It was not the first time Sveta had left her Haven apartment since her rescue - but it was the first time she did so for recreation. Ever since her encoutner with Akshay that led to the kidnapping, walking around in the open for fun was not very high on her list of hobbies. But today was an unusually sunny and lovely day in New York City, and Svetlana was so sick and tired of staying inside, that she decided to take a short trip to a cafe nearby, and treat herself to an ice cream sundae. It was going to get cold and rainy and snowy soon enough, so might as well enjoy the good weather while it lasted.

She stuck to the crowded streets, and moved as directly in the opposite direction from the rip as she could. She was dressed comfortably, in jeans and a green jacket; she was just gonna go, eat the sweet dessert in the patio of the shop, and then walk home. Baby steps. Sveta did not believe that the kidnapping left a serious trauma for her to deal with, but she also did not want to accidentally drop-kick someone for startling her on the street. An ice cream was a nice, easy start.

Marisol was caught in a bind.

She was saddled with an assignment from one of her acting classes that put her in a tough position. According to her instructor, she was supposed to watch someone go about typical, everyday activities and she was supposed to note mannerisms and traits and do her best to emulate their behaviors. Most students would just ask a friend if they could be a shadow for an hour or so.

Marisol considered that option, but she did not like it. Reagan was a logical choice since Marisol lived with her anyway, but she knew it would come out awkward if she asked her roommate for permission to stalk her for a while. Alice Rivers was someone she was still becoming friends with, so she decided not to weird her out so early with an odd request. Celestina De Ward was another option, but she was volunteering at the Library and Marisol did not want to get in the way. That same reason eliminated Jorge Cervantes, who was a Detective with way more important things to do than humor his niece’s bizarre homework.

And with that, Marisol exhausted the list of everyone she knew well in New York. She considered faking the assignment, but she just did not have it in her to half-a** a project like that. Running out of options, she realized the real problem driving her anxiety was the fear of asking someone to help. It was an intrusive assignment, and she would hate putting someone in the position to begrudgingly agree or decline.

However, if she never asked anyone, she could probably get away with completing the whole project with an oblivious subject. New York had so many people; who would notice some girl coincidentally following a similar path for a while? Marisol was sitting on a bench near the sidewalk, looking for someone she could tail.

Her gaze settled on a blonde woman. There was no particular reason to choose her, but Marisol had to pick someone. With a person in mind, she stood from the bench and walked in the direction of the blonde woman. She was a good fifteen feet away, with plenty of people around to keep her from looking conspicuous. Marisol had a small notepad, but she kept it at her side, out of sight for the time being. She wanted to get a good idea of how the blonde walked. That seemed like a good first step to emulating her.

Sveta walked down to the ice cream parlor in a brisk pace, hoping not to spend too much time out in the open. There was a line of people, but not long enough to make her give up her quest; she'd just have to be patient a little while, to get the reward she was aiming for. She browsed the menu hung over the counter, although she already knew what she liked, and tried not to stare at other people as she was keenly aware of her surroundings. She tapped her foot, which was probably bad form, since it let other people in the queue know that she was impatient... but she really could not do anything about it right now.

Chill out, Sveta. You don't have the tracker anymore. And it's not like everyone on the street is a SUPER agent. See, no one's looking at you...

Were they?...

When people were part of a crowd, everyone seemed to be carbon copies, moving in the same direction and taking the same steps. It was fascinating to see how wrong that was when you isolated one person amidst a crowd. Marisol noticed that the blonde’s pace was quick, and the way she took her steps seemed almost uptight. Marisol thought she might be in a rush, or maybe even that she disliked being around people any longer than she had to; a gripe Marisol could relate to.

She jotted a note about the walk cycle on her notepad, but Marisol could not help but mimic the strides the blonde woman took. They were only an inch or two from the same height, so Marisol thought she was doing a good job of matching the movements from her spot a few yards back.

The blonde entered an ice cream place, and while Marisol could have observed from through the window, she thought that would be more creepy than just getting in line herself. Three people stood between them, but Marisol stood off-center from the line to get a better view. Even if she could not see the woman, she could still hear the toe-tapping on the tiles. Spotting a right foot bouncing up and down and once again, Marisol could not help but imitate. Was she in a rush? Maybe anxious? The very act of tapping her toes was making Marisol feel anxious. Her teacher’s lessons were really making sense; the minute details of a character really did a lot to build up character traits in an audience’s mind.

Being followed on a New York street was totally normal. People walked behind people all the time, and if they happened to have the same height, and the same pace, they might even fall in step and walk along one behind the other for a while. It was nothing out of the ordinary.
But when started to mimic the other?
Different story.

Sveta picked up on the young woman behind her as she stood in line. Maybe her senses were on high alert for SUPER ambushes, or maybe she was just being obvious. There were people between them, but she could feel the gaze on her back, and she could hear the other woman's foot clicking in time with hers.
Not. Okay.

Sveta got her sundae, and picked a place to sit. She had her back to the wall, so if this chick still wanted to keep an eye on her, she needed to try harder to be inconspicuous. She ate for a few minutes, the enjoyment of the ice cream curbed by the anxiety of being watched or followed. Was it a mistake to come outside so soon? Did SUPER recruit kids this young?...

... who was she kidding, she had been there when they did.

After a few minutes, Sveta got up, and slowly walked to the women's bathroom. The parlor had a spacious bathroom with multiple stalls; if she was followed in there, she'd know something was up.

The more she watched the blonde woman, the more Marisol started wondering who she was. It was one of those existential moments where you had to step back and realize each of the eight-point-five million people in New York had complex lives and backstories. The teenager was not going to approach the older woman and ask about her life, so the next best thing was to create the story based on everything she saw.

The woman did not want to be out in public. She had a lot on her mind and she was forcing herself to go out and treat herself to an ice cream. Maybe her living situation was causing her stress? Dead-beat husband? To be fair, the possibilities were nearly endless. All Marisol knew for sure was the woman had very anxious behaviors. She was so invested in studying the blonde, she was failing to remember that anxious people were not appreciative of teenage stalkers studying them.

Marisol reached the front of the ice cream line, which jarred her from her wild speculation. Ice cream was not a traditional part of her rigid diet, but she had no way of explaining why she waited so patiently in line. She settled on a bowl of low-fat French Vanilla ice cream with a mocha swirl and found a seat. The blonde had her back to the wall, so Marisol did the best she could to pick a seat not directly facing her.

Without the ability to stay hidden behind the blonde woman, Marisol could only sneak peaks to see how she was holding her spoon or her posture while sitting. Marisol also noticed she was not smiling, which seemed odd when enjoying an ice cream sundae.

The woman went to the bathroom and Marisol decided she had done enough to cover her assignment. She had successfully picked up on someone’s mannerisms and put them into practice, but there was nothing she needed to know about the blonde’s bathroom habits. Marisol took a minute or two to finish up her ice cream and was ready to leave before her body gave her a very clear warning: she had business of her own in the bathroom.

Marisol shuffled quickly to the bathroom and pushed open the door, already looking for the closest open stall.

The young woman was obviously watching her, but not engaging. Was she observation only? Or maybe bothered by the people around? She looked young enough to still be worried about collateral damage, bless her heart. Then again, age was not always apparent. Sveta had learned that from Jude.

She went to the bathroom and waited. It did not take long. In just a few minutes the door opened, and in walked the girl like she was looking for something. Sveta, having waited behind the door, now moved to cut the exit off, and closed the door behind her. No need to make a scene if they could take care of this between the two of them.
The coffee buzz was gone. Adapted. Young, an adapted, and alone? Unlikely. If they felt the need to send someone to cancel Sveta's powers, that meant there had to be someone else around that stood the potential threat of overboosting.

Sveta folded her arms.

"Tell me where the other guy is before I make you regret you ever took this assignment."

Marisol was preoccupied with getting to the nearest bathroom stall, so she failed to notice someone standing behind the door as she entered. She did not question the door closing behind her because, well, that was what doors did.

It was the surprise of a voice behind her that had Marisol jumping in surprise. She spun around to see the blonde subject of her project watching her with arms folded. Evidently, Marisol was not as subtle as she gave herself credit for. Her instinct was to fold her arms as well to match the blonde, but based on the woman’s tone, she thought better of that plan. If she realized what was going on somewhere along the way, Marisol had enough to explain without antagonizing her further.

The blonde’s words struck Marisol; she seemed to know there was some kind of assignment. That was a scarily accurate assumption. ”How do you know about my assignment? I really just thought I could do it without bothering you,” she replied anxiously, still forgetting to actually apologize for her actions.

The assignment comment was surprising, but the suggestion of the “other guy” was downright confusing. Marisol quirked an eyebrow, shifting uncomfortably. ”And what guy? This is the woman’s bathroom, isn’t it? You didn’t see a guy in here, did you?” Suddenly, Marisol was feeling plenty of regret toward how she chose to get her homework done.

The girl jumped when Sveta spoke. That was both satisfying and annoying, in a strange way. Did they really just send a rookie to keep an eye on her? Why would they do that?

>>”How do you know about my assignment? I really just thought I could do it without bothering you,”

"Sweetheart, the fact dat you're on this side bothers me" Sveta pointed out, staring the girl down. Geez, did she not even merit Karlson or Judy or something?...

She pretended to be confused. Cute. There had to be someone else out there, because she was obviously stalling for time, even if she was not outright denying anything. Sveta took a step closer.

>>”And what guy? This is the woman’s bathroom, isn’t it? You didn’t see a guy in here, did you?”

"I don't care if it's a guy or a woman" she frowned "But you're an adapted, so obviously there's gonna be a mutant too. You're gonna tell me where they are, because I'm sure as hell not going back through the rip with you, and if I have to take you down to get away, I will."

Marisol was not sure why or how, but her harmless, innocuous plan to follow a total stranger around New York was somehow blowing up spectacularly in her face. She could have picked anyone out of the crowds, but she found a woman who would corner her in a bathroom and accuse her of being part of some grand conspiracy.

It was hard to follow the blonde’s train of thought, mainly because Marisol was more concerned with taking a step back to match the step her accuser had taken. They both had athletic builds and Marisol was only an inch or two shorter, but the dancer was no fighter. The blonde, meanwhile, had a presence about her that unnerved the younger woman.

There was a lot to process, and Marisol wanted to be careful not to offend or rattle her further. She raised her hands, palms facing forward, as a reminder that she had no way of hurting the older woman. She pointed out that Marisol was on “this side,” which took a moment of thought. She initially thought East versus West, given her recent move. Once she accepted that made no sense, she remembered Jorge’s explanation of a rip in space located downtown and the supposed alternate universe it led to. It made sense, but it was way off. ”First of all, I’ve never even been to the other side of that thing. My Tío won’t let me.” It sounded childish, but in that moment, Marisol would rather be seen as a child than a threat.

”Secondly, I am very much alone. And I very much would like to not be taken down by you,” she added emphatically. It would have been hard to explain the events that led to the loss of her financial aid if the blonde snapped her leg in half. ”I don’t just walk around with mutants. Well, except when I’m with my best friend—which is not relevant,” she hastily added, realizing she was almost getting off-track in a situation where she definitely needed to stay focused.

Marisol was panicking, but something did get through her anxiety and struck her as odd. ”Wait. How did you even know I was a…” Suddenly, Marisol’s eyes widened, as the truth dawned on her. ”…Oh, duh. You’re a mutant,” she pointed out, starting to make sense of one of the twenty mysteries comprising their situation.

If she was an agent, which was less and less likely by the minute, she was doing a really bad job of it. And yet, Sveta's mind was venturing dangerously close to paranoia, imagining a young-looking agent stalling for time with a little charade while the real team got there, once their cover was blown. She would have put it past SUPER. But was she...?

>>”First of all, I’ve never even been to the other side of that thing. My Tío won’t let me.”

Oh lord, she was either very young, or very good at her job. Was she a shapeshifter?

>>”Secondly, I am very much alone. And I very much would like to not be taken down by you. I don’t just walk around with mutants. Well, except when I’m with my best friend—which is not relevant,”

Svetlana concluded she was probably not an agent. 'My best friend is a mutant' was probably not something SUPER would teach its field agents. In fact, they would probably fire them for incompetence on the spot.

>>”Wait. How did you even know I was a… …Oh, duh. You’re a mutant,”

Sveta sighed, a lot of the tension going out of her. Great. She had just assaulted a minor in an ice cream parlor bathroom for no good reason whatsoever. She leaned against the nearest sink, wishing she could dunk her head under it.

"Okay, so you are obviously not a bad guy. The why, pray tell, why the **** were you following me?"

The way the blonde woman looked at Marisol made her stomach uneasy, (which was not aided by her still present need to use the restroom.) She felt like she was being assessed, which came with its own anxiety since she did not know what the woman was looking for. How was she supposed to pass a test when she did not know the criteria?

It was not until the blonde sighed that Marisol could finally exhale and relax. In a crisis, she was wound so tight, her body felt rigid and defensive, so it was nice to let her muscles loosen back up.

Then again, even if Marisol was not “a bad guy,” as the woman said, that did not let her off the hook. Her behavior was questionable, and answers were being demanded. This was unfortunate, since the last thing Marisol wanted to do was explain the thought process that led them into a tense restroom confrontation.

And yet, she had no choice. ”So one of my acting teachers gave me an assignment to study and mimic someone. But I had no one I could ask to help, and I’m still new to New York, so I… um, kinda just… picked someone on the sidewalk to watch.”

Marisol shifted uncomfortably in the moment that followed, moving her weight from the ball of her left foot to the heel of her right. ”And I see now, in retrospect, where that might have been a bad idea.” Her tone was not sarcastic; Marisol could now genuinely access the hindsight and perspective to see how she could have thought out her plan better.

They both relaxed their stances a little. Sveta really just wanted to go home, and exchange the sundae for a bucket of cheap ice cream. She was clearly not ready to be out in public yet. But at the same time: What he hell was this girl doing, following strangers around like a puppy?

>>”So one of my acting teachers gave me an assignment to study and mimic someone. But I had no one I could ask to help, and I’m still new to New York, so I… um, kinda just… picked someone on the sidewalk to watch.”

Sveta stared at the girl. She was... an actress? An actress student? Following people around was her homework? Sveta never got around to spending much time with artists, or art (except for Agnes), but she did know that some of them did weird stuff like that.

>>”And I see now, in retrospect, where that might have been a bad idea.”

"You think?" Sveta smirked "Dis is New York City, following people around is not usually a good idea. Especially when you're an adapted. You're lucky I know what that is."

Marisol’s excuse for her actions was so lame, she would have doubted it if someone used it with her. She would have dismissed the explanation, claiming no one could be so socially oblivious or willing to go to such crazy lengths to avoid talking to anyone. Marisol should have changed her name to No One. It worked out for Odysseus, after all. (At least until the whole “voyage cursed by Poseidon” bit.)

The blonde was definitely judging the young brunette, but the judgment came with a smirk. Smirking was a significant improvement on scowling or sneering. She made a good point: if Marisol picked someone less reasonable, she could have suffered far worse than angry, suspicious words and looks. If her subject had been a mutant who was upset at the prospect of losing their abilities, things would have gone south quickly. ”I know. My Tío Jorge says we’re, like, hella uncommon, so I’m surprised you actually know.”

Marisol was in the clear, so it would have been the right choice to back out of the conversation and get herself far away from the scene of the awkward crime, (which, technically, stalking was.) Her natural inclination was to avoid talking to anyone, let alone a stranger, but something was gnawing at her curiosity. ”Wait a second. Who did you think I was?” The way the blonde spoke to her, she clearly thought Marisol was someone else. Whoever she was being confused for, they sounded like the last people Marisol wanted to cross paths with.

>>”I know. My Tío Jorge says we’re, like, hella uncommon, so I’m surprised you actually know.”

Sveta chuckled a little. She did not only know about adapteds - she really liked them, too. They gave her a pause from the constant buzz, and made it safe for her to touch other people without accidentally boosting them, or setting off a dormant mutation. They were are, though, and depending on what they were other than adapted, Sveta did not usually have the chance to spend much time with them. And then there was Booker.

>>”Wait a second. Who did you think I was?”

Sveta blinked. That was a valid question. And also, her brain signaled within a split second, a very good opportunity. Nate and she talked about starting some vague rumors about SUPER, to cultivate distrust against them - and this was as good a place as any to start.

"Well... I heard rumors recently that an organization came through the rip from the other side. And they are kidnapping mutants, systematically. I thought you were one of dem."