Nikolai had to admit that while he spent most of his time working in one way or another, there were places in New York City in general he liked to visit. Places away from the small Russian community he spent most of his off time with yet not quite so surrounded by noise to make him feel like he was going deaf just by being outside. Central Park, while not exactly quiet was certainly better than the main streets and if he went far enough in he could even pretend he was far from the city for a little while. Perhaps he could leave to go camping sometime. While he preferred being near the sea, any time away from the city and the trials that came with it might do him some good, he thought.


So he found a quiet spot in Central Park to settle away from where people were playing with dogs and families were playing catch if only to avoid getting hit with something while he relaxed and tried to do something different today. He was not the type to meditate but perhaps a short nap in the sun? It was not an especially cold day and he had a small tarp to go underneath him while he snoozed to avoid letting his clothes get soaked through. American winters were not as bad as those back home but cold was still cold and he could get sick just like any other man in the city if he wasn’t paying attention. He learned that one the hard way last year after a reckless run one morning in shorts and a t-shirt in this weather.


With the spot decided Nikolai shifted the snow in the area around to make sure he wouldn’t be lying on ice or rocks and lay the tarp down carefully. He had made sure to arrange some of the snow to act as a pillow of sorts underneath it. It was a trick he had heard one of his Brothers advice when he told them about where he was going if only to make sure they didn’t panic when he wasn’t where they expected him to be. If he made this kind of visit away from the neighborhood more regular, he was hoping they wouldn’t notice if he had to be gone for longer periods of time while doing some other work for some other people around the city… people he would not dare to name.


The tarp in place and the sun making a blanket all on its own as its warmth seeped into the jacket and scarf he wore, Nikolai settled on the tarp on his back, his long legs stretched out so his snow soaked boots stayed off the edges but the rest of him stayed off the cold ground. It wasn’t the most comfortable way to do this, he was sure a hammock might have done better, but hammocks were a summer thing and with the trees bare and brittle he doubted he would find one with long enough or sturdy enough branches to hold him. He was far from disillusioned about that part. Sometimes he hated being so tall. Other times… well. In his occupation, his size alone made things easier to deal with. Few people would pick a fight with a guy taller than them by half a foot.


As soon as he was settled as comfortable as he could be, the Russian man sighed and shifted his hat so it was angled over his face to cover his eyes. He didn’t bother with music to listen to. He may not be here on behalf of the Family but that didn’t mean one of the other Families would not take advantage of him being away from them and try to make an example of him. He needed to hear them coming even if he was unarmed and thus couldn’t very well stand up to them if they had anything more than a knife with them. He wished he wouldn’t have to worry about such things but he was who he was. He could try all he wanted but he couldn’t change his place in world. The sooner he accept it, the better.


Nikolai had just started to doze off when he did indeed hear footsteps approaching, footsteps he didn’t recognize. He might have twitched when he heard them but with his hands folded over his abdomen (his shaky left hand under his right) he wasn’t sure if they would have noticed. So he kept very still and just listened, waiting to hear what this person, whomever they may be, had to say. He really hoped it wasn’t some old lady coming to lecture him about sleeping in the cold. There was only so much nagging he could deal with.

A blonde man with curly hair and tired-looking eyes stared down at someone in his spot. He was homeless, the kind of homeless that showed. Not just old clothes that were worn, and rough-looking shoes, but something else. A slightly-haunted, slightly hunted look about them, a slight nervousness, and hygiene suitable for someone with varied access to a shower. He wore ripped blue jeans, battered white tennis shoes, and a stained blue parka that had seen some stuff.

"You're in my spot." He frowned. Blue eyes narrowed at the Russian. "This is where I always sit. Stepped away for half an hour, to get a hotdog, and--" His words were hurried, frantic. There wasn't something quite right upstairs. It was tragic that things like this happened. That people lost their homes and livelihood in the economy, and didn't know where to turn. Shelters helped some, but sometimes... sometimes, the people that were homeless had mental disorders that they weren't able to get help for. Not all homeless people are homeless due to actions or inactions on their own part. Some people just need help. And don't get it. And will never get it, because they don't know what help they need.

A passing skateboarder bumped into the blonde man, knocking him to the side. The teenager cursed at the man for being in his way. Did not stop. Did not apologize. The homeless man was starting to look angry.

A green man, not too far away, stuffed his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. From where he stood, he could hear the confrontation. People in the city can be cruel, and some things never change. He had lived on the streets, with his gang. He knew how homeless people lived. Something as simple as a spot on the ground could be important. And some people did things to make sure nobody stole this one thing from them. When you have nothing, you have nothing to lose.

Elliott wasn't a good person. He had lied, and stolen, and killed, and was planning to keep doing so. The money was too good. But now and again, despite his paranoia and unease with opening himself up to people, and letting himself get let down or betrayed, he gave back. If you've seen things firsthand, and improved yourself, why wouldn't you want to help the people a little, if you could?

The green man's antennae twitched as he walked towards the two men. He pulled out some loose dollars, and got the blonde man's attention. "Hey, buddy." He held out the handful of money. "How about you go get yourself something warm. I'll handle this guy. Come back in fifteen minutes, and you'll have your spot." He smiled a zipper-toothed smile. The man took the money, grumbling, but thanking him all the same. Then, he left. Elliott turned back to the man on the ground. "Hey, sorry. When you've got nothing but the clothes on your back, something as small as a patch of grass can be important. Can we take this somewhere else? I'll make it up to you. I just hate seeing people fight when it can be avoided. Even if it might be a little fun to watch."

When the approaching footsteps got close enough for the man to start talking, Nikolai had a hard time understanding the man’s words. He spoke quickly and erratically, more so than he was used to hearing. But the accent wasn’t foreign. It was definitely an American speaking, especially if the curse words he used were any indication. He sighed to himself as he slowly moved to sit up, adjusting the hat on his head so that it sat properly. He took a second to rub the half asleep state from his eyes while some other conversation was happening and took a look around.

The man that had spoken was talking to… someone else? Someone green? Well, it took all types but didn’t think there could be mutants than looked quite so… alien.
The thin man in the ragged clothes, the one that spoke too erratically for Nikolai to understand properly, was handed some money and gently sent on his way. He got to his feet as the one he knew to be a mutant spoke to him. So the man was homeless and this was his spot? Odd. He would have thought the man would choose a tree or somewhere he could use more easily as a shelter rather than somewhere out in the open. Unless it was the spot he used to beg at but Nikolai had chosen it to be away from others enough that he could sleep. Well, clearly not all was well with him if the way he had been speaking was any indicator. Perhaps the spot had some kind of significance to him and his life from before.

The mutant though… his English was clear. “Izvinite za bespokoystvo,” he said then blinked when he realized he hadn’t answered in English. “Um… Sorry to bother you. I did not know this space was special to someone. It seemed like a good place to sleep in the sun.” He barely managed to get the “th” to sound like a “t” this time. He was getting better but not good enough to completely erase the accent. Damn it. At least he was more understandable than when he first moved to America. He lifted his hat long enough to run his hand through his hair as he looked back to the tarp he had brought. He had another at home if he really wanted to try to sleep out here again but perhaps he would be better off sleeping in the backyard of his own home. It wouldn’t be quite the same escape but it was as close as he could get without making the same mistake again.

But there was something else the man said. The fight, if it had happened, would have been fun to watch. Why? Because it would have been so obviously one sided? That wouldn’t be a proper fight. A scrap maybe that might have only lasted a few moments but not a proper fight. Nikolai hadn’t gotten a good sizing of the malnourished insane man but he was fairly certain he was taller and heavier at least and could probably take a hit better. Scratch that. He knew he could take a hit better.

“I do not think we would have fought though,” he added after a moment or two, “if he spoke more slowly I might have understood him and moved. His words were too fast.” Not for his partially asleep Russian brain to comprehend. “It is fine. I will go back. No point in staying here. Everywhere in this place is taken today.” Although he might have liked to learn more about this unusual looking mutant he wasn’t entirely sure he could without one of Sergey’s eyes and ears reporting back that his favored thug was seen talking to an outsider “animal” as Sergey liked to call them like it was just another person. Just because he didn’t see any of them around now didn’t mean they weren’t nearby. In his line of work paranoia was as helpful as it was a hindrance.

He spoke... Russian. And then corrected himself. Elliott nodded slowly in understanding. "Yeah. It would have been good." He agreed. If only the homeless man hadn't overreacted.

The man was thoughtful for a moment, then spoke some more. He didn't think they would have fought, it was just that the man spoke quickly. Yes. It was entirely likely he was speaking fast for a very good reason that was not coffee. Elliott bobbed his head politely by way of agreement.

... and then the Russian decided it was time for him to go. "Well. I mean. There's no reason you have to leave. There are plenty of benches and grass that isn't taken. Or you could go get a hot dog." Did he have something against HIM? Or was he just frustrated his nap had been interrupted? Strange behavior, all around. "I mean, I can leave you alone if I'm bothering you." He grimaced.

There was plenty of space but it was so close to the other families that Nikolai felt he might be intruding and the benches were too short for a man of his size to lay across them. Still he was a little hungry and despite living in New York as long as he had he hadn’t had what American’s called a “proper” New York hot dog yet. He had heard a lot of horrifying tales about them but he was fairly certain most of those tales were made up if only to try to keep him within the confines of the community where some of the middle aged women that liked to dote on him kept trying to set him up (unsuccessfully) with their daughters. Or flirt with him themselves. He was never sure which he was less comfortable with.

Which was all the more reason to stay out here, away from the Beach and the women his mother’s age and their creepy words. He’d much rather spend his time with…whoever this man was. Even as strange as he looked he was at least a straight forward person when he spoke. He only wished more people spoke clearly though perhaps those were not the right words to describe it. “You are not bothering me,” he said, finally able to get enough of his accent smothered to sound almost American. It was a skill he had been working on for some time. He still needed to get the speech patterns though. “I had just thought to take a nap in the sun. I should have considered more carefully where to lay my tarp.

“You suggest I go get a hot dog? Where from? I am not familiar with this part of the city. Do you have a suggestion of somewhere?”

The man decided he was okay, and didn't need to leave or be sent away. For a moment, Elliott had thought the man had something against him, personally. Or against mutants... something he was not, but there was no time to get into that. That simply complicated things. Yet now, the Russian was okay. His accent had smoothed a bit, as well.

Hot dogs, he could talk about. Hot dogs, he knew. He had been in New York long enough that Elliott knew which stands were good, and which to avoid. There were even some famous dog places, but they weren't near enough to eat there.

"There's a stand not too far from here where they make a decent meal," Elliott told him. "I can buy you a hot dog. To make up for the whole 'chasing you away from your spot' thing. People call me Ell." Such kindness was kind of unlike him, but then, he was trying to be more open. Less paranoid. And this guy seemed like he was new in town. It was highly unlikely he had any connections to the Russian mob.

Elliott would have felt a little strange, buying a hot dog for someone connected to the Russians, seeing as he had set them up to fight rival gangs in the city with some clever actions for Ragnarok.... and if they ever learned about that, likely, they would take it personally. No, this Russian man was simply a nice guy in the city, looking to take a nap in the sun. And he could buy him a hot dog to make up for inconveniencing him and ruining that nap.

“You did not chase me away but I do appreciate the gesture regardless,” Nikolai said and offered the man his hand. “I am called Nikolai. Or Nick in the American English.” They seemed to like shortening his name ever more for some odd reason. It was an odd phenomenon but not one he thought he could understand any time soon. Something like giving someone a diminutive for their name as a sign of familiarity? Friendliness? But it’s an unspoken acceptance thing too? He really wished Americans came with a rule book of some kind. “It is a pleasure to meet you Mister Ell.”

He followed the man who led the way, keeping an eye on their surroundings in the meantime. The families were settling for picnics of some kind and some of the dogs were starting to slow down in their games with each other. It was about time in his opinion but he knew he was raised very differently from most people here. If he had his way he’d likely still be a fisherman in Russia, perhaps in one of the smaller coastal towns, far away from the cities and the men of power who would use him for their twisted schemes.

But there was one thing he noticed about the people gathered in the park, or rather what he thought he saw. They all looked human. If they were mutants they were the type that were easily hidden amongst the normal humans. Was there a separate part of the park for those with more obvious physical traits? Or were they outright forbidden from coming here? He didn’t remember a sign for it and if they were forbidden then his new acquaintance wouldn’t have been permitted inside without some special circumstances. Granted he wasn’t the most observant of men (though one would think he’d be better at it considering his less-than-legal profession) but surely something like this wasn’t intentional in New York City.

“Do you find it strange to see how even this city prefers to separate its people?” Nikolai asked Ell, not really paying attention to where he was going, “They make it seem as if the people are doing this to themselves, choosing to stay with each other rather than amongst strangers, but it is not entirely by choice that many stick together with their own.” He didn’t remember something similar happening back home though that may have been because he lived in such small towns until the end there hadn’t been much to separate people.

When it was his turn he put in a simple order to the man who prepared the food, making sure to pronounce his words carefully again and thanked him when he was handed his order fairly quickly. The food smelled strongly of salt and the ingredients he had added on but such was American cooking and he hadn’t expected anything different. He was glad he remembered to purchase a bottle of water. He was certain he was going to need it.

He shook the man's hand. Hopefully, the two finger and a thumb hand he had wouldn't weird the man out. It wasn't easy to give a good handshake with 3/5 the digits of a regular hand. And forget about thumb wrestling. "Nice to meet'cha, Nick." Elliott smiled. He had a nice friendly jagged zipper-like smile.

"It's this way," he said. Elliott started to lead.

They walked for a minute or so, and Nick asked him a question. Something about separating people? If Elliott had eyebrows, he would have raised one. But instead, he settled for arching the brow itself. It was a good question. A unique question, and one he hadn't really thought about, since it hardly affected him.

"Recently, someone tried to build a Mutant Only colony in Antarctica called Utopia. But even that self-segregated place didn't last. Some hateful people blew it up with bombs." Elliott didn't shudder when he said that. He felt like maybe he should have. It seemed like the sort of thing that should make a man sad. Mostly, it made him feel empty and cold and a little confused. Why had Jaager built that if he was just going to blow it up shortly after? It seemed the most chaotic thing he could do... so he must have. Otherwise, there was some shadow faction operating behind the scenes, and he needed to coax them out and get revenge for his employer. Though that seemed like an awful lot of work. He summarized his point. "I imagine that's why you see people keeping with their own kind right now. Fear. Easier to keep yourself inside a safe little box."

"Ah, here it is." He stopped in front of the hotdog stand, on that charming note about fear and explosions. Why was it all he ever thought about lately was fear and explosions? Working for Ragnarok seemed like it was hardly healthy. He let Nick order first, then ordered a dog himself. He doctored it up, and took it and his Dr. Pepper to a nearby bench so they could sit and eat. "Hope I didn't bother you with that answer," Elliott frowned. "It's a difficult topic."

It made sense but in a way it didn’t. Why bother coming to the melting pot of culture that was the United States, more specifically New York, if one did not plan or blending cultures and peoples together? If he could live anywhere but Brighton Beach right now he would. But the Family wouldn’t let him leave even if he wanted to. He might make friends they didn’t know about or get in trouble with another group. Maybe if he hadn’t been promised to them when he had left Russia… well. It wasn’t exactly something he could change now if he wanted to.

Still he mentioned his thoughts to Ell. “It is no bother. I can understand wanting to stick together for protection but this is America. It is melting pot of a lot of people from a lot of cultures. To stay separated defeats the purpose of coming here, no?” It was why he tried to make friends, even if he ended up embarrassing himself in the trying. Like now. “Besides, it is better to be intermingled with the ‘others’. It is harder to hate ‘them’ when one sees how they struggle like you do.” Not that that would always be the case but surely it would be better than the hate building behind fences waiting for a gun to go off.

He shrugged as he searched for a place nearby to sit down while he ate. Hot dogs were not particularly messy but he still didn’t like to eat standing up. He found a spot an older gentleman vacated just moments before and settled there. If Ell preferred standing that was on him. “Ah but I may have old fashioned way of thinking. My parents grew up in Soviet Union. Communism is all about knowing your neighbors and relying on one another to survive.” Especially in remote villages unmarked on most maps.

He took a few bites of his hot dog, not particularly enjoying the taste but deciding it was better than most “authentic” American food. He’d have to wash out the taste with some homemade stroganoff later. Not something he’d mention to his acquaintance of course. The man no doubt had bigger concerns. Speaking of which, “Forgive my curiosity, Mister Ell, but what do you do for a living? It is not walking the park easing the anxiety of the homeless, is it?” Was that even a profession here?

Nick spoke of melting pots and sticking together, and Elliott bobbed his head in agreement. What the man said was true. It was better not to live in fear. Elliott didn't look away or jerk his head towards the general populace, even though he wanted to. "I'm not disagreeing with you," he said. "But people don't always see things as clearly as some. Even if it would make the world a whole lot better."

They'd gotten into deep topics now. The simplicity of a hot dog was a welcomed relief. As he sat next to Nick and ate, the man brought up the topic again, and communism. Yeah. Communism is an entirely different beast from democracy. Elliott didn't say much. "Yeah." He said. "Different."

After a moment, he added something. "America is a lot more dog eat dog." Speaking of dogs... he had thought this stand was supposed to be good. It was entirely average and maybe a little under. He finished it brusquely, then wiped his hands on a napkin and balled up his trash. No sense wasting food, even if the food itself was a waste.

His focus returned to the Russian as Nick asked what he did for a living. "No," Elliott spared him a smile and a small laugh. "Not helping the homeless. Though I'll say that isn't a bad cause. More something to do in my free time." He supposed it was something he'd started doing in his free time. It was a lot more satisfying than many things. The realization made him feel all grown up inside. It was kind of an unclean feeling. His old self would have been scathing in its admonishments.

The simple truth was easier than any lie. And far as cover stories went, it was a peach. "I work for a large company, as an intern. I get people coffee and handle odd jobs. Busy work. How about you?" He didn't suspect serial napper was Nikolai's profession. Hunting out prime spots of sunlight with dark zeal. Maybe staking the paths around them for a bit before claiming the spots for his own. A mental image of Nick, laughing maniacally as he sat down on a blanket rushed through Elliott's mind and was promptly dismissed.