2019-10-27 - Confirmation


Anon comes to Hank McCoy for a certain diagnosies.

Log Info:

Storyteller: None
Date: Sun Oct 27 00:04:53 2019
Location: Rooftop Garden

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Due to timing is has been a few days before Hank and Anon could coordinate a meeting to determine once and for all if she's in fact a Mutant. Today finds Hank present and in a custom tailored suit sporting Nehru collars. The jacket is indigo brushed silk, the shirt sheer white cotton with hematite beads, and massive size twenty black shoes. At wrist is a brushed steel watch, and he's wearing reading glasses as he stands in the middle of the roof fiddling with a small tablet.

Hank's been here a while, he tends toward being early when he has his druthers.

The timing has been just as bad for Anon: she's had all manner of other demands on her time, not that she's gone into any detail about it. She's just let Hank know that a given time is 'bad'. But they've finally narrowed down a time, and she's there.

There are perfectly good stairs right there, but instead, she races up the wall, her passage giving an extra spin to the wind turbines. She's dressed as Beast saw before: golden, hooded leotard; yellow mask; and shoes. Running around seems to keep her warm enough even in late October, and sleek aerodynamism is what she most needs.

"Am I late?" she asks, coming up to Hank. "And… you have the thing with you?" Right into business. She's nervous enough about this that her stomach feels like it's doing a gymnastics routine, and not a good one. She's going to finally confirm whether she's a 'mutie'.

Hank looks up at the flashy entrance - literally a golden flash and POOF - there she is. He quirks a brow but makes no other commentary as he sees the young lady, offering her a welcoming smile that shows a bit of fang inadvertently. "Hello, Anon." A shake of his head. "No, you're not late, I was early, was chatting with the owner downstairs for a bit." He nods towards a small table, on which is some fresh lemonade complete with slices of lemons floating on top. "Thirsty?"

A soft laugh. "Yes, I have the 'thing', mini-cerebro, right here." The tablet is raised.

Anon considers the lemonade. So much more a summer drink, but her exertion heat makes up the difference. "Thanks," she murmurs as she downs a glass, then lets out a soft, refreshed sigh. Her hands fidget in front of her as she eyes the tablet. "What's a Cerebro?" she asks. "And… how does this work? Do you need a tissue sample, a hair, or…?"

Hank is kind of oblivious to the cold, there's a brisk breeze yet he looks quite comfortable despite it. "Of course." Hank moves over towards the girl, and then shakes his head. "I'd only need a tissue sample if you wanted a complete genetic scan and biological makeup, Anon. I /can/ do so, if you wish it, but for a simple binary mutant/non-mutant determination? Mini-Cerebro will do fine." He smiles. "And Cerebro is a much more advanced unit, with a considerably greater range. This handheld has a range of only about 9 meters, or 30 feet if you'd rather." A reassuring smile. "So…non-invasive, as promised. Shall we find out if you are or are not a mutant like myself?"

Anon's eyebrows lift, and she stares at that little tablet. So innocuous a device, and it can reveal her innermost secret. Would she even know if she was being scanned? How many people might already know — and not just about Anon, but about that side of her that keeps it hidden? She takes a deep, steadying breath, nodding her head. She stands up straight, as calm as she can manage. "A-Alright. Hit it?"

"Consider it hit, miss." Hank moves over to stand next to Anon, and shows her the screen as he punches up the scan. It literally sends out a series of pulses, akin to radar or sonar blips, mapping the terrain and 'pinging' off them both. Hank's ping even has his name over the green ringed dot 'Henry McCoy, aka Beast'. Anon's just shows 'Female, Positive' as there's no corresponding entry into the database, though…there is a blank spot under, with a flashing cursor. Her looks up to her. "May I add you to my records?"

Anon's eyes widen. It really is that easy, and she didn't feel anything. She takes a few steps back, her breath coming anxiety-fast while her hands wring. Sometimes squeezing each other, sometimes clenching into independent fists, sometimes pulling at her clothes or adjusting her mask. "I-It's that easy," she mumbles under her breath. "Who sees those records? What are they for?"

"I study mutation and mutancy, Anon. I'm one of the world's foremost experts on our kind, as part of that I have a secure database of names, studies done, and signatures on file. I will /not/ add your alias if you don't wish me to, further, I'll wipe the memory on this device and won't upload them to the database." A slow nod, he can't help but see the anxiety the girl emanates. "It is really that easy — IF you know what I know, and have the tech to build it, and this tech has /not/ been shared with anyone else. Trust me, there's very VERY /very/ little chance anyone else has the means, though I cannot rule out someone having made a similar device in parallel."

That does let Anon breathe a little easier. So it's not like any person on the street could know that Anon — or more to the point Celerity — is a mutant. She nods, her eyes closing as she just holds her hands together. "Good. Good. And um… just put Anon in, then. It's not like it's a big surprise that little miss supersonic speed is a mutant, right? And it's not like the bigots in the world would care if I'm officially a mutant, or if I'm just generally… super, one way or another." She sighs, nodding once more. "Alright. Thank you, Doctor. At least now I know, right?"

Hank taps the screen, then types 'Anon' in. A smile over the slender golden-clad girl. "Mind if I input 'Speedster', as well?" If she permits, he does so, if she does not, well, he does not. Not like HE won't remember, but that does mean the database entry will be more ANONymous, as it were.

A broad grin at her thinks. "And knowing is half the battle." Did this burly, intimidatingly large, urbane gentleman scientist just make a G.I. Joe comment? By the tenor of his grin - that seems likely.

Anon considers the question, chewing her lip… and shakes her head. "Better not. The code name's in there, and you know what I can do, so if it's just for your use…" She doesn't know how that'll impact the way he actually uses the database, and now any queries to do with speedsters will have to manually add 'and also Anon'. That's the opposite of the kind of privacy she thinks she's making, but she's not exactly the computer-est of people.

She half-smiles. "I'm pretty sure 'running around punching things' accounts for more than half." She lets out a breath. "So… if that's all, I should go." There's never enough time in the day.

"Fair enough." Hank says without even a hint of rancor or disappointment. He really IS a very ethical man, he met with Anon in good faith, and he's going to keep things on that level. "You have my card, correct?" If she does not, he provides one. "Any of those numbers can reach me any time of day or night, if you need assistance, or just want to talk or have questions - call me." A self-mocking grin. "I generally keep some odd hours, so don't hesitate." Clearly, yeah, not enough hours in the day.

Anon nods. "Yeah, I have the card. I'll keep that in mind, if I have other mutant questions. Or just something that could benefit from a big strong man with a big strong brain. And, you have my burner number for if you need someone speedy?" Though the Institute does already have Velocity.

"Well then, I will keep you in mind should we need your assistance. Sort of a 'Speedster On-Call', as it were." Hank laughs softly, a deep basso rumbling. "Good thing you tend to have such rapid response times, have you ever considered getting a job as a delivery service?" Which might give Anon pause, but…no…it was just an innocent suggestion, meant as humor.

It's also simply a logical response. If you're a speedster, you get a job in the industry where speed is everything. Anon keeps her face straight as she answers, "Taxis pay more, but I don't even know what kind of licensing would be needed for running people place to place. I'll see you later, Doctor McCoy."

With that, she's gone, blurring her way down the building's wall.

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