With how often things went wrong Locke really should avoid going into New York City. The whole Christmas tree fiasco had been enough to get Kendra to want him to remain in San Francisco when he came back for New Years. Locke brushed aside his agreeing with her as just being homesick and seeing all the familiar sights once again. By the last day though he had no doubts as to where he needed to be. In New York he could see the progress he was making. The golem making was a lot more smoother, easier to do and he didn't feel like he was on a psychotic merry-go-round when he stopped after just a few minutes. But there was so much more that he was growing in other than his powers. He had managed conversations with girls his age. Not all of them well, but at least he knew there was something he could talk about with Henri, and he could talk effortlessly to Elise. Slowly Locke was opening up. Who knows. Maybe he'd someday become social.

That wasn't to say that New York was better in every way imaginable. The usual run of bad luck when going into the city put aside there were still problems. Locke still needed light at night, he had yet to apologize to Henri for his actions when they first met. Yes he had told Chris about the accident, but he didn't mention it again to anyone. School was stressful still as he prepared for a future that he only had the vaguest idea what do do in, and he'd gotten yet another weird letter in the mail. Not that a picture really counted as a letter.

Still Locke loved New York City. The food was better than anything he'd had before. And as strange as it sound, walking with the skyscrapers blocking out the sky, surrounded by steel, glass, and concrete Locke felt a sense of liberation.

And a serious need for coffee.

Maybe it was seeing all those Starbucks logos as he walked about, or maybe it was exhaustion of spending hours upon hours walking with no purpose but the Californian felt compelled to stop in and grab a pick-me-up. He ushered himself in and joined the line. Just the fragrant smell of the coffee beans gave him an energy boast, and the cafe was warm after coming in from outside. Locke glanced around as he waited in line. The place was, he supposed, trendy, but he'd seen the inside of enough stores that the glamour had worn off. Quickly enough it was his turn at the counter. "Uhhh..." Aw crap. He didn't drink at Starbucks. Locke didn't drink coffee too often, usually just when he had no energy or had to cram, so he certainly wasn't going to blow his money on an overpriced cup of the stuff just so he could show off the trendy logo. "I'll have a small..."

"We don't have small," the exasperated barista said, "You mean a tall"

"How is a tall a small?" Locke asked, earning a groan from somewhere behind him. He was holding up the line, but honestly, what kind of dictionary was this place going from?

It was times like these one needed to spoil oneself. Confident that her essay had made its way into the email inbox of whoever marked and graded them unharmed she had decided to take a walk to clear her head, and reward herself with a coffee. She wasn’t particularly fond of the stuff, but after the night she had had today was an exception to the rule.

The familiar green logo promised speedy service and guilt free lounging in the area. Some of the smaller cafés seemed oddly possessive of their chairs once the coffee was finished. Starbucks on the other hand had such a high turnover that noone would notice if she parked herself in one of the complimentary couches and just veged for an hour or two. The mansion had couched, and a coffee machine too, but there was just something about being surrounded by adults and not having to make your own coffee that was appealing.

As she was waiting in line her eyes did rounds of the area, spotting different couches and observing their occupants and cleanliness. The person beside her seemed off in her own world as well, and although they moved in step the woman didn’t even make eye contact. Spying a promising looking couch she made her order and stepped to the side to wait for it to be called. Mind wandering she absentmindedly listened to the other drinks being ordered and those preceding her being called from further down the counter.

Her attention was drawn by the hesitancy of a customer, and the moan of impatience from someone behind him in the line. Glancing for the source of the moan she found her eyes meeting those of a teen, clearly still school age, muttering to his posse about the incompetence of the current customer.

“Oy, shutup. Everyone has to learn somehow.”

Sometimes people’s rudeness astounded her. If they had just let the guy ask his question, then the issue would have been cleared up and he would have known for next time, instead of delaying future lines as well. Contrary to popular belief not all teenagers drank coffee religiously, and even those who did didn’t necessarily know the difference in cup sizes and their respective names.

She glanced at him and cocked her head to the side. Not only did he have the stance of someone in trouble, but the look the barrista was giving him suggested something a little odd. She did a quick sweep, as far as she could tell there was nothing visibly different on this, his right side, but perhaps the server could see something she couldn’t. A visible mutation?

For some reason she felt compelled to speak to outwardly obvious mutants. Perhaps it came from the fact that she had struggled to find the mansion, that if someone had realised she was a mutant and spoken to her, she might have found her place in the world sooner. Whatever the reason, she watched him as he left the line for ordering, to wait in the line for picking up the coffee, trying to determine his age and if he was a mutant.

Shaking a mutant’s hand could be a dangerous thing, as could making eye contact, so to be safe she merely nodded in his direction as he approached the line where she stood.

“I don’t get it either, silly names if you ask me. I’m Verdy.”

It was up to him now to take the bait and speak to her, or to shy away and pretend he didn’t hear her in the bustle of the café.

A tall is a small.[/color] If you asked Locke it was just an excuse to sell an overpriced brand name to the consumers without actually saying that you were cheating them. McDonalds did the same thing at breakfast with their orange juice sizes. You had to pay more for the what would usually be a medium, and unlike soda, there were no free refills. The tips of his ears burned in embarrassment as he caught bits of the conversation behind his back about him. Honestly he didn't want to cause a hold-up. All Locke wanted was a simple cup of coffee to get rid of the chill in his chest. Did Starbucks really need to offer all these different flavors? Or was the variety a desperate attempt to draw in a large crowd? "Sma.. Tall French Roast," he managed to stumble out, keeping his head ducked down low out of humiliation. He could almost feel the waves of agitation and annoyance from those who he had kept in the line, and the barrista had been studying him.

When he first arrived in New York, Locke would have to admit, he could have easily been mistaken for a homeless teen. His clothes had been rumpled from the train journey, he had a layer of dirt pretty much everywhere, and his backpack was the prime example of wear and tear. Sure there was still some dirt on him, and if not for the duct tape, his backpack's one strap wouldn't be usable, but he didn't look like he had to go to a shelter at night anymore. Did he really look that awful today?

Probably[/color] Locke thought ruefully. Today was an experiment gone horribly wrong. He had managed to survive Chris seeing his dead eye, and if he really was making progress he should have no problem with exposing it to the unknown masses of the city, who probably wouldn't remember who he was five minutes later. Right? Well maybe not. Locke had not brushed as much hair over the blind eye, but with the stares from the barrista he had a pretty good hunch what was so off about his appearance. As he scuttled aside to wait for his inappropriately named coffee Locke fell into his old habit of hiding behind the curtain of hair.

“I don’t get it either, silly names if you ask me. I’m Verdy.”

"Now that's a silly name." Locke winced the second the words left his mouth. They had just slipped passed that thing called tact. He turned to face the person who had spoken to him, (had she? At the time she spoke his eyes were glued to the floor.). "Sorry. I'm just an idiot." Don't admit that!

She raised an eyebrow at him, it was New York, so abrupt, snobby behaviour was expected, but she suspected his reaction was due to the irritability that comes from being muttered at in the coffee line.

“Yeah, I know. It means green but I’m clearly pink. Nice to meet you, Iddy.”

For if he referred to himself as one, he must have been comfortable with the term. Besides, she was waiting for coffee, she wasn’t expected to have intelligent conversations.

“I’ve got a strict no-touching rule with people I don’t know (get zapped once and things are never the same) so forgive me for not shaking hands”

It was a bit of a risk, but she had noticed some people were beginning to warm to the idea of carriers of the X-gene. Even if he was neither mutant nor sympathiser, getting zapped by a mutant didn’t lable her as one, so she was fairly safe from detection. She swept her eyes over him again. A teen, possibly borderline adult. He did look a little different, but nothing that immediately identified him as a mutant unlike the man with gills and scales around his ears blinking at an ornamental fish tank. There was something about Iddy’s eyes, but his hair was scraped over to cover his left eye and she couldn’t tell quite what it was without pointedly staring. She thought she saw a flash of silvery skin as he semi-apologised, but she wasn’t certain.

“No problem, everyone’s crabby before they get their coffee.”

The no handshake thing was just fine with Locke. It was weird enough taking Elise by the hand when she was teaching him how to dance. He knew her, the two talked, had a mud fight. Verdy was just a stranger who introduced herself, certainly far from the required familiarity level for any sort of physical contact. To be perfectly frank Locke wasn't even sure why the girl was talking to him, other then maybe tell him how one should properly order coffee at Starbucks.

Really he should correct her on his name. Locke wasn't that common a name these days, and those few that shared the same name as the Californian most likely weren't named because of a sixteen bit video game character. He liked his name, and Verdy probably liked hers. It had been such an instantaneous response when she had introduced himself. For now he was going to just accept that she would call him Iddy. She deserved it after he bashed her name. "Not crabby,"he clarified, "Just frazzled is all. Nobody can say half the names of the things they sell here."

She nodded as he made his point about the naming and sizing… issue that Starbucks was known to have. It really was ridiculous. Why couldn’t a coffee with chocolate be called a coffee with chocolate, a tea a tea and who even knew what some of the more crazy names meant.

“Yeah, even the counter dudes can’t spit it out half the time.”

One day, when it wasn’t too busy (or alternatively when it was extremely busy) she planned to get one of the employees to read her all the names, and if they refused, demand to speak with a manager.

“The staff, rather. Before you get hired here they have to train you in tongue twisters.”

It was probably true.

She eyed the boy, he looked calm now, but who knew what kind words could accomplish, or something like that.

“You alright now?”

The teenagers who had been making a fuss had turned their attentions to something else, and soon his coffee would be finished, so there shouldn’t be too much to frazzle him out in the current situation. Still, kindness from a stranger sometimes let a person rant with no consequences. She had nowhere else to be.

Locke couldn't help but to turn his head to try and see who Verdy was talking to. Girls don't just come up to him and chat. Neither did guys, but that was because he usually found the least populated area of the room and occupied it. He was one of those kids who sat at the front area of a classroom where nobody else wanted to sit, and when Locke was in the library he went for a table where nobody would bother him.

There didn't seem to be anybody else that Verdy could be talking to. Her question wouldn't make sense if it was directed to the gray haired man in the business suit behind him. Possibly the girl in the boho skirt who dropped an empty cup into a trashcan and was muttering to herself. Why is Verdy talking to me? Do I have an arrow pointing over my head?[/i]. There had to be friendly New Yorkers, people that lived in the city and weren't the rude ill-tempered sort that you always heard about or saw on TV. So far Locke had mostly just run into apathetic sorts. "Um, yeah?" How does someone respond to that question? Oh gee golly I'm doing swell right now! Locke got the feeling that he was going to have Verdy around him in the coffee shop anyways, so he asked. "Did you want to find a table?"

As he turned his head to glance around she caught a clearer view of what before she saw only a glimpse. One of his eyes was scarred, badly. Humans had scars too, and problems. Not all issues in the world were based on genes. Not to say that he had issues, of course.

He suggested that they find a table and she nodded her agreement with this question. The couch she had been eyeing had been nabbed by what seemed to be the girlfriend of one of the teens who made fun of the scarred boy in the first place, not a good place to seat themselves. She scanned the coffee shop again and spied a booth, relatively out of the way that was both empty and near to the door. Receiving her drink from the staff member she nodded towards it.

“I’ll go nab us that one while you wait for yours.”

That would give him a chance to consider his options, sometimes it was nice to chat, and sometimes flight instinct kicked in and all that was needed was a sliver of an opportunity and the party that felt vulnerable would flee. She had been the vulnerable, she saw some of the same characteristics in this boy. Maybe that was what made her speak up when she could have just let it slide, maybe not. Whatever the reason she did not want to come across all creeper-like, he was somewhat younger than her and in a big city everyone has the potential to be predator.

She swept the empty cup up off of the table and tossed it into a trashbin before settling herself comfortably into the booth and sipping slowly, the booth had a view onto the street and she idly watched the cars pass by. If he hadn’t arrived at the booth by the time she had counted to one hundred, then she would look back. For now, she was determined to give him his space.

Locke was glad that Starbucks had managed to hand Verdy her order before she went off to get a booth. If she had expected him to get it for her he'd have been up the creek without a paddle. After he had ordered Locke had wanted to get out of the way. It was humiliating to be possibly the only teen in America who didn't know what size was what at Starbucks. Even worse was that Locke had watched the Foamy video in which the squirrel had made the exact same complaint that he did. Somehow Starschmucks did not connect in his mind to Starbucks. It was one of those moments when you should have known but the mind was off having fun on its own.

What's taking them so long?[/i] Locke wondered, Are they trying to make me forget what I ordered so they can give me something else entirely?[/i] People who had ordered after Locke already had gotten their overpriced cups of joe and taken a seat. Was it that he had ordered something very simple and the barrista didn't know how to process that? Or maybe it was being held hostage until he could order anything on the menu without looking like he should be put back in elementary school. He started tapping his fingers into his leg in agitation. At long last his small, for Locke refused to call it what Starbucks labeled it, French Roast was put down.

Locke snatched it up as soon as it touched counter and turned. They would not be getting even a penny in the tip jar. This wasn't a restaurant, and they weren't waiters or waitresses being paid less then minimum wage. The service had been slow, the person who rang him up rude, and Starbucks was already getting enough of his money as is. After a quick glance around to find her Locke dropped himself down in the booth with Verdy. The cap which had been placed on top of his cup for his safety and convince was instantly popped off. It was stupid in his opinion to keep it on once you stopped moving. He had long since stopped needing a sippy cup. "Easier getting your mitts on the Holy Grail then a drink here."

‘Careful, I’m hot.’ The lid warned. Well, one would hope so, at a price like that if she had finally received her coffee and it be cold it would have been rather disappointing. Removing the lid warning and all she stirred in her sugars and began to scoop off the foam, or in this case bubbles, and let them dissolve against her tongue.

Was it training day today? Or unusually busy? Perhaps it was merely the fact that with such a well-known brand people were paying for the label on the cup, and didn’t care too much about what was on the inside, a physical manifestation of the world’s mentality. Whatever the reason, the coffee was nowhere near as lovingly crafted as those at the little café she usually stopped in if she was going on a caffeine binge. This was close, however, and guilt free if she simply wanted to zone out.

She glanced up as he joined her at the table (before she had even reached the 80s in her silent counting) and smiled. He had chosen to sit with her, rather than make a convenient exit through the door and out of her life. It would have been easy, in an effort to streamline, and lessen the amount that the staff had to clean, all orders take away and sit-in were served in take-out cups, it gave that papery taste to all the coffee that just wasn’t achievable with china or porcelain.

“Amen. And to be honest, the Holy Grail would probably taste better too.”

Less likely to have booths or couches though, and probably not easy to get to via public transport or walking. She pushed herself back against the backrest and eyed the boy more slowly now, taking in his slightly grubby and tousled appearance whilst sipping her drink silently.

“So, Iddy, what do you do with yourself when you’re not drinking coffee?”

Which guessing from the mix up in line was most of the time.

Locke was momentarily lost in thoughts of the Holy Grail. Not the actual existence of it, but rather the movie existence. "You know that scene in the last Indiana Jones movie, where villain has to choose which cup is the Grail? Replace his choice with the Starbucks equivalent of a large. If nothing else it would make a great commercial for say, Dunkin' Donuts." He sipped his coffee, thinking about the commercial that he had just created. "Of course then you'd offend all the religious nuts."

All in all the coffee was a little bland. Locke liked spice, but French Roast was the only coffee that he knew he would be able to blurt out without making an even bigger fool of himself. The problem really was that it didn't have enough flavor from the beans. It made him think that maybe rather then brewing a fresh pot they just used the same grounds from the last one. Of course that wouldn't explain why his coffee had taken so long to make in the first place. He hadn't even asked for extra creams or sugars to be placed in.

What was good though was feeling the heat from the coffee cup leak through to his fingers. The same way that people craved ice cubes in the summer Locke craved warmth. In another life he would have been some sort of reptile. "Nothing exciting." Not unless you considered the earth interesting. Talking about rocks though seemed like a good way to get somebody's eyes to gloss over. Even though they danced in Locke's mind, the vibrations kept rocks stationary to outside observers. " I read, fail some classes, and walk around the city. Uh... I'm trying to learn how to play soccer, but it's been dangerous. As in duck for cover." Always willing to deflect conversation from anything personal, and because it was polite to do so, Locke asked "You?"

She chuckled at his description of the coffee ad, it would indeed appeal to somewhere upholding the tradition of calling sizes what the actually were. Who was supposed to know what a Grande was anyway?

“Religious nuts will be offended no matter what.”

It was true, if they weren’t protesting ads for safe sex, or mutant rights, they were complaining that Jesus’ hair was quite the right shade of brunette in a certain painting. Ignoring the fact that said son of god would have been an Arab and probably looked somewhat like those they discriminated against as they hopped off airplanes across the country. Eh, some people just refused to be content.

He gave a little information about himself and she politely nodded. Soccer she had used to be interested, back in the days of innocence before she ran away, but she hadn’t gone back to it in years. Perhaps it was time she did so.

“Heh, we seem to be doing a lot of the same. No soccer for me though, a pity. And I hope to pass my classes, I’ve been working quite hard on them.”

Of course she had. No surfing the internet for hours at a time, no indeed.

“I work as well, sometimes, and I have a dog who likes to go on walks.”

But only when it suited him.

She sipped her drink, now devoid of foam or anything slightly resembling it, and smiled as the warmth spread through her. With that essay submitted she was free, free as a bird, or a rock, or a tree, or some other free thing.

"Having a religion makes you a sort of a nut anyways," It was an off hand sort of remark, the type that usually offended someone or could start a debate. Locke knew this, and yet he still said it. "Think about it. If an adult believes that there is someone that you can neither see nor hear is with them, and they talk to them, they would be labeled as mentally unstable." Perhaps the explanation would soften his prior statement. After all Locke wasn't trying to attack all religions, simply stating that there was a level of insanity that anyone had to have to follow a belief in a guiding life force.

Dogs seemed to be a popular pet lately. Lapdogs were becoming a fashion accessory that gets it's own accessories. Locke had read once that they were used for attracting fleas away from the human owners. Who could say if such a thing was true, but Locke found no logical reason for the little yapper type dogs. Large breed dogs just seemed like a disaster waiting to happen. "Not much of a dog person myself, but that's cool."

The two fell into a comfortable silence as they drank their respective brews. With the question about what she did in her spare time Locke wasn't sure where to go next with the conversation. Ah well, might as well ask her about her job. They were hard to come by these days, and Locke was willing to bet that even in a large city like New York things weren't any easier. "So what kind of job do you have?"

The young man made a cover-all observation on religion and she nodded sagely. It seemed the sort of explanation that one nodded sagely about, and at that moment her mouth was occupied with sipping her delicious hot beverage. Although, her belief in the unusual or unnatural had been somewhat reinforced by meeting Hunter, the origin of all vampire myths, and she was certain that there were other mutants out there who’s abilities were nothing short of miraculous, but still, religion itself she could see where the issue was.

He wasn’t a dog person, which was cool, after all she was. Differences make the world go round and all that. Although who wouldn’t love her little pirate captain once they met him she couldn’t say. Perhaps his previous owner, who had used and abused him, but surely not a rational, normal person. She decided to test this some other time when she was bored and wanted to theorise on the nature of humanity as a whole.

After a time of silence, respectful not awkward, he asked about her job. She had to think about it before she answered, it was difficult to explain exactly what her purpose was in the company, all she knew was that Slate had taken pity on her lack of employment and organised for her to work for him, earning a salary that probably wasn’t quite average.

“I guess I’m mostly a receptionist. I do paper-worky things like sort files-”

Alphabetically and numerically

“and send letters, sometimes emails. The pay is good though, and the people I work with are pleasant.”

When they weren’t too busy keeping an eye on her, whispering behind her back or in other words behaving just a little odd. Still, she worked for Slate and he was the one who mattered as far as workplace relations were concerned. She smiled at the boy and took another sip of her coffee.

“How about you, are you working?”

Secretarial work? Not the most thrilling of job occupations, but at least it was a job. One that even had a national holiday. Locke let his mouthful of coffee warm his mouth up. Swallowing it was another injection of warmth into his chest. "Nah," he told Verdy. Not every teenager wants to have a job. Getting one had never been on the agenda when he still was living in San Francisco, at least not one that paid. He cleaned house, cooked meals, and served as the ultimate babysitter. After all, when you can't talk to a girl your age without sputtering, chances are you won't be sneaking them in for make out sessions or spending your Saturday nights out on dates. "I can't drive, and people like me only get hired as a fry slinger."

The job market sucked, no doubt about that. It's hard enough to find a job if you are trained and qualified, but if you're an inexperienced teen, you might as well forget it. Nobody sane wants to work in a fast food place. They are always hot behind the counter, nobody gets along, and you have to deal with grumpy, hungry customers. "I've looked around and there's not many places where I could work, even less that would help me to do what I want in life." Not that Locke was really sure what he wanted to do.