Up until she’d moved to the Co-Op, Gina had been fortuitous in her roommate experience. Agnes was practically her sister, and they hadn’t once struggled with the tiffs that seemed so commonplace when cohabitating with others. It had been so easy.

If rooming with Agnes at Xavier’s had shown her the pretty side of rooming situations, the Co-Op had given her a more, shall we say, all-encompassing perspective? When the gargoyle had seen the listing online, it had sounded like the perfect living situation for a person like Gina. Group dinners on Sunday’s, game nights, sixteen people living together like one big, happy family.

And at first, it was great! Make no mistake about that. Her roommates were older but super cool, they encouraged her creative endeavors and didn’t look-down on her. But then, old roommates left, and new roommates came.

Jayden was nice enough, but she had this churlish punk thing going. For the most part, Gina was able to jive with her pretty well. They weren’t close, but they weren’t at-odds either.

Then, Astrid moved-in… she looked like she was twelve and acted about the same age. Despite the gargoyle’s routine efforts, they didn’t seem to mesh well. And if one said Gina and Astrid didn’t mesh well, Jayden and Astrid were the perfect storm.

Jude was the newest one… she still hadn’t figured him out. She did know that he and Astrid would speak French to each-other, which already sort-of alienated them from one another.

Sufficed to say, the fourth floor was pretty tense. Though the exuberant gargoyle never stopped trying to make nice with all of her roomies, sometimes she needed a break from them.

It was thus that she found herself lounging in the cellar of the building. Even such a person has Gina needed to recharge her batteries. Perhaps she’d even have the fine fortune of seeing one of the residents from the other floors? For the time being, however, Gina was sprawled on her stomach on one of the couches at the far end of the room. Her sketchbook was open before her, and her pencil made quick, light scratches upon the page. She was working on a sketch for her most recent commission, the schematics of a tuxedo for a winged man who was getting married.

There was added layer of difficulty when it came to formal-wear. You had to maintain the crisp lines and specific fit, but accommodate the curve-balls that mutations threw your way. Gina nibbled the end of her pencil, scrutinizing the sketch. Ever since Rebecca had given her some publicity, more commission requests had been filtering-in. Which was deeply appreciated, of course—it kept her busy, and was giving the broke college kid more pocket-money—but in some ways the explosion in popularity was something to get accustomed to.

Stepping back to consider his new new abode Simon reflected that there were many words one could use to describe the co-op housing project. If one were feeling generous they would likely paint the place as quaint, convenient, contemporary, rustic, minimalist perhaps even intimate given the other tenants. Should one feel rather less charitable however they would not be remiss to characterize the building as cramped, crowded, old fashioned, rowdy and overpriced.

Still the positives had outweighed the negatives and he had purchased a room. He’d needed it in all honesty, ever since the rather abrupt...demolition, of his primary apartment he’d been hunting for new lodging. While the co-op was admittedly something of a step down from previous quarters it would suffice until he received the rest of his insurance proceeds and could provide a paper trail to purchase something more fitting.

The fact that his sister had started leaving poorly forged love letters from Isabel lying around his room in Sanctuary had not galvanized his actions in any way.

At all.

Honestly he didn’t know which was worse, the idea that Maya believed she could impersonate a remorseless homicidal pin up girl killer well enough to fool him or the thought that she was leaving similar notes for Isabel to find.

...on second thought this place really didn’t seem so bad. Close to downtown, less than half the price of Manhattan and all the advantages that came with mutant neighbours without the known implied illicit activities. Though with that being said he hadn’t spent much, if any time with the other residents, partly due to his recent arrival but also because most of them seemed younger than he was, not excessively so, but enough to mark a contrast, especially given that they looked to be college age and as such likely had yet to deal with the real word in any measurable manner.

Shaking his head Simon closed the closest containing the few possessions he’d found necessary and began to wander down to the basement where the evening meal would later be served. Avoiding the other tenants was neither practical nor helpful, if only because he should have some idea of who actually belonged in the building and vice versa.

Should he actually manage to find someone amiable and intelligent, well, that would just be a vain hope happy bonus.

Somewhat unsurprisingly he was not the only one who’d descended to the cellar ahead of the dinner bell. One of the few couches tucked into the tight space was occupied by what, at first glance, appeared to be oddly folded blue/grey canvas which quickly resolved into a pair of batlike wings folded across the back of a young woman with curling russet hair laying atop the cushions, intently focused on a sketch pad in her hand.

Well, he might as well start here. Adopting an amiable countenance he quietly cleared his throat and strolled to the seating area at the back of the room before adopting his best British brogue. “Pardon me miss I don’t believe we’ve met, my name is Simon, do you mind if I join you…?” He trailed waiting for her name.

Gina was trying to solve the issue of the suit coat when someone else cleared their throat. Maybe it was a visitor? She made a point of knowing most of the people in the building (spare a few who'd slipped under her radar or were perhaps new to the house), so this unexpected greeting warranted her full attention. A slim and, as she'd predicted, unfamiliar brunette man was making his approach.

>> “Pardon me miss I don’t believe we’ve met, my name is Simon, do you mind if I join you…?”

As he made his way over, Gina hastily dropped the pencil into her sketchbook as a means of bookmarking her page, before setting the book aside. The gargoyle then fluidly got to her feet, opening-up the far end of the couch. Did he mean "join" her, as in sit on the same couch, or "join" as in hangout in the same room? Either way was, of course, absolutely fine. She was here to escape roommates, not people altogether.

"I'm Gina," the gargoyle replied, extending her hand, "Nice to meet you."

Just as Simon had donned his best British brogue, Gina's own Californian twang likely poked it's way through her response. Surfer-dudes and valley-girls' alike colored her tone, unlike the "'eeeeyyy, I'm walkin' 'ere," that one might expect from a native New Yorker. Greetings having been exchanged, the gargoyle folded back into the couch, tucking her legs under her and wrapping her tail around her. There was plenty of room for Simon, if he wanted to sit.

"You're more than welcome to," the gargoyle said simply, setting her sketchbook upon her lap, still closed. Her tail casually flicked and curled as her gaze lingered on Simon.

"I live on the fourth floor," Gina explained, "Are you a resident, too?"

Despite the gargoyle's effort to stay up-to-date on who lived here, when sixteen people shared a living space, residents came-and-went with alarming frequency. If Simon was new, she couldn't help but wonder whose place he had taken.

Watching the girl fold her batlike wings as she rose from the couch Simon was able to get his first clear look at his fellow resident. He’d already noted her rust red hair and the argent colouring of her wings which seemingly extended to the rest of her skin. What he hadn’t caught though were the slight horns which grew from her temples, only a few inches in length but still enough to keep the ingenues copper locks from hiding her agreeable features.

The horns were far from the girls only defining feature however; clad only as she was in a pair of shorts and a tank top, the hessian could clearly make out the overlapping cobalt scales which covered her shins, forearms and what looked to be most of her shoulders. The seemingly metallic plates were each no larger than a quarter and didn’t quite shine in the light available but they still provided a marked contrast to her otherwise ashen skin.

Perhaps the most noticeable, or rather, unusual trait was the girl tail; idly curling back and forth the spade tipped appendage was as thick as her arm and slightly taller than she was. However, given that she barely managed to reach the elementals shoulders that wasn’t saying much.

In fact, staring down to meet the redheads gaze, Simon could almost see himself mistaking her for a child if not for the fact that, when he looked slightly further down, he found himself treated to a view that, well… suffice to say she gave Isabel competition.

"I'm Gina, Nice to meet you."

Realizing his glance had possibly lingered just slightly longer than was appropriate Simon gave a short chuckle and took the offered hand after only a moment's hesitation; the girl had talons yes, but that didn’t mean she was going to maim him, and if she did well, he’d dealt with worse.

”..Gina, a pleasure. Apologies for staring, I’ve not see someone with quite your figure in person before.” He applied some slight pressure to the handshake to make up for his earlier hesitation before releasing his grip and accepting the redheads offer to take a seat. “If you don’t mind my asking are your wings decorative or are you able to fly?”

His words carried a slight undertone of pleasant surprise as he spoke, thus far Gina was proving to be amiable and polite, a refreshing change from both Duskmoor whose mental maturity rarely matched her figure, and Jude who had yet to discover there was more to a conversation than sarcasm and sulking.

"I live on the fourth floor, are you a resident, too?"

“I’m not sure resident is the appropriate term, ‘debtor’ seems more apt, I swear I saw something about first borns in the lease.” He commented dryly, in all honesty the prices weren’t terrible but they were still in NYC. “To answer your question though I moved into the third floor just recently but I’ve been out and about quite a bit and haven’t had much chance to meet my.. ‘neighbours’ as it were, do you know many of the other tenants? .”

The two exchanged a handshake, and Gina wrinkled her nose at Simon’s offhanded comment about “her figure”. “Her figure” as in her mutant aspects, or as in her female aspects? Gina was one acerbic comment away from asking for that very specification when Simon chose to specify on his own volition.

>> “If you don’t mind my asking are your wings decorative or are you able to fly?”

“Fully functional!” the gargoyle confirmed, crossing her hands at the wrists over her closed sketchbook, “And, surprisingly, more efficient that public transportation nine times outta ten.”

She cracked a winsome smile. Gina would know, given the frequency with which she went from the co-op, to NYU, to Xavier’s. It took her about half the time to fly to school than it would if she walked and took the bus.

>> “I’m not sure resident is the appropriate term, ‘debtor’ seems more apt, I swear I saw something about first borns in the lease.”

Gina gave a deprecating laugh, as if she were releasing a breath she’d previously been holding. As someone previously from a small town, the rent was similarly egregious to her. Rent for a place in Mendocino would never be that high.

>> “To answer your question though I moved into the third floor just recently but I’ve been out and about quite a bit and haven’t had much chance to meet my.. ‘neighbours’ as it were, do you know many of the other tenants?”

“Ah,” the gargoyle said, the look in her eyes brightening. A new resident, “Welcome to the co-op, then! Despite being horrendously overpriced, the community aspect is pretty nice.”

Gina pushed a clawed hand through her hair, “I know quite a few residents. Right now there tends to be a lot of coming and going, though, since the semester’s ending. So it gets difficult to keep track of who's where.”

It wasn’t specifically student-housing, but it tended to attract that demographic. But, spare the popular moving times, Gina made a point of knowing everyone, whether or not "knowing" them resulted in friendship.

On hearing that the girls wing were indeed fully functional Simon responded to the girls enthusiastic smile with a bemused grin of his own. Her powers were apparently something she was quite proud of making them a safe topic for discussion, and it rarely hurt to know what those around you were capable of.

He gave the folded limbs another appraising look, trying to determine their true length and what it would take to lift the diminutive ingenue off the ground. ‘That’s.. Impressive, though I’m surprised it’s not 10/10. I’m assuming you glide for the most part? How do you get the height you need?

From what little he could see past the redheads shoulders the wings clearly connected at the shoulders blades but he couldn’t see how far down they went. If they extended down past the ribs then gliding was more likely as the wings wouldn’t have the right angle to generate upforce from a standing position. If they were only attached at the shoulders though, similar to the classical depiction of angel wings, then hovering and other forms of flight would certainly be possible.

That said, Gina was a mutant, physics tended to be optional at best.

On learning he was debtor resident the redhead features grew more animated as she welcomed him to the building while also commiserating about the price. She also confirmed that the building catered primarily to students if her comments on turnover and the timing of the semester. Which also made it difficult to know everyone currently in residence.

She’d also quietly avoided saying anything about the tenants she did know, so she wasn’t a gossip, or at least not with a relative stranger which was both good and bad. Good because it meant he likely didn’t need to worry about her being overly garrulous if she noticed anything odd about his comings and goings. Bad because because he’d been hoping to save himself some effort in learning about the other tenants.

Still what was the axiom? ‘Perseverance was the mother of success’?

‘Understandable, I’m guessing you’re a student as well? Have you chosen a degree yet?’ Impressively buxom figure aside, her physical mutations made it honestly rather difficult to tell the silver skinned girls age. She could probably have passed as anything from 17 to 27, though he was learning more towards younger end of the scale given her behaviour so far.

Gina smiled humbly at Simon’s initial reaction, particularly regarding the surprise that she didn’t beat public transportation ten-out-of-ten times. She might have chuckled a bit and rubbed the back of her head. The questions, however, were more technical. Did she typically glide? How did she get the height she needed. She couldn’t help the confused expression settling over her features. In a way, it was flattering—most people didn’t ask such detailed questions. To be quite honest, most people didn’t ask questions at all. The thing about visible mutants was that their capabilities were mostly surface-level. People took one look at you and knew what your abilities were (for the most part).

The real mysteries were people who looked perfectly normal. Like Simon, for example.

“Depends on the weather, but I try to glide when I can, yes,” Gina answered genuinely, nodding her head, “It expends less energy. As per take-off, well… I typically just try to find a high place to jump-off of. Otherwise I just… jump? But again, that expends more energy.” Her tail flicked absently.

Those who looked human were sometimes more guarded about their mutations (as Gina had learned with Richard), and so the gargoyle elected not to pry with Simon, this time. Perhaps he wasn’t even a mutant—after all, Honeycomb’s only stipulation was that you were “mutant or mutant-friendly”, which mean humans or adapteds were more than welcome to join the community.

“I’m in my third year at NYU,” the gargoyle confirmed, “Double-majoring in Fashion and Social Work… if everything goes well, I might be out in two years.” Double-majoring took the whole “four-year plan” and threw it out the window. Even five years felt blindly optimistic.

“What do you do?” the gargoyle returned the question to Simon, feeling like she’d been talking an awful lot about herself. He carried himself as though he was older, but sometimes people returned to school after they were a little older. Different circumstances and all, “Are you a student?”

Leaning back in his seat as he allowed himself to relax Simon decided that, if nothing else, Gina was certainly convivial. She seemed rather enthused about his questions on her abilities, answering with the same chipper voice that had come with her initial boast, and he saw no reason not to indulge her.

“Depends on the weather, but I try to glide when I can, yes… Otherwise I just… jump? But again, that expends more energy.”

Curious really, as it implied her gifts rarely garnered such interest, though on second thought it was perhaps understandable; with her ashen skin, cobalt scales and fiery hair the gamine was striking to say the least, add on the wings, horns and tail and she could easily be considered demonic which would be more than enough to give the wrong impression to most people. It was actually a wonder the girl was proving so affable.

“Jump?” He arched an eyebrow; even with a running jump to build up speed, if she wanted to avoid crashing into others she’d need almost 8ft. “Just how high can you get?” His gaze wandered down the soubrettes legs as he spoke, mentally adding enhanced strength to the girls abilities; pleasantly toned they might be but, nothing about them indicated they’d let the redhead reach almost double her own height.

Hearing Gina confirm that she was a student, a third year at that, Simon found himself giving the gamine a quizzical glance as she discussed her program of study. “Fashion and social work?” Tilting his head the hessian raised his eyes to the ceiling briefly before focusing again on Gina. “What made you choose those two?” Honest curiosity in his voice; he was searching for some kind of synergy between the two subjects, considering how much tuition cost these days there must be some link between them. “Or rather, what are you hoping to do when you graduate?”

It never hurt to know others ambitions after all.

When she turned his own question on him Simon simply smiled, part of him had been quietly wondering how long she’d be content to just focus on herself. Narcissism was a depressingly common trait these days, especially in NYC. Still it seemed the redhead was far better than most.

“No, not a student, though I suppose I should be happy I can pass as one.” Maybe he should actually take a course or two at Yale, he’d certainly bribed donated enough over the years. “I’m a business consultant, risk management mainly; proposing and executing solutions to deal with competition or government regulations.” Also known as wetwork, bribery and blackmail.

The English language was a beautiful thing.

>> “Jump? Just how high can you get?”

The gargoyle hummed, as if genuinely considering the question, and then shrugged noncommitally.

"I haven't exactly measured, or anything," was the apologetic confession. Gina wasn't even entirely sure what she would be apologizing for-- it wasn't as though she had her flying down to an exact science. Flying was about feeling, about cutting loose. She wasn't about to invite some kinesethiology or physics (or, heaven forbid, zoology) students to measure the mechanics of her flight and quantify the exact angle, speed, force and so forth.

Gina's flicked briefly towards the doorway before cutting back towards Simon. She was often credited (or perhaps "accused" was a more befitting term) with being an oversharer, but the logistical questions were making the conversation feel more like an interrogation.

>> “What made you choose those two? Or rather, what are you hoping to do when you graduate?”

"I'd like to pursue a career in fashion," the gargoyle conceded, "Particularly making clothes for people whose physical mutations make it hard to fit mass-produced clothing." She was, after all, doing it for herself and a small following of people as it was. But her reach wasn't nearly as grand as she wanted it to be. Not yet, "My mom is... understandably skeptical about how realistic that may be, so..." Gina smiled. Thankfully, she was a pretty good student, adopted, and a physical mutant, so she received a handful of scholarships and financial assistance, "I mean, I also love working with people, so I'm sure I'd be happy either way..."

She listened diligently as Simon explained his professional life, quirking a smile when he "supposed he should be happy" that he looked young enough to be a student. He had one of those thin, handsome faces that could believably be anywhere between 20 and 30, and Gina was not a discerning eye.

>> “I’m a business consultant, risk management mainly; proposing and executing solutions to deal with competition or government regulations.”

It sounded very impressive, particularly when he put it so formally. The gargoyle was intrigued, so she pressed forward, "So what sort of issues, hypothetically, would you handle as a business consultant? Dealing with competing companies and government regulations sounds pretty serious, and I'd love to hear what that entails." Was he working face-to-face with people? Hunched over a computer? Was he handling big issues that propelled his business forward, or considering minutae?

Resting his elbows on the armrests and interlocking his fingers Simon echoed the grey girls thoughtful hum as she demurred his question. He’d intended to come across as impressed; to persuade the gamine to further elucidate on her abilities but given her response and brief glance towards the exit, the conversation was having rather the opposite effect. A tad unexpected given how garrulous she’d been thus far but not unreasonable; perhaps she’d learned the benefit of keeping her skills in reserve or, more likely, she was just naturally modest.

Whatever the case, he acknowledged her reply with a dip of his head and let the matter drop; no need to make redhead feel as though she was on trial after all.

When the subject turned to her areas of study the hessian again found himself a non-answer. This one though didn’t seem as deliberate, rather Gina herself didn’t seem quite certain how fashion and social work would function together. From the sounds of it she’d simply not thought quite that far ahead and was already receiving what could politely be referred to as ‘parental concern’ over her choices.

Letting a slight smirk settle on his lips the elemental refrained from chuckling as Gina trailed off and instead merely shook his head in bemusement. “It is the duty of good parents to be concerned for their children's future, even when they’re fully grown. At worst they become insufferably irritating for a time, alternatively they help you avoid problems that could last years.”

Case in point student debt; the absurd enrollment levels in colleges across the country meant that a degree was no longer a mark of distinction and wouldn't command the attention of employers as it would have in the past. Graduates were increasingly finding themselves with diplomas that could cost tens, if not hundreds of thousands of dollars, but were unable to find work at anything except minimum wage, leaving them far worse off than if they’d gone into the workforce directly after high school or chosen a trade school.

Still he doubted Gina wanted to hear any of that, she likely heard more than enough of it from her mother, so again he allowed the topic to drop… until the conversation turned to his own ‘occupation’.

"So what sort of issues, hypothetically, would you handle as a business consultant? Dealing with competing companies and government regulations sounds pretty serious, and I'd love to hear what that entails."

Lifting a single eyebrow at the unexpected query Simon glanced to the ceiling as he took a moment to gather his thoughts. He rarely got questions on the nature of his beyond the initial description, he phrased it to be vague and dull for a reason after all. Still, he was more than capable of blagging his way through the conversation, despite what he thought of his own father than man had run his own business for most of his life.

“It really depends on the client.” He offered, giving a simple shrug. “A smaller enterprise is likely more concerned with local competition and how to gain the upper hand, whether that’s sourcing better equipment,” like bigger guns, “or designing a strategy to command more market share.” Such as using bigger guns to eliminate the competition. “I’ve been everything from the middle man helping buyers and sellers connect to a key advisor helping an owner decide on how to carry out their strategy, even carrying them out myself.”

“With larger clients you can still have the same concerns as smaller ones but they’re more likely to be subject to government regulations and have the funds to do something about it. Given the way government works the most common solution is lobbying; there are few investments that pay better dividends than a politician.” At this point the hessian shrugged once again, as if to say ‘what can you do?’ he honestly didn’t particularly care about in the inherent corruption in politics but it rarely sat well with others.

“In those cases it’s more about what you know than who you know.” Until you got to blackmail, in which case it was about who knew what you knew. “So my efforts are largely focused on helping clients get a foot in the door.” Which could be surprisingly difficult at times given the sheer number of skeletons most politicians kept on the other side of said doors, but he wasn’t about to go into that.

Shifting his gaze back to Gina he decided to shift things back to more safer waters, his ever present smirk returning as he continued. “Now, if I had an engagement with you well… I’d have to get to know you a little better, though that’s hardly a hardship.

“From what you’ve shared though I’d say you’re greatest strength lies in your natural marketing. You design mutant clothing and are clearly a mutant yourself; that gives you a certain amount of clout right off the bat. If you decide to pursue a degree in social work you’d be ideally positioned to get government contracts given their focus on diversity quotas.”

“With that in mind, If you haven’t already I’d recommend researching and reaching out to local charities that cater to mutants and inquiring how they address the needs of those with, how would they put it, ‘Non standard figures’? Start by offering your services at discount, or free if you can afford to, maybe try and garner the interest of a local paper and have them write a human interest piece on what you’re doing to get your name out further, maybe attract offers from private individuals. Then, ideally, once you graduate you’ll have a network you can leverage for a steady income.”

Finishing his impromptu lecture Simon took a moment to simply let the the girl process everything he’d said, leaning his head against the back of his seat and watching the redhead from the corner of his eye, waiting until she’d gathered her thoughts before concluding.

“That’s essentially a sample of some of what I do, normally I’d charge anywhere from $500 to $5,000 for someone in your position, however since your a neighbour, how does dinner sound?”

Because sometimes you couldn’t put a price on pleasant company.

---

(OOC:Again, apologies for the wall of dialog. Just wanted to get this out rather than spend the next week tweaking it. That said if you would like anything changed do let me know. I can also have Zephyr offer to buy dinner if that makes a response easier for you and because he’s smug enough to offer. )

The gargoyle nodded at the sage advice Simon offered. Perhaps he’d been through the same process with his own parents, and was speaking from experience?

“I know Mom comes from a good place,” the gargoyle agreed. Even if, as Simon put it, her hovering was “insufferably irritating”. Whatever the future held for her, she’d make it work. If only her mother let her try… the gargoyle found respite in focusing the conversation on him instead. Some points still had the potential for being raw, particularly if they focused on the topic for too long. Simon, however, seemed happy to indulge in some explanation of what his profession entailed.

The gargoyle wouldn’t deign to admit that his explanation made her head reel. Independently, each sentence made sense, but as a unit the information was dizzying. Despite this, Gina was still a fantastic listener, nodding and offering cues to show that she was listening every now and again. It sounded like he… networked, and helped businesses succeed, by the sound of it.

Again, however, the conversation returned to her—Simon was seeming to conduct an assessment of Gina’s own marketability, so to speak. The gargoyle inclined her head, a ghost of a smile pulling at her lips. Those were actually… very helpful tips. Gina’s brain didn’t operate like that (it wasn’t her profession, after all, so it’d never occurred to her), so this idea of networking, of using her mutation as clout, of anything just… hadn’t dawned-on her. It took her brain a moment, after processing information, to note that Simon had stopped his analysis.

“I feel like I should have taken notes,” she said warmly, glancing at the abandoned sketchbook and pencil beside her. Her gaze slid back towards Simon, crossing her arms at the wrists atop her leg, surveying him, “Thank you.”

She wasn’t sure what else to say, beyond the casual remark that, “That’s a really powerful position to be in. You could help, like… make or break a company.”

If she was being entirely honest, Gina didn’t think she could handle a job that sounded so high-stakes.

>> “That’s essentially a sample of some of what I do, normally I’d charge anywhere from $500 to $5,000 for someone in your position, however since your a neighbour, how does dinner sound?”

Gina’s brow stitched in mild confusion—if she could afford to treat someone to a $500-$5000 dinner, would she live in a co-op? Unless Simon meant to suggest that a dinner date would be the payback, no minimum-money-spent required. It all felt very “Aladdin” to the gargoyle… wherein Aladdin said the Genie “probably couldn’t” get him and his monkey out of the cave, and thereby avoiding the use of a wish to escape… except instead of granting an unwarranted wish, Gina was repaying unwarranted advice.

“As long as it’s not a five-hundred dollar dinner,” Gina agreed, cracking a cheeky grin at Simon, “I don’t think I could swing that.”

She "didn't think" she could afford it? No, she knew she couldn't afford it. That would be a significant chunk of rent money.