And with the air goatee again. His words, on the other hand, were well played enough to give Margo pause, because she couldn't work through the implications. Hypothetically he was out to find out what made bird spotters tick and how to stop them from going on photography sprees, but his "friend" was out to find out what made mutants tick. If that friend even existed, either as a friend or as him who she suspected it was, then which part did he really mean?

"Correction, 'kay? Mutants know what they're getting into most of the time, unless they're incredibly stupid. Hypothetical you is incredibly stupid, no offense because you're not hypothetical you."

And that was about as clear as her thoughts got until he turned it back on her, thank goodness. His eyes were an insanely disorienting shade of green- laser vision, or something of that sort?

"If I were a mutant, I wouldn't be so incredibly stupid or make such a big deal out of a couple pictures." She said it with approximately 2% of a laugh, before continuing. "No, but seriously, in my- actual- opinion? It's not victimizing. If you think this is victimizing, what is do you call the club across the street that writes up a monthly mutant hit list?"

And this time without the cofounded hypotheticals and actuals and covers, "Convince me."

The air goatee was amazing, and could not be overused. Nonetheless. She kind of gave him a funny look, so he ceased and desisted, trying to look casual about it. Yeah. Definitely not an awkward teenager, here. Especially not after she called hypothetical him hypothetically stupid. As if all mutants were supposed to be super-smart, above and beyond normal sixteen year olds when it came to thinking things through..

...Was he supposed to be super smart? If he could finally sleep, would he be, or had he gotten the short end of the mutation stick in more ways than one? Or did humans just have this idea that all mutants were strong, fast, and smart, even though powers didn't work like that? He had to remind himself, this was a human he was talking with. A human whose hobby was idolizing mutants in the photography medium. Hardly an unbiased audience.

>> "If I were a mutant, I wouldn't be so incredibly stupid or make such a big deal out of a couple pictures. No, but seriously, in my- actual- opinion? It's not victimizing. If you think this is victimizing, what is do you call the club across the street that writes up a monthly mutant hit list?"

"Dicks," Jiri responded promptly, with a nervous grin. That had been a joke, right? The club-across-the-street line? Like, it was a hypothetical club, not one that had specifically bought an office across from a successful mutant business just to make trouble? Right? "But it's like my first grade teacher always said: just because someone else is doing it, doesn't mean it's right for you to do. What if we just treated humans like they were normal people and didn't stalk them with weapons or cameras? Like, just treated them like any other random person on the street? Normal people get creeped out if they see people stalking them with a camera. Even if the person behind the camera is a a cute girl."

Oh god, he was such an awkward teen and this was such and awkward teen smile. Quick, get out of here, escape. "So what are you drinking? I need a refill, I could grab something for you."

And good job, self, he'd made it worse.

That...probably shouldn't have been as funny as it was, but Margo laughed nonetheless. She actually laughed and was just about to make some sort of smart retort when he... said she was cute? Cue awkwardness.

"Uh, cascara soda? Thanks?" Awkward smiles all around, and the girl mentally cursed herself for sounding like a total idiot and for blushing. Because, seriously? They were two high school kids at a club and it wasn't like a boy she'd only just met was a big deal, even if his eyes were the color of animated sea kelp.

She gulped the last inch of her soda to give him an excuse to go away, and managed to choke in the process.

Oh god his awkwardness was infectious, it was like the black plague of awkwardness, he could see it spread to her and she coughed lightly on the last sip of her drink which was really kind of cute and that just made him blush even harder.

I'm not hitting on you, he wanted to say, I'm just a mutant trying to change the subject.

Yes. That is definitely what was happening here.

"Cascara soda. Got it." And then he fled down the stairs. There might or might not have been some face palming involved when he got to the bottom. He'd forgotten about the whole the upstairs has a big gaping hole that looks down on the first floor thing, so she may or may not have seen him do it.

"Cascara soda," he repeated to himself. Right. What was cascara soda? Hopefully the people at the counter knew, because if this turned out to be the snipe of sodas than he was going to excuse himself to the bathroom and climb out a window.

Happily, the guy behind the counter didn't even bat an eye. He just asked, "What size?" Which was a whole different conundrum. He didn't want to go with a regular, because that might make him look cheap, but was large like saying she looked like a girl who really liked her soda? There was no way to win, with women.

"Medium?" Jiri ordered.

And was half way up the stairs again before he remembered he'd forgotten to get a drink for himself.

...Several minutes later, the Iranian teen returned, one medium cascara soda and one small chai in hand.

"So yeah. What do you do besides stalk people with cameras?"

...He needed to just shut up now.

He rushed off to get said drinks without further ado, leaving Margo not altogether oblivious to the amused glances thrown in her direction. Well then, that was that: however amusing this club might seem, she wouldn't be coming back anytime soon. At least people didn't know they were both mutants- were they?- so the shipping hadn't got out of hand...yet.

(She probably would have witnessed the face palming, only she was actually doing the same.)

His return found the girl significantly more composed. She accepted the soda with an amused smile- had he gotten her a medium size or what?- and took a sip, and that was the story of how she nearly managed to choke, again.

What did Tuesday night Margo do, other than "stalk people with cameras"?

"Ummm, I actually have this taste-test thing for ice cream and custard and soft serve and gelato going, if that counts? Not that much else. What about you, when you're not coming to the stalker clubs?"

For the record, the taste test was actually a real thing she was doing. Sort of.

She didn't look like a girl who taste tested ice cream. She looked like a sprinter, or a long-jumper. Maybe a pole vaulter? Not like a young woman who went around spooning custardy treats in her mouth.

These were not words that were going to leave his mouth.

"Soccer," he held the warm chai cup between his palms. "And, ah, dream interpreting. If that counts." He flashed a grin. Dream interpreting. Yep. Definitely what he did. Every. Single. Night.

"So what's with the taste test thing? What got you started on that?"

Moving the topic back to her, now. Girls liked that, right?

"Soccer, nice. Do you play for a club or something, or is it more just a weekend hobby kind of thing?" Either way it was all over the place and none that special, unlike dream interpreting. That...wasn't even going to get a comment, just a raised eyebrow. Like, what even was dream interpreting?

If he was a mutant, was it a mutant thing like the laser-vision-worthy green eyes?

"Umm, a love of all things ice cream, and gelato and frozen custard and soft serve and just about everything else? I have a blog. For my stalker pictures and ice cream adventures both, I mean." And just in case someone doubted her ability to consume custardy treats all day every day, "It's probably going to catch up with my metabolism someday, but Ben and Jerry's is too good. Also everything between that and artisan ice cream, like the type made with fresh pickled toads, uh, cream. Fresh cream."

Dang, but Ginny Weasley did NOT belong in this conversation.

"Fresh... pickled..." On reflection, he was not touching that one, just as she hadn't touched his dream interpreting. It was probably some pop culture reference he was failing at. Either that, or there was a mutant-owned ice cream shop in town: it wouldn't surprise him. Though somehow, he thought 'fresh pickled toads' would get PETA protesting outside their doors.

He took a sip of his chai. "I used to play for a club, at my old school. I, ah, moved recently. The new place doesn't have a team, though I'm trying to start one."

If 'got Alex to kick around a ball, and determined that Leo was a worthy foe' could qualify as starting one. Still, that was three down, and only eight to go.

Eight, and Ghost's words about human teams not letting mutants join their leagues, because they were afraid of crazy x-cheating. But frankly Ghost was an awful woman and maybe she'd just been lying to crush his dreams. Maybe. He could hope.

...And if anyone would know...

"Out of curiosity, have you ever heard of a mutant sports league? I'm suddenly picturing mutant soccer, and that would be..."

Out of his own league, what with his lame normal-human-physique. But still.

"I'd totally buy tickets to that," he finished.

Oh golly she had not just said that, no. Not about ice cream and not about Harry Potter and definitely, definitely not about the boy's eye color.

"Harry Potter, sorry," said Margo, noting with relief he didn't recognize the reference. "I don't even know, just...never mind. Yeah, New York actually doesn't have any places with fresh pickled toads" mental cringe just at the words "-that I know of."

They left that there, thank goodness.

So. Apparently he was slightly more than a recreational soccer player and he had moved recently. Margo listened curiously enough and wondered whether that was because he was a mutant; that would account for the lack of a soccer team at his new school, maybe, or was she reading too much into things? It was hard to tell.

"I, uh, don't follow sports much. That's so a question for the inter-webs," said the girl with a shrug, then a grin. "I can only say it's an epic idea."

Oh, the interwebs would be queried, all right. The interwebs would be queried so hard. If mutant soccer wasn't already a thing, then Jiri may have just found his true calling in life. Take that, Mansion greeter who liked to stifle the dreams of children. And take that, human coaches who couldn't handle a surplus of insanity on their fields. He'd start a mutant soccer league, and they'd work in rules for powers, and then everyone could play.

In the mean time: he noticed lap tops getting closed, and drinkings being finished. The meeting was wrapping up.

"Did you take the bus here?" Jiri asked. "I could walk you to your stop. I mean, if you'd like."

And if she didn't like, then hopefully they weren't walking to the same stop. Because then he'd just come off as a creeper.

By all appearances, the meeting was coming to a close. As the bird watchers began to gather their belongings together and trickle away from the circle, Margo too snapped up her laptop and stood, soda in hand.

"Oh, only if you'd like, sure." It was charming of the boy to offer and she gave him the same half awkward smile, while the other club members that hadn't left yet got a friendly wave. "Did you take the bus here too?" she asked as they descended the stairs.

If he did and they were really walking to the same bus stop... well, that would be convenient and also so, so incredibly terrible.

It rapidly became apparent that Jiri was not walking her to a bus stop, he was walking her to his bus stop. An irrational part of him--the part that tended to fudge the line between dream and reality--urged him to say good night and just keep walking. Pretend he was taking the next stop up. Who knows, maybe he could get on a random bus, and go on crazy hijinks, and--

Yeah that was the sleep deprivation talking. He was going to be a mature adolescent about this, and take his own bus. His actual bus. Besides, who even said they were taking the same exact one? There had to be, like, a bajillion that stopped here. It was downtown New York, after all.

"I'm on the number 20, how about you?" He commented casually. Almost immediately he regretted it: that was the bus heading in a very Xavier-wards direction. But it wasn't like it didn't stop at half a dozen other places, right? So it was cool. Totally fine.

A pleasantly quiet walk to the bus stop later, convenient and so, so incredibly terrible was happening. On second thought, though, it wasn't so bad; they were far from the only ones from Audubon X there, and from what Margo could tell from the listing on the bulletin there were at least a dozen different bus routes that passed through here. Straight-up luck, this was.

What were the chances, really? That he was a mutant was maybe 50/50, but if he was staying at the Mansion she'd probably have seen him around before then. That would put it at about a one in five chance, not considering the buses. Yes, to summarize: a one in five chance of her having guessed correctly and of awkward explanations to come.

"Number 20, same," said the girl with a sheepish smile. It was one of those moments where you just knew the teacher was going to volunteer you to go up in front of the class first, before your name was ever called- not that it ever made it anything better.  "Actually. I swear I'm not stalking you or anything, okay?"

"Likewise," Jiri laughed, only a hair nervously. "Zero stalking, promise and pinkie swear."

Number twenty came up to the curb, and he was relieved when they weren't the only ones getting on. Two other Bird Watchers, sitting together in the back. To not make things awkward, and be that guy who assumes a girl he just met wants to spend an entire bus ride talking to him, he took the seat in front of her. So if she wanted to talk, he could totally sit sideways and talk. But if she wanted to just pull out her phone and pop in headphones, then cool, he wouldn't be weirdly staring at the back of her head.

Though now he had to fight the feeling that she was staring at his.

As the stops rolled past, and the other two bird watchers departed, Jiri began to get a bad feeling. A really bad, teakettle coming to boil feeling. His leg twitched up and down, he tried propping his arm on the narrow window sill but it wasn't comfortable so he took it off, he tapped his fingers on his thigh.

Two more stops until the Mansion.

One more. They were the last people on the bus.

And now they were pulling up to the curb, and Jiri was definitely not going to be the first one to move. What, was she trying to photograph nocturnal birds? Or did she actually live around here?

"Mine's the next stop," he said, with a grin.

"End of the line." The bus driver called. "I'm putting on the out of service sign after this. Everyone off."

Great. Thank you, bus driver, for that back up.

It occurred to Margo that when he'd offered to walk with to her bus stop, this was probably not what he'd had in mind; most likely he'd figured to be a gentleman to the girl he'd never see again, and nothing more. So when they got on the bus and he took the seat in front of her, maybe it was so they wouldn't have to talk.

She wasn't sure, but it better to be safe than socially inapt... right? Besides, maybe he was supposed to get off at the next stop anyway, and any conversation she might have tried to make would have been short lived.

Not his stop... not... not. The bus population dwindled as the stops rolled past, and if anything the boy seemed to become more fidgety. Eventually Margo gave up staring at the back of his head in favor of at the back of his seat; but try as she might, it didn't do much to help the expanding atmospheric tension.

Two stops to go. One, and the bus was pulling up next to the curb.

Had it been any other time it might have worked, him saying that, but Margo took this route often enough to know there was no next stop, which the driver confirmed in an instant. "You sure about that?" she asked, just as innocently. He was a liar, not that the girl was holding it against him or anything.

The night air was cool as they stepped off the bus. "I'm Margo, by the way." Because it was the perfect time to let him know that, right before he found out and her life ended. "Which way are you going?"