The steak and cheese was a good choice. Aleksandr had tried it once or twice but found the burgers to be just a little bit easier to handle than the shredded meat. Supposedly steak and cheese sandwiches just weren't the same without the bread, either, but it was a bit much or him to try to chew. The burger was definitely the more rewarding of the two, not that he would complain or felt that he was having to settle. He wouldn't keep coming back if he thought he was getting the worse end of the deal.

The waitress came and went with more flattery heaped upon her by the snake man as she struggled not to let it overwhelm her. Sometimes he just liked to see how quickly he could get them to blush or stumble over their words, his own private, harmless game. His head turned mostly back toward the young man across from him as he was addressed, though most of his attention lingered a moment more on the waitress as she retreated to the kitchen to start filling the order. Once she was out of sight he turned his gaze back to his lunch companion.

"What to do depends on what you are wanting to do," he began with a shrug. The city was packed with different places and activities that could cater to nearly everyone if they knew what they were looking for. But he supposed a stranger from out of town, so to speak, may not even know that much. "I most like the park for spending the day. There is good space for sunbathing and lots of people to watch. But there are also many bars and clubs, coffee shops, book stores, theaters, museums. It will be easy to be keeping yourself busy until you can get back home."

Benji was absolutely certain that with how Al acted, and what sort of mutant he was, the man had heard every permutation of the phrase 'snake charmer' worked into a joke. It was probably tiresome, and terrible because of its reliance on the play on words. The Korean spared Al the attempt at humor, and kept the thought to himself.

Al's answer was a fair one, if predictable. Of course, a man who was part snake would enjoy laying out in the sun. As for bars and clubs... ahem... Al clearly liked flirting. He seemed a sociable serpent, sincerely selective of what sorts of fun activities he enjoyed. Coffee shops, book stores, museums. Et cetera.

"Fair enough," Benji allowed. "I guess I can always see how artists differ on this side of the rip. Different social pressures influence different artists. I do art, myself." Art was more likely to be different than music was... at least, classical music. Pop music was anyone's ballgame.

"My art focuses a lot on expressing my feelings on the treatment of mutants in my reality." Benji said.

So the kid was into art. If he had to get tossed through that wormhole then he'd wound up in the right place to land. The city had countless different places and activities of the artistic persuasion to look into. Aleksandr had poked around a few spots and was looking to get himself more involved in the scene in one way or another as well. He just had to actually settle in and give it a real shot rather that flitting around and treating it all like some kind of social game. He really did need to learn to draw a stronger line between work and play sometimes.

"Difficulty is good for starting creativity. No so good for other things, though," he commented. It was a shame so many artists seemed to suffer or feel the need to suffer to create their work. It certainly was an incredible coping mechanism, though, and how inspiring it was to cope in a way that had the potential to change the word. "It is a shame your world is not so accepting of mutants. There is still mutant hatred here also, but it is getting better. I hope your world gets better also." It would take time and effort, but they could get there. "What is it that you are creating?"

Difficulties were good for creativity, Al had said. Not do good for other things. Benji nodded, restrained look on his face.

On the one hand, adversity could lead to great accomplishments. Some of the greatest films and books of all time were responses to terrible things. Criticisms. Coping mechanisms. One person's imagination of a 'what if', a worst case scenario... or a better one. On the other hand, people had to suffer through them in order to gain that muse. It was no good that the things had happened. You couldn't say their having happened ultimately created the artist, because that was an unrealistic statement about cause and effect. Though with some things, one could connect dots. Some things were obvious. The pain behind remembering wars, leading to books like The things they carried... Or of avoiding the memory entirely, like Slaughterhouse Five. There was more complexity to that one thought than Benji could share in a single conversation, let alone a single paragraph. They also didn't have the time.

"Yeah..." Benji agreed. "It's saddening, my world's stance on mutants. The X-men are flat out criminals, according to our police... but over here, I guess they're more accepted? They help people? I hope some day, we can hammer out our problems over there... if I can ever go back."

That whole 'vigilante' thing. Had people seen his face when the helmet had come off? He didn't know.

Al's question about art was a lot less heavy than his topic. "Paintings, mainly. I do a few sculptures, and some mixed media. A lot of it can be pretty abstract." He smiled a half smile, mainly to himself. "Jackson Pollock-ish, maybe. With a lot of movement and colors to express emotion. It's hard to explain with words. I try and experiment with different styles, too. Here," Benji stopped and pulled a paper napkin closer to him.

The mutant started drawing a hasty scrawl on the paper napkin. It was all flowing lines and motion, with shading in ink from his blue ballpoint pen to imply colors. It was abstract, but at the same time-- it almost looked like the mutant across the table from him. Dignified and strong, despite the dissonance of the sadness from the pressures of the world around him. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't truth. It was just Benji's take, tilted. Something to show the kinds of art he liked to create. He showed it to Al once he'd finished.

"We are not accepted always, but I think we are moving in right direction. Here the X-Men are working with police, but they were not always. If I am remembering the right way they have been having trouble with acceptance in the past also before they start working with police," he replied with a bit of a shrug. He hadn't been in the country for very long, but he was certain he had heard of there being turmoil between the X's and the general public at different points in time, especially when larger crime organizations were at their peak, and especially during the Registration. "I think problems will work out for your side eventually. And you will get back into your side of the world before it has been too long."

The snake man listened and watched curiously as the other young man tried to explain what it was he did artistically. He only looked up from the sketch in progress when the waitress stopped by to drop off their drinks with promises that the food would be out soon as well. Aleksandr favored her with a smile and a thank you before shifting his attention back to the scribbling pen.

He slid it closer and lifted it to get a good look at what had been drawn once Benji had finished scratching away with his pen. He had recognized the name that had been given from somewhere, but seeing what was on the napkin brought the work back to his memory and he could see the inspiration. He may not have completely understood what had been sketched out, but it was lovely nonetheless. "This is very nice," he said, tilting the napkin first one way and then the other to play with the way the shapes looked and interacted. "I like this movement drawing. I would like to see your finished work also. I bet it is also very good."

Not accepted always, but moving in the right direction. Hopefully, that was true. The moving, not the not being accepted part. It was still weird, hearing about mutants working WITH police, even in a mildly accepted role. Maybe that spoke something about his own conceptions... vague distrust of government and / or power figures, anyone? He'd always figured that liberal touch had come from being artsy. What a dumb assumption.

Benji hoped Al was right. That his side of reality would realize their faults and improve. He was familiar enough with his own version of history to have the suspicion that it would not be the case. Ah well. He moved on the less depressing topics. Like art.

Drinks came, while he drew. Cool. He took a drink of whatever he'd ordered once e was well and done. He didn't stop mid-drawing, and up and disrupt the work.

Al examined his scrawling on the napkin. He looked at it, and Benji got the impression that he appreciated the thing, despite the fact he didn't immediately go 'whoa whoa whoa dude you are blowing t mind!' Or anything. What he did say, when he said it, was just as good (if far less 70s hippie).

Benji smiled at Al. "Maybe I should make more. This side of reality might appreciate it a little differently than my side does. Not that they don't. It's just--" He smiled briefly, and shook his head in mild amusement at his own ego. "I'm definitely not famous or anything. Hardly even have a real job. Not in art, for sure. Haven't even heard back from the orchestras I've applied to yet."

Maybe he would hear back soon. Maybe he had, but hadn't been there? He idly wondered what Al did for a living, but didn't ask. Al might volunteer, himself.

"Famous or not you should always be creating more, if that is the thing you love to do," the snake replied with a nod, placing the napkin on the table and smoothing it out. "You will never be getting famous if you do not. Not that famous is the only reason for making art." quite the contrary, he'd found. Personal pieces were almost always more interesting and more moving than the ones created for the sake of fame or maintaining a brand.

The waitress returned with their plates and Aleksandr sat back, swept up the napkin sketch and slid his drink to the far side of the table so the plates could be placed down. He thanked the woman as she slid away and draped the drawing over a section of his tail, out of the way of any burger grease that might accidentally drip away from the plate.

"You are a composer also?" he asked, curious about the mention of the orchestra. It wasn't often he met someone like that, but seeing the way he drew it made sense. They were both movement oriented as he understood it. "You are very talented. I think you will be making a name for yourself before very long. It can't hurt to try being known while you are here also."

Benji agreed, creating things was good. A passion of his, it was. And fame did not mean skill. It wasn't what he strove for. It wasn't self expression. It was just a paycheck.

"Van Gogh was amazing. But he wasn't famous until after he died." Benji said mildly, after Al's comment. Sad, that. The man had been troubled enough. He'd never seen the joy his pain had brought to people.

Their food came and it looked awesome! Benji thanked the woman and drew his food up close. The sandwich steamed and smelled great. Cheesy and meaty and good.

He paused before his first bite, and answered. "A little. Mainly, I play music. I do some remixing on the side and some minor stuff, but really--" He faded off. Mainly, he played what others wrote. Creative expression? Sure. In a sense.

He hadn't applied for those positions with the orchestra on this side of the tear. He'd applied at home. He wasn't home now. He might have missed a crucial call. There was also uncertainties about whether or not he'd be able to return. Not because of the disturbance... but because of the dramatics with the fight in Times Square. He focused on his sandwich, rather than that. Much more palatable.

"Thank you," Benji said around a bite of sandwich. The compliment was appreciated. "You seem nice too."

If he stayed, maybe he'd make a name... if he stayed.

The sandwich was excellent. It might have been antisocial , but for the moment his attentions shifted to eating in silence. He broke it occasionally with idle questions about stuff in New York Al would have no trouble answering. Geography differences he wanted to know, etc. He asked about the mansion and its address, the one notable thing he'd heard about but hadn't inquired too much on. They'd already hashed out a lot of the social differences. But was Central Park still green? Inquiring minds wanna know.

"What do you do for a living?" He asked, about 3/4 done with his sandwich and fries.

((Sorry I lost this. Baby brain taking all my focus. Maybe we can work towards a conclusion since it's been going on so long. ))

"I do many odd jobs, but not steady work yet," Aleksandr replied after swallowing down the bite he was chewing. His mouth was larger than the average person's, but he was trying to pace himself through his meal so the other young man wouldn't feel rushed. The bread helped to slow him down a little, but only so much.

"I would like to be trying for more modeling. I have done a few jobs and it is very fun. Getting paid to be adored would be a good life to have." And a good way to meet other interesting individual he imagined, especially in the circles that were looking for mutants to photograph. Demand for unusual faces wasn't particularly high, but it was slowly growing nonetheless. Sometimes he liked to imagine his would be the face to really give the movement a good foothold. A silly dream maybe, but fun anyway.

He fell silent for a moment at the thought, allowing the brief daydream to float through his mind again while he finished the last of his burger and picked at the remaining fries. The waitress came with the check and assurances of no rush to complete the transaction. Aleksandr fished his wallet out of the mess of tails by his neck and slid a few bills into the book's inner pocket.

"The Mansion is maybe the best place for you to be staying," he began, placing the little black folder at the edge of the table for the waitress to fetch next time she came by, "But if it is taking too long to get in there are empty rooms on my floor in the apartment I am living at. We can maybe sneak you in for some days if we are quiet."

Modeling, huh? Benji nodded thoughtfully. “You’ve kind of got an Adonis look going on, which is popular. Even though snake man makes me think more of the Medusa side of the Greek myths. But she wasn’t handsome. Though I guess not being able to check your hair in the mirror makes it hard.” He joked.

He was fully okay with calling a handsome man handsome. Sometimes one just needs to call a spade a spade. He didn’t even question whether or not anyone would get the wrong idea from that sort of compliment any more. People tend to enjoy flattery. As long as it isn’t creepy. If it’s creepy, you need to stop.

The waitress came, and he paid with cash. He added a five and a couple ones to help with the tip, too.

Al was really a helpful, friendly sort.

“I appreciate the tip,” Benji said. “And thank you for the offer. Guess I can look you up in the phone book if the mansion doesn’t work out.” He paused. “They have those over here, right? And phone booths? Heroes are always hiding in phone booths and coming out in costumes, on the other side. Only to get arrested by police for public indecency moments later. I really have no idea how it got so popular.” He was silent for a moment, then clarified. “I’m kidding, by the way. Nobody uses phone booths for that any more.” Certainly not him. One cannot get much costume change done in 3 seconds... even if it is just a matter of slipping on a helmet.