Despite the goings-on of the world, Jack's gig as Mansion Security wasn't particularly high-stress. Then again, when deescalating confrontations involving muscle-strapped (occasionally super-powered) men whose rages were often fueled by alcohol and God-knows-what-else, it was easy to be underwhelmed by a great many things.

"Hey, Dyer!" a young tenor voice called up the hall, from a gaggle of mutant kids, "We're gonna play some video games, wanna join?"

"You know I no good at doze t'ings," Jack hollered back.

"That's why we asked you!" was the singsong reply, which was accompanied by a smattering of laughter. Jack smirked. Those kids could be such little imps.

"Hnnn, nay'e on ny lunch?" Jack proposed, "Iss you're still going?"

"We'll still be going," the kids confirmed before scurrying off. Jack hummed, smirking from behind her surgical mask as she continued up the hall. She wasn't particularly competitive, so would mind getting stomped at a video game by some ankle-biters... but she doubted the other security personnel would take well to it if she slipped off the radar for any amount of time.

Speaking of the others... the bone mic had been quiet for a stretch of time. Not uncommon, but she was curious about what they'd been up to.

Part of being released into the custody of the Mansion for his probation unfortunately meant Nate actually had to live at the Mansion for the duration of his sentence. Back when he started teaching, he was always appreciative that he was not one of the staff members who resided on site, shouldering more responsibility over the children of the school. There was always something nice about splitting his personal and professional lives by returning to his apartment after the last bell.

Without that option on the table, Nate had to make the most of his situation. The kids at the Mansion were actually a welcome presence in his life anyway, after being surrounded by criminals for four years, so he could adjust slowly.

It was a quiet Sunday, and Nate had fallen asleep late the night prior. He was still readjusting to how soft his bed was and how quiet his room would get, so sleep was a constant struggle, but Saturday night he actually spent the night tending to a student who was sick and throwing up in the kitchen. He was there to dutifully comfort the child and get DocProf on the scene, but he was feeling his late night in the morning. Nate was no young gun anymore, after all.

Walking down the hall in sweatpants and a plain white t shirt, Nate was not even sure what time it was. Students seeing their teacher in this condition would not be ideal, with potential hangover rumors getting tossed around, but he was too tired to care. This was his home now, and he was not going to dress up to get a coffee from the kitchen.

A group of students did pass by him, clamoring excitedly about video games. One or two smiled and said hi, while the ones behind them smirked and chuckled. He did his best to force a smile and mutter, "Morning, kids," continuing on his way, lacking the energy for youthful conversation.

He turned the corner into the next hallway and was met with an unfamiliar but incredibly distinct face. His first guess was that the mutant was not a student given their tall, imposing frame, but at the same time, it was always hard to guess these things. For all he knew, he was looking at a ten-year-old. Mutation was weird.

Nate did his best not to give away any surprise on his face; the last thing he wanted to come across as was rude to someone over a foot taller than him. "Oh, hello. Morning," he greeted sheepishly, still not sure if they had crossed into the afternoon threshold.

Jack came to a halt as a man rounded the corner. Cropped hair, groggy expression, and an unfamiliar face. The prawn's memory for faces was air-tight-- she could recognize every student and staff-member on the campus, and knew at least half of their names. And this guy... she didn't know this guy. He also did not have a visitor's pass.

Her shoulder's squared, and the prawn peered down at the guy with pinched lavender eyes. Then again, if his first instinct was to greet her, and not to book it, maybe... she shouldn't rough him up? Besides, he wasn't exactly dressed for the elements-- this was New York in January, he was wearing sweats and a t-shirt, slip-on athletic shoes. He looked like he had just rolled-out of bed rather than broke-and-entered into the Mansion.

"Aster-noon," Jack intoned, "I'n Jacquelyn Dyer. I'n on security."

The prawn let her posture relax, marginally-- she tucked a thumb into the pocket of her jeans, and ran a free hand over the front of her tank top. Her gaze, however, never left the unfamiliar fellow. She was watching him, blatantly and unflinchingly.

" 's'your nay-n?" Jack pried, "Hasn't seen you 'e-sore."

Security. As a former conman, the title was always one Nate dreaded hearing, but in this instance, the issue was compounded by the height and build of this particular guard. Keeping calm and collected was always important in these situations, so Nate focused on keeping a friendly smile on his face.

Jacquelyn Dyer, armored security; he was glad she gave him her name, because the last thing he would want to do was misgender someone who most likely could pretzel him. "Well then, good afternoon Miss Dyer." He certainly was making an impression, being completely oblivious to the time of the day.

She was asking for his name, he was pretty sure. It was a little hard to parse out exactly what she was saying; maybe an impediment? His initial instinct was to make up a name, but he forced that thought down and chalked it up to a consequence of a former life. "Nate Holloway. You might have heard of me?" His comment was not meant to be arrogant; he assumed the higher ups at the Mansion would consider advising security of the former professor-slash-convicted felon moving onto the campus.

The man smiled winsomely at the prawn. The prawn did not return to gesture.

>> "Well then, good afternoon Miss Dyer."

Manners were always deeply appreciated. Something in her expression relaxed, and Jack bobbed her head in acknowledgement. Her stance was still drawn taut. Formalities didn't mean he was supposed to be there. Formalities didn't mean he wouldn't turn on her the second she let her guard down.

>> "Nate Holloway. You might have heard of me?"

"No sir, 'ster Hollo'ay," Jack replied, echoing the formality, "Can't say I has."

Was she supposed to know him? Jack rubbed her jaw, humming faintly. It was probably an oversight, honestly. But a damn stupid oversight, given the guards and the massive fence surrounding this goddamn school.

"Who are you?"

He had no visitor's pass. And if the stubble was any indication, he was a little old for high school.

Nate did not remember the school's security being as prevalent when he started teaching there, but it made sense given the delicate nature of human and mutant relations. He understood the need to keep the students safe from dangerous people, and in the eyes of some, that could surely include Nate.

It was unfortunate, however, to realize that the security officer in front of him apparently had no idea who he was. His body tightened at the realization, suddenly feeling like he was in a worse position than initially expected. He went from being the returning professor she might have heard of to a potential homeless intruder to be tossed out of the building. Nate was not a huge fan of being tossed.

He laughed nervously at her question, doing what he could to seem friendly and genuine. "I, well, I'm a returning professor. I was away for a while." He almost added "in prison" to the comment, but thought it might be better to leave that detail out for now. "I live here now. Sorry for any misunderstanding," he apologized, hoping that explaining himself would give her more cause to provide some benefit of the doubt.

>> "I, well, I'm a returning professor. I was away for a while. I live here now. Sorry for any misunderstanding."

Jack shook her head dismissively. If Nate was telling the truth, Jack was astonished that there'd been no announcement or memo, especially if he was a former teacher. Jack supposed that people came and went pretty frequently. Maybe it really was an oversight.

"Sorry to hassle you," Jack said, " 'as any-unn here to greet you 'en you got here, 'ister Hollo'ay? Who knows you and knows you're here?"

In other words, a non-Nate person who could confirm that he was who he said he was. Jack was giving him the benefit of the doubt, for now, but she was still going to make sure his story checked-out. The prawn's expression softened.

" 'ere you headed to get sun-ting to eat or...?" Jack said, with a quick nod in the direction that Nate had been walking. She could follow him to somewhere that wasn't the hallway and, if it were to the kitchen, she could use the phone to make an internal call to whoever might be able to confirm Nate's identity. She had a walkie-talkie, of course, but it only connected her to other security personnel. 

Jacqueline appeared to be weighing Nate's excuse on the scales of her mind, and the look of suspicion (he thought, at least, struggling to get an exact read on the woman's expression,) would indicate she was not entirely sure if his story checked out. Nate found himself quietly wishing he had taken the longer route to get to the kitchen, but there was no use wishing to change the past, and all he could do was try not to antagonize the guard.

She apologized for the hassle, but Jacqueline was not done questioning him. He had been moved in accompanied by the on duty security at the time, though most of his belongings arrived ahead of time thanks to the amount of time being in prison allotted him to plan his move. "I'm pretty sure I came through with one of your fellow officers. Dufresne? Dumonte?" It was not the ideal time for him to be struggling to differentiate between French surnames. "Shorter guy with red hair." He of course meant "shorter" in relation to the typical human male height, and not a comment on her own height, which made everyone else shorter. He was suddenly very concerned that Jacqueline could potentially be sensitive about her height. It was not uncommon of physical mutants to be self-conscious about their mutations, regardless of their strength.

She asked about his intentions in the hallways and he nodded. ”Yes. Well, no. Not food; coffee.” Nate was starting to worry his time in jail had eroded his way with words; once upon a time, when nervous, he fancied himself the type to talk his way out of any situation. Then again, Stephen Graves never found himself face to face with an eight-foot-tall… was she a shrimp woman? He was actually genuinely curious about that.

For now, he’d stow the question away. ”I was up late last night with a student. Helping a student. She was sick. And I’m still very tired, so I’m very sorry if I sound like I’m rambling.” Saying he was “up late with a student” was not the best look he could have given, so he was going to have to be more conscious of his word choices. Realizing it might behoove him to be friendly, despite having little energy to be social before obtaining coffee, he asked, ”Would you care to walk with me, if you’re heading that way?”

To put things delicately, the aforementioned “short redheaded guy” whose name was Dumont, was an idiot. No wonder there was no memo. Jack groaned, grinding her mandibles.

“Dat nakes sense,” Jack sighed, “Du-nont is an idiot.”

The prawn rubbed the armored back of her neck and churred. He was night-shift and thus off-duty right now, wouldn’t be back for another few hours. Jack didn’t want to be a bother to Nate any longer than necessary. She’d radio up-front to see if anyone could verify who Nate was. (Some people had been around for a while, so someone was bound to recognize him.) Then she’d give Dumont sh-t when his shift started that evening.

>> “I was up late last night with a student. Helping a student. She was sick. And I’m still very tired, so I’m very sorry if I sound like I’m rambling. Would you care to walk with me, if you’re heading that way?”

Jack flapped a hand dismissively, shaking her head. The more Holloway talked meant the less talking that Jack would have to do. She didn’t mind not having to talk.

“Iss I can,” Jack replied. As if he had the choice. She was wholly convinced, now, that he was innocent—but she was still a very thorough woman, and wanted to be absolutely sure. Besides, she wanted to spare Mr. Holloway the trouble of being bothered by anyone else on the security staff who might not know him. She could call up front, clear him, and get him the appropriate credentials, easily.

Jack would trail behind Mr. Holloway on his stroll to the kitchen, her stature noticeably more slouched and relaxed as they went. She was acutely aware of how immense she was and, now that she fairly certain of Nate’s innocence, she would do her best to seem less… intimidating.

“ ‘uh-t sud-ject did you teach?” Jack tried to spur the conversation, however awkward and unwieldy her attempt was. It felt weird trying to assuage someone she'd previously been trying to intimidate. It was easier to rough people up. Private schools were a totally different animal from nightclubs...

Nate’s explanation, as uncorroborated and messy as it was, seemed to check out as possible with Jacqueline. Apparently there was extra credibility at the mention of Dumonte, who he now learned was an idiot. The way Jacqueline said it caught him off guard and a laugh escaped his lips before he covered his mouth and muttered a, ”Sorry.” It might have been less appropriate for him to laugh at her colleague than for her to call him out, but technically they were all coworkers anyway, right?

The guard agreed to come with him to the kitchen, though Nate got the impression that was going to be happening anyway. If anything, the ex-con was glad he made the offer anyway to put a good foot forward. Jacqueline was doing her job to protect the kids, and there were plenty of people in New York that had no business being in the Mansion and could put everyone’s safety at risk. Thinking on it, he was surprised he did not remember security being more prevalent years earlier, (though he supposed having a covert mutant superhero team on site did offset security needs to a degree.)

Nate shoved his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants as they walked. He had a keychain in one pocket and cellphone in the other. He only used to keep his phone on him for business reasons, then for Quin reasons, then Sarah reasons. Now? He just liked having possessions. It was amazing how four years in jail could make him happy to just have full pockets.

He got out of his head just in time to hear Jacqueline’s question. ”Oh, right. I’m an art teacher. I have… experience in that field, so it was an easy fit. I worked here until about four years ago, before I had to take a sabbatical.” Truthfully, there was no reason to dress up his incarceration; she was going to find out soon enough. It just had a habit of becoming a wall where conversations got stuck.

”And you? How long have you been working at the Mansion, Jacqueline?” As much as he could talk with the right motivation, he also knew the smartest way to carry a conversation was to keep the conversation off himself whenever possible.

A laugh escaped Mr. Holloway, which earned a wry smile from Jack. The man muttered an apology, and the prawn shrugged her shoulder. Funny or not, it was an honest opinion of Dumonte's character.

>> "Oh, right. I’m an art teacher. I have… experience in that field, so it was an easy fit. I worked here until about four years ago, before I had to take a sabbatical."

"Art teacher," Jack echoed, nodding. Mr. Holloway didn't seem like an art teacher-- then again, Jack hadn't taken many art classes, so most of what she understood art teachers to be were stereotypes.

>> ”And you? How long have you been working at the Mansion, Jacqueline?”

"Jack is sine," Jack assured the man. Her full name felt too formal, as if she was in trouble, "Here sore... a'out a year now..." Goodness, had it really almost been a year? Time certainly flies...

"Got recruited as-ter San Johnson and I got in a sight togedder," Jack rumbled, "Sun guy 'as trying to start sh*t 'iss nee cuz... 'ell, you know." If anything, Jack was a realist about her physical appearance, "Duh rest is history."

The two of them rounded into the kitchen, and the prawn crossed the room towards the phone, side-eyeing Nate as she went. She had to call the security office. There were security staffers who'd been working at the Mansion forever, and one of them were bound to be familiar with Nate Holloway.

The corded phone, which hung from the wall, was an older but not ancient model-- off-white with push-buttons on the housing, and a coiled cord that tethered the phone to the handset to the housing. Jack unhooked the handset, greeted by a dial tone. It was so dwarfed in her massive primary hand that she literally pinched it between her thumb and forefinger. Then came the biggest challenge-- tiny buttons.

"Nis-ter Hollo'ay," Jack said hesitantly, feeling rather like stupid, "Could I trou'le you sore sun hel'?"

How lame, having to ask the guy you were investigating for help operating a phone. Sure, Jack could have (had she been alone) lifted her shirt and used the secondary set of arms to dial the buttons, but she didn't want to make a spectacle of herself.

The sheepish prawn, regardless of the man's response, would admonish, "Ny hands are too... are no good. Too large. Sewn is too tiny."

Nate was not sure if there was a typical art teacher mold. Maybe with his hair long, he fit the bill more clearly, but after some time in jail, maybe he looked more like a gym teacher these days.

Jacqueline had been at the school for a year, and evidently, she preferred Jack, which was fine by him. Nate was always good with names; it came from keeping his own aliases straight for so long. He juggled names for years without once stumbling and outing himself. Well, maybe once as a rookie conman, but no one’s first year counted. That was a learning experience.

Evidently, she got the gig after fighting alongside someone from the Mansion. Fighting was a way of life for mutants, though the reason she had to fight in this case caught him off guard. ”What kind of moron would pick that fight?” he mused aloud, before realizing that it might be rude to point that out. He hoped he could maybe double-down on his honesty; Jack did not seem ashamed of who she was. ”I mean, sorry, but when I see someone who is a head taller than me, my first thought isn’t ‘fight.’ But I guess hate really does come from a place of ignorance, huh?” A universal truth.

They reached the kitchen and Nate quickly made his way to the coffee machine, grabbing nearby ground coffee beans to get his drink started. He was not going to dawdle if he could avoid it.

He looked up after filling the machine with water, being called over by his chaperone, (or at least that was what she felt like until his security clearance checked out.) It took him a second to understand exactly what she was asking, but once he got through her speech, he nodded and smiled. ”Of course.” He looked at the side of the numbered panel to a small list of extensions, including the main security office of the building. He handed the phone back as it started ringing. ”There you go. I’ll be over making coffee in case you need to throw me in cuffs,” he joked, returning to his task.

>> "What kind of moron would pick that fight? ... I mean, sorry, but when I see someone who is a head taller than me, my first thought isn’t ‘fight.’ But I guess hate really does come from a place of ignorance, huh?”

The prawn's mandibles curled in a grin at Nate's own observations. She wasn't the easily-offended type. In fact, blunt honesty was a welcomed change of pace from how people usually tread around her. If people didn't outright react with fear or hostility, their first inclination was to tread carefully around the subject of her mutation. Wouldn't want to hurt the delicate behemoth's feelings, would we? The poor pitiful thing-- bla, bla, bla.

"Yes, 'ut you seen like a reason'ale guy," the prawn rumbled, "Dere are quite a see-ew idiots out dere who see diss--" she gestured to the length of her body, "--As a chance to show how dey so strong and tou'h. Dey got like a Na'oleon con'lex or sun-sing."

The prawn flapped a hand dismissively. All part and parcel for the course, when you wore your mutation outwardly.

Thankfully, Nate was more than willing to help. There was a grunted, "Shanks." and a murmured extension for the office, but little else was said. People felt so tiny, when they were up so close.

>> ”Of course. There you go. I’ll be over making coffee in case you need to throw me in cuffs.”

"Don't has any," Jack muttered, before realizing that what Nate had said was probably a joke. Jack held the pinched reciever to her ear, hunching over so as not to strain the cord. The phone rang a few times, then someone on the other end picked-up.

<Security,> a clipped voice greeted.

"Yo, dis Jack," Jack greeted, "Could you see 'out sending sun-un o-zer. I'n here 'iss a Nate Hollo'ay, he says he's a returning teacher, 'ut dere was no-sing a'out hi'n in duh oss-ice and he got no tag or nuss'ing."

<How'd he get on-campus without checking in?>

"Du-nonte," Jack chirred.

A groan surfaced on the other end of the line. It was a well-known fact that Dumonte was essentially incompetent.

<I'll send someone over to verify his identity and get him a tag. Where are you?>

Jack reported their location, said her farewells, and hung-up.

"Dey're sending sun-one ozer," Jack reported, as she gently replaced the receiver on the housing, "Sun-one who knows you and can get you a tag."

Then again, if Nate hadn't looked so squishy and humanoid, Jack might not have even stopped him. Talk about reverse biases. Oh, well. Everyone, except the kids, had tags or designations of some sort.

Jack made a valid point; big, dumb brutes usually looked for the biggest person in a room to prove themselves with. Most “tallest in the room” types were not armored, however, so Nate was still finding ways to be surprised by the stupidity of the lowest common denominator of society.

He was also growing more comfortable around Jack. It had nothing to do with her mutation beyond her imposing height; Nate was always jumpy around security and law enforcement he was not currently dating. Jack seemed easy-going, and (appropriately) not too thin-skinned. Nate was socially conscious and felt confident in his ability to say the right things when necessary, but that came more fluidly with someone who was not prickly or overtly sensitive. Sure, his joke didn’t quite land, but he could let that slide.

While Jack spoke to the main security office, Nate occupied himself by inhaling the strong scent of coffee as it trickled into the pot. Coffee was magic; even the scent could reinvigorate him with the promise of his impending coffee.

The ex-con was grabbing mugs from a nearby drawer when Jack let him know someone would be arriving shortly to corroborate his story. Now that he was starting to feel his energy returning, the thought of hanging on in the kitchen was manageable.

”Of course. Last thing I want is any trouble with the security for my work and home.” It would be hard to live with his name on the tongues of all the guards.

Knowing they had more time to kill, Nate poured coffee into his mug before gesturing to the empty mug beside it. ”Do you drink coffee, Jack?” It was a two-pronged question; some people did not like coffee, and some physical mutants might not be able to drink it at all. Regardless, he was polite enough to offer.

>> ”Of course. Last thing I want is any trouble with the security for my work and home.”

The prawn nodded, closing her eyes in a brief smile.

>> ”Do you drink coffee, Jack?”

Jack flexed her jaw, lavender eyes sliding towards the expectant cup. In the pre-Zinnia days, she hadn't been much of a coffee drinker. The acrid taste was magnified by her sensitive preferences. But after some experimentation, the pair learned that as long as the coffee beans were good and Jack practically drowned to brew in coconut milk creamer, she could make it almost palatable. The stuff they carried at school was the cheap, large-quantity stuff, and would likely taste disgusting to the prawn. Besides, drinking coffee meant taking off her surgical mask in front of an essential stranger.

The prawn shook her head and politely replied, "No sank you. Nice uzz you to oss-er, doh."

Jack shrugged her shoulders and looked towards the door, subconsciously grinding her mandibles as she awaited the arrival of another one of the security staff. The kitchen was not a small room, by any means (at least not compared to the galley-styled kitchen at her apartment), but the lingering awkward silence made the room feel stuffy to the prawn. She was not a conversationalist. But she also was not about to leave Mr. Holloway on his own, until the staff turned-up. (It was easier with drunk clubgoers. They were more belligerent-- you just roughed them up a bit and scowled. It was different with someone who could potentially be a coworker.)

"Ny girl-sriend can't get e-nuss uzz duh stu-ss," the prawn finally rumbled, looking back to Mr. Holloway and his mug of coffee, "She's like a co-ssee connoiseur or sun-sing. Hasn't gotten a hold uzz any-sing I like yet, doh." Jack shouldered a shrug, "She doesn't seen to care, doh. Says dat it just lea's nore sore her."