available to do this.
"What's your name?"
The blonde still seems suspicious.
There's something about Allison that's different than most. Something hard and strong. Hot. A temper? Something more than that. But cats are cats, even feral ones. You cannot resist a cat. There's really no point to it. It takes a few more moments than usual, but the blonde's will bends, and her defensiveness wanes. "Allison." Beat. "Allison Crestmere."
She eats another spoonful of ice cream.
"How did he find me?" Not that Allison really hides her nature, but it's not apparent either. "Has he been tracking me?" It doesn't sound like the blonde knows anything about the Professor or his school. Or what he does for mutants. "And why would he be looking for me in particular?"
A lot of questions: she has them.
The empathetic broadcast continues, washing over Allison though Isis doesn't seem to be aware that she's doing it. The temper seems to amuse the feline-like mutant more than anything though she's rather intent on the icecream.
"Allison. I'm Isis." The slitted eyes follow the spoon from the tub to her mouth.
The questions get an almost indifferent shrug. "He has a … thing … that helps his telepathy find others like us. I guess you can say he was tracking you, once he found you."
The last question gets a feline smile "The Professor. He looks after people like us. A place we can be safe." The cats eyes slide over the parlour, indicating the others who are watching them.
"I see."
Allison's mind races. She's thinking about things; lots of things. When she's done, she looks at Isis for a couple of seconds in silence before speaking. "And now that he's found me, he wants me to come with you to meet him or something?" Beat. "What if I don't agree to the terms he plans to propose?" Because, apparently, she believes this is some sort of agreement or deal or something.
Silly blonde.
Allison is in for a surprise. She certainly does have a choice.
Isis smiles, the gesture showing the elongated canines … errr, whatever they're called on a cat. "That would be ideal, if you came with me but you don't have to. There are others I will introduce you to before you get to the school."
"Are you going to finish that?" She indicates the icecream. Nick would be so proud of her, for asking. "If you don't agree, anything I've said about the school will be erased from your memory and we'll leave you alone. It's not a prison. It's somewhere safe and we want to keep it like that."
"What do you do?"
"I serve and cook."
That's probably not what Isis meant to ask about. Or maybe it was. "So, if I don't agree to come, you will wander into my noggin, and pluck this event from me?" Beat. "Just like that? No regard whatsoever for the person?" That thought doesn't seem to set well with Allison. Something about poking in the brain makes her again suspicious. "Right awful offer, if you ask me. Like offering a choice of pills." She sticks her spoon into what's left of her dessert, and pushes the remainder over disconsolately.
She draws in a breath through her nose.
"But what have I to lose?" Shrug. "I suppose there's no harm in seeing this school of this professor's." Allison crosses her arms over her chest. "And I suppose if he — " She looks around the parlour for a moment. " — if he truly means well, then I suppose that I may learn something about myself." Beat. "And I suppose that isn't a bad thing at all."
"So, I could come back to the city and see my friends?"
"I'm not a telepath. I walk in Dreams." Isis answers simply, clearly that's what she considers her primary ability to be. She cants her head at the answer she was given. "And no. All I've told you is there's a school but if you choose to go further, you know the limits."
"Bad deal or not, I'm not forcing you. Others might try to talk to you later but no one is going to force you."
The icecream tub is snagged with the extended claw and drawn closer. Isis taking the spoon and eating it - no regard for germ sharing and all that.
The last question gets a chuff of feline amusement. "It's not a prison. Look at me. I don't go to the school anymore and I live in Mutant Town. They didn't try to stop me. If anything, they helped me."
Again, Allison seems to get comfortable and relaxed.
"Okay." She looks around again. "Did you want me to come with you now, Isis?" She leans forward a little, onto the table. "Or should I pack anything? I guess — " Beat. " — I could go with you now, come back and get my things, yeah?" Which would be a reasonable plan. "Not that I've much to bring with me." Another beat. "I suppose a quick visit'd be in order, then. Make some decisions after."
She seems to have settled her own mind.
"I, ah — " Shrug. " — I guess you could say that I have a thing for fire." Beat. "It's hard to describe, I guess. I don't understand what happened to me fully. What I do know is that, whatever I've become, I have to be careful about it. It tends — well, it tends to be more destructive than is good for a city like New York." Whatever that means. "So, if this professor can show me more about it, more about what I can do to control it — "
Shrug.
Isis seems intent on the ice cream, the way felines get, and doesn't seem to be paying much attention to Allison. Until she raises those blue/grey slitted eyes again and catches the other mutants gaze.
"Come meet others tomorrow …" she rummages in the pocket over her overlarge hoodie and slides a card across to the Allison. "… here. Bring your stuff if you want or not. They'll work it out once they've met you."
The card is a business card for Paragon Investigations down in Brooklyn. It has her name on it. Isis Marik, consultant.
"Fire is cool. Hard to control, I imagine. They found me in a laboratory and had to … teach me how to be um not be cat."
How bad must she have been, given what she's like now?
"It will be work, Allison. Not easy. But the Professor and the others, they're good."
There's such a resolute feeling to that, like it's Isis' bedrock. Can Allison do anything more than believe it?
The blonde looks over the card, and then slips it into her pocket.
"All right. I'll be there tomorrow." Paragon Investigations. She smiles very briefly. It's more like a barely-curved, hard-pressed line on her face. "I'll try to keep an open mind." She doesn't say anything more about her powers. Some things are just better shown than described. "And I'm not afraid of a little work. Regular dogsbody, I am."
And so, the date is set.
The feline-like mutant just nods to Allison and takes up the unfinished icecream tub. "Tomorrow then."
That's all she says as she turns and walks out the parlour. Ignoring all the looks she gets.
Feline is feline, after all.