Yupyup, they had been beaten. To a pulp.

She laughed at his joke. Elliott appreciated that. Laughter in this situation was far better than it's alternative.

There were all sorts of things in the kit to help stave off infection, of bandage, or treat. Seemed like some of it was meant for kids, though. He reckoned it was more likely they'd be dealing with families in a diner, and not anything life threatening. Hence, Mario, and not a healthy supply of One Ups.

She picked red. Elliott agreed with her, red was a better color for the woman. He gave a slight nod at that. Without a word, he pulled one out of the box and prepped it. Then, paused as the ice pack was pressed into his skin. His cheeks browned in a subtle blush, and he passed her the band aid, with its dab of Neosporin on the inner pad.

"Here," Elliott said. "Thanks."

When the waitress came back, he ordered a coffee. Just coffee. Simple.

She gave Elliott a smile. They barely knew each other but had already been through the rags together. Maybe it was going to be the start of a good, long friendship. Hopefully with less violence, though. Celeste could do without the violence. She was, after all, more of non-violent kind of person. Desperate times call for desperate measures, though.

She smiled as he prepped the band-aid and she went ahead and placed the ice pack on his head, where she beat him with a helmet. She winced internally at the thought. She at least took the guy out, though. That was a plus. She smiled at the blushing and nearly blushed herself as she took the band-aid with her free hand and placed it on her cut. She sighed a little, ordering a coke and a strawberry milkshake. Weird combo, but screw it. It had been a wild day.

Of course, the ice pack was cold. The conversation had cooled too. They'd both lapsed into a momentary ease of simple comforts, of handling wounds and sitting around doing not a lot. It was a silence that felt like it had lasted about a month (sorry about that), but one he didn't want to let last. Someone had to break the ice.

"So." Elliott said. "I should probably walk you home after we finish here. In case those guys try and follow you to get revenge."

That was an easy suggestion. And-- "Should probably also get your number to keep in touch." He added in a quick mumble. "New York's a dangerous place." Elliott supplied, what he thought sounded like a lame tone. She'd never believe his good intentions. That was fine. He didn't quite care. Quite being a keyword.

The waitress returned with a steaming pitcher of coffee and a couple of mugs. Not quite what he'd ordered, but okay. If she wanted, celestina could get a triple dosage of caffeine and sugar. Coffee, Coke, and milkshake. Maybe she was just that thirsty? Elliott poured himself a cup.

Celeste sighed in content. It had been a really wild, insane time but at least they made it out relatively scratch free (except for the big ole’ bruise Elliott would have… Poor guy.) It was quiet now, and getting a little awkward but not too bad.

She nodded, “I think that’s a good idea, although, you might need to be walked home too.” She giggled a little, shrugging, “I think they got the impression, though. I mean, I hope… Jeez.”

She perked a brow as he, in a very cute way, asked for her number. He was right, New York was a dangerous place. Of course, she didn’t really believe that. She blushed slightly, “One moment…” She grabbed her purse and pulled out a pen and an ordering pad that she accidentally brought with her a few nights ago. She really needed to put it back, but it kept slipping her mind. She wrote her number down and handed it to him, “I expect some type of text or call at some point, you know, to make sure you’re okay.”

Celeste was a bit perplexed at all the things the waitress brought, but Celeste didn’t say anything. She could live with extra sugar. Not a problem!

Elliott smirked at the comment. Maybe he needed to be walked home? Nice. If they hadn't gotten the impression... well clearly, they'd needed to be HIT HARDER. Impression... hit... that was a terrible pun. He didn't verbalized said thought, just nodded at her. "I hope." He agreed.

Any harder and that impression they may or may not have got might have been a permanent one. Personally, Elliott thought them leaving with their lives and only potential concussions was far better than the various other messy alternative ways for how things might have panned out.

He asked for her number. It sort of stumbled out onto the table like a drunk ejected from a bar. All mumbled and hurried, and yet dumb. It was a wonder she didn't laugh in his bruised face. Elliott took the number, and smiled at her. He pocketed it.

"I'll text you," he agreed. That way, she'd be able to get his number too, he supposed. Was it right to give her the number up front so she could know it was him when she got a mystery text? He showed the thought, and missed the perfect timing for a number exchange, as their orders arrived.

He tore open a sugar packet and dumped the entire thing into his mug without preamble. Then he added another. He didn't usually like his coffee sweet as this. Maybe her sweet tooth was running off on him?

"So what do you do for fun?" He asked. "You know. When you aren't fighting crime or waiting tables."

She smiled at his smirk. It seemed like he was thinking about something but he ended up with a simple 'I hope.' She hoped, too. Celeste still couldn't really understand... Well, everything that had happened that day. It seemed too crazy to really feel like it was real.

She knew it was all part of their lives, being mutants, though. People were jerks, particularly to those with physical mutations. It was a cruel world and it would probably stay that way. Despite their breakthroughs in technology and everything else, humanity wasn't that great at learning a pretty simple lesson: treat others with respect and dignity.

In either case, she nodded. She went ahead and put her actual phone on the table. Afterwards, she'd lean back and take a sip of her milkshake. Mmm. The coldness helped sooth the warmth she had felt just 30 minutes prior. That was half of the reason she got it - just for the coldness.

She was slightly caught off guard at the question but she smiled. She wasn't that great at answering that question - 'what did she do for fun?' She laughed at his comment side comment though. She thought for a moment, "Well, I cook, volunteer at the library, read a lot, singing, hiking... I dunno, visiting museums and stuff." She shrugged a little, "What about you?"

"A real renaissance woman," Elliott smiled.

He'd spotted the cell phone when she'd put it down in between them. The green man wasn't certain whether she wanted him to text her on it then and there, or if it was simply there for the whole world to see. Whether she was daring him to text, or just showing off her pretty phone case. He put the potential psychological girl warfare on the mental back burner for the moment and focused on her question.

He placed a three-fingered hand against his chest. "Me?" Elliott asked. There were a lot of things he did for fun. Vigilante work, some honest thievery, and anything illegal that passed through his mind were not one of those things. Work does not equal fun. He smiled a crooked smile, and gave her an honest answer. "I like to go to concerts and listen to weird music and Indie bands. I also do a lot of mixed martial arts stuff. And the gym. Maybe some time, I could introduce you to one of the bands. There's this steam punk one with people dressed up as Victorian robots with a steam-powered giraffe."

He laughed. It was far more weird than it sounded. He'd met a friend at one of those concerts. Sadly, they had lost touch after he'd gone feral. Poor Ty.

He drank his coffee. Then, he fired her off a text. It said "the band is a lot weirder than it sounds.'

She grinned, with a small giggle. She wasn't so sure about that, but that was most of her hobbies - when she had time, anyways.

She perked a brow, resting an elbow on the table and using her hand to rest her head. She grinned at the mention of Indie bands. She liked Indie bands. She wasn't so sure about the weird music part, though.

She'd need some clarifications on weird music later. Martial arts made sense - especially considering the performance several minutes ago with the jack*sses. She perked a brow, "Victorian robots with a steam=powered giraffe? I mean, count me in."

She perked a brow as her phone lit up. She grinned and replied back, "Victorian Robots with a steam-powered giraffe? What's weird about that?"

He smiled. Apparently, she had no problems with robotic animal life. Even more interesting, she didn’t think the costume choice and theme were strange.

“I stand corrected,” Elliott chuckled. “Nothing weird at all.”

With mutants around, maybe steam powered robotic constructs was what people these days deemed as “tame”? What was weird, then? Flaming lips and weird awkward squirt gun concerts in the nude? Yeah. Probably. Though even then, that was probably just somebody’s Tuesday.

“I’ve mainly heard them do covers. The band. But they have their own songs, too. Honeybee is both beautiful, and tragic. About a bad breakup, with all these robot references and stuff— well, you’ll just have to hear it yourself to get the gist.” Elliott said. Words really couldn’t describe. Some things one just has to experience first hand.

He’d have to call her the next time they were in town doing a concert. Or just call her.

His phone buzzed. A text message from a friend. Elliott frowned down at it.