Cue: Music!

Grannys flowery dress flew about her in wide folds of lightly colored linen cloth as New Yorks hot summer winds picked up strength, blowing in her face with some semblance of a hairdryer. Only that her hair was gray and hidden today under one of her many hats. A small round thing that made a particularly British impression, considering that it had a flowery arrangement off to one side that had, as it was finely made from silk, not wilted like the usual flower under this climactic charge. People called it the worst drought since... last year. But since Granny had not been there to see it she would simply assume that this years was pretty good along in terms of heat and dryness. 'If I didn't have a wrinkled face before I would surely get one now.' she mumbled to herself. She had to take the hand that was not holding her usual cane to stabilize this, the only, thing that kept her head from boiling, from being blown away in the face of this natural onslaught. Shielding was tempting now.

People around her stated bending like reeds in the face of so much concentrated heat, walks slowing to crawls, crawls stopping. Only an old lady continued her slow gait. Only that she was not faced with a multitude of obstacles in her way that had no interest in ever moving – it seemed. She mumbled a few choice words about bloody rudeness that went unheard, or at least unheeded, by at least the people standing next to her. Yes. Shields. They did not only stop bullets and bullies, but also helped clearing your way out of a crowd. Especially if they were bright green and everyone had their eyes closed against flying grime and dust.

People toppled around her like they had been shoved by some unseen force. They had been actually, and Granny headed off into the shade of an alley. It was cooler there, though not actually less dusty. Most certainly though there were less people there around her. To unnerve her or to run into her, unsettle her old bones and these things. She really did not take kindly to that. (The perfectly circular cleared-out area on the walkway would attest to that statement.) Because there was only so much an old Granny could take. Especially if she had super powers.

So she stalked. Now in the shadows (Anyone talking about hobbling slowly would be faced with a flying car!). There would be not much here that could hurt her, so she was not worried. And the people on the walkway had not fallen, only stumbled a way clear for her. And also finally the hot wind died down. Her dress stopped being flung about and the cool of the shade settled upon her. Her hand descended from her hat. Its job as finished.

As dust flew into her eyes and the sun burned the back of her neck, Kaitlyn tried to remember why she had decided come out here. Why, for even one minute, she thought that it would be a good day to explore the city. The older Sanctuary residents, who were more prone to paying attention to the news than she, tried to warn her about how awful it would be out here.

But she didn't listen. And now that she was out here, she would feel stupid if she just gave up and went back without doing anything fun. But she could have at least brought a bottled water. Or maybe sun screen. In fact, now that she thought about it, didn't somebody once tell her that the sun's rays could make her freckles go away?

...But she liked her freckles! She had to get out of the sun, and fast! Kaitlyn looked around frantically for the nearest shady area. That alleyway should do the trick. She bolted into the shade, not paying any particular attention to what was in front of her, until she noticed that the patch of air ahead of her was bright green. And, as she quickly discovered, solid.

With a loud pop, a small blast wave kicked up even more dust, made those standing near to the alley's entrance stumble or fall over, and knocked over an empty garbage can. Kaitlyn rubbed the spot on her head that bumped into the force field, and finally noticed the old lady who probably created it.

"...Sorry."

>> Sorry.

Of course she did not feel things bumping into her shield. Not like that. Not when the force involved was so small as a small child. Holding the thing up was taking most of her concentration anyways, so her reaction to the little thing she felt was a bit slow. It might have been her age though dragging at her, for as soon as she was safely tucked inside the shadows the green light fell from around her. It simply vanished.

Old eyes were looking out of an old face, lines of age having engraved themselves over decades of exposure to wind and weather. And the sun of Asia and hails of bullets flying at her and people sneering at her and she laughing at people and she dancing with men and... those lines told very much the story of a long life lived. Lived with much laughter, or so the cows-feet along her eyes said, those eyes now slightly filmed and enlarged by the things infesting the space between the horn rims on her nose. Those things and the eyes behind them were now firmly set on young Kaitlyn, inspecting gravely. The trashcan was rolling merrily along, clattering. Ans spilling its contents. Now she had not done that, seeing that she was a woman of cleanliness. No she had not. (And she was not petulant, thanks.)

She shook her head lightly. “Hello young Miss.” Her free arm – the one not holding the cane – motioned her to come closer. “It is quite alright, come a bit closer please, these old eyes don't wok as they used to.” Darn them. Stupid eyes. (Not. Petulant. Just old. Thanks.)

Kaitlyn stared at the woman, taking in all the wrinkles on her face, the gray in her hair, and the way she leaned on her cane. Yes, this lady was old. Something about this old-ness threw the small Orderling off balance. She lived with mutants of all kinds, shapes and sizes, often much taller and older than her, but none of them were this old.

Those pedestrians who had fallen over got back to their feet, then largely continued on their own separate ways, mildly inconvenienced. A few of them shot dirty looks at the pair of mutants, either upset about being knocked over, or by the mere fact that they had to share the world with this girl's and that old woman's kind.

>>“It is quite alright, come a bit closer please, these old eyes don't work as they used to.”

"Alright!?" a man in a business suit interrupted. His thick, dark, heavy eyebrows seemed to exude belligerence. Beads of sweat formed on and slid down his rounded, red face. His suit and pants now bore a few marks from the fall that resulted from Kaitlyn's mutation. "I have a job interview to go to. And I just got this stuff dry-cleaned!"

As the man with angry eyebrows complained, Kaitlyn slowly, timidly inched into the alleyway and towards the old woman. She hated it when her mutation activated itself in public. It always made people mad.

The man seemed prepared to launch himself into an angry tirade, then thought better of it, and uttered a few choice words that Kaitlyn technically shouldn't know before he started to storm off.

Even as the businessman broke into his angry tirade, Grannys arms wrapped around Kaitlyn in a grip that was physically weak. Her old hand did not carry the force of your an more, the fingers spindly and easily broken, joints swollen with disease only painfully kept in check be a number of medications. What her hands did carry though was warm reassurance. He was a Grandmother putting hand on a child. Not violently, protectively wrapping her hands around her head until her ears were covered.

A child need not hear that language. What did not happen though as she did this was the clatter that could be expected from a walking stick falling on the ground to join the trashcan. It did not fall, instead being enveloped in a green light, standing up straight.

Grannys hands shook lightly on the child's head, her fingers not heavy, but light like birds wings. Her bones seemed as hollow. But they were there. Her old eyes were alight with something like rage. Her stick rose even as the man turned, oblivious to the danger he had just turned his back on. People on the walkway scattered as the cane flew by them like a thrown spear of green.

It poked the man straight in the back. And not too gently at that. He turned around huffing even more obscenities, not knowing quite what had hit him. That was until the green glow enveloped one of his ears and was bearing down on him. “Young man...” Grannys voice was still a feeble thing, only holding a sharp edge now, and not one of beauty any more. “ you will not use this language in presence of children and your elders. You will...” and at this point he was beat over the head by the moving stick. He gave a most satisfying yelp.“...apologize for your bad manners. And until you find civil words in your mouth my cane will beat you.” switch. Yes it did.

Only slowly her hands removed themselves from Kaitlyns ears and settled on her sounders, trying to stabilize and old womans failing legs a bit.

The beating drew spectators. Those in the immediate vicinity stood and gawked as the cane rained blows upon the hapless man. One teenager had the presence of mind to activate his cameraphone. "Swearing Man Gets #%@&ed Up By Old Mutant Lady" would go viral later that week.

A large part of this particular video's success was the victim's refusal, or perhaps inability to pay attention to the old lady's ultimatum, which the recording managed to catch the second half of. After each strike, he would try to threaten the woman with legal action, or perhaps a call to the police, but he would go about it so profanely that another blow from the green, floating cane quickly interrupted him each time.

This went on for the better part of a minute, until, clutching on to a bloody tooth that had been dislodged by an earlier strike, he finally apologized.

"I'm... Sorry." He spoke slowly, as if he was struggling to spit out those two words. His eyes burned with hate as his eyes moved between the old telekinetic and the red-headed child in her arms. What irked him above all else at this point in time wasn't that his clothes were ruined by sidewalk-dust or blood from this show of force, or that he could never get the job he was asking for looking like this. It was the smile on that kid's face.

Here he was, his head still aching thanks to that floating goddamn cane, beaten and humiliated, with the best shot at shaking off his unemployment having just been shattered, and there she was, grinning like a little idiot at him.

Kaitlyn had only known this lady for a few minutes, but she already had a lot of respect for her.

Did Granny let the obscene man leave? Yes. Of course she did, though she did it grudgingly. Grudgingly and with a smile that very much matched that of the child in her arms. An old cat that was playing with her food, she really was. And she almost purred with the pleasantry of the situation. If it had not been slightly bitter. She had won at a price the man would have to pay. And maybe she. And maybe every other mutant on the street, the country, the planet. She was not arrogant enough to think that she was responsible, no, but representative, yes, that she was.

But there was a child around. One she had her arms around. The cane dutifully came back to her. And she let go of the child. She would have come down to her level of sight, but her joints prevented that, so her friendly smile would have to suffice. “Now I think we should have an ice cream. I think we deserve that.” She began to thump-thump walk down to street, leaving incredulous people behind like it was a totally common occurrence that they did look at her that way.

An ice cream parlor was just around the corner. She knew that. She hoped that it was still there at least. So she walked.

“And now you can tell me a bit about yourself. If you want to.” Thump, her stick made on the ground. She looked old again.

Kaitlyn met the old lady's smile with an inquisitive look. Ice cream? Who goes around buying ice cream for random kids that they just found on the street?

Apparently, this woman did. The questioning look turned into a smile, and the orderling followed as she slow-old-lady-walked towards what Kaitlyn assumed would be an ice cream shop. It was far too hot out for Kaitlyn to be suspicious when air conditioning and ice cream were involved. Besides, who was she to refuse free ice cream? And what else was she going to do? Stand around while Sir Swearsalot and the other humans gave her the evil eye?

She stayed close to Granny, and tried to ignore those other people.

>>“And now you can tell me a bit about yourself. If you want to.”

The girl held her chin for a moment, thoughtfully considering what about herself was worth talking about.

"My name's Kaitlyn. I'm a mutant like you, but instead of making stuff turn green and fly around, I make stuff blow up. And I live in the Sanctuary with my mom."

She called Lori her 'mom' so casually that it almost surprised her.

Ah walking. It made her old bones hurt a bit. She did not have the reach and flexibility of youngsters like the kid. She did not have the strength of the men and women passing her that were half her age. But she did have something. It radiated about her even if she did not use her mutation, a strength maybe, that was unseen and unremarked upon. Her jaw was set and her smile friendly. Her walking-stick was hardwood and in good condition. Her dress and nails were pristine.

She made Arthritis look quite good on her.

“You can call me Granny.” She announced to the child at her side. She continued along though, not pausing for breath or anything else (notably: People in her way. They usually got out of it. One way or another), just walking slowly. “Everyone calls me Granny.” Because to children such things were important to know. There was a Granny-Granny and a Granny. And if she had family then there was something interesting: “There are two things I would like to ask you. If they make you uncomfortable, you do not have to answer.” With children and animals: Always leave a clear path out. “First:...” One of her free fingers rose. “Is your mother like you then? And secondly...” Another finger. “...what is this Sanctuary?”

Just: Questions. And they were closing in on that parlor. It was in a small building that was white. On its outside there was an ice-cream cone of plastic announcing the wares to be found inside. People went in and out with aclarity. This was obviously a good shop. A busy shop.

Kaitlyn saw the ice cream shop as they closed in, and her mouth watered in anticipation. She wondered what flavors they had, and whether one of them was pistachio. Pistachio was her favorite flavor by far.

Her thoughts about ice cream were cut short when Granny asked two more questions. Kaitlyn immediately began to answer the second: "The Sanctuary's this big place in Brooklyn where they let mutants live for free. They all get their own rooms, and food, and everything. And it has its own library, and stuff like that. And uh..." she thought about what Granny meant by her mom being 'like her,' and decided she was asking whether Lori was a mutant. "My mom's a mutant, too. Her name's Lori. She can shoot lightning at things and shock them, and she has magnet powers. But she can't ever use computers, because they get destroyed when she touches them."

The Orderling considered using her "mom's" first name for the rest of this conversation. It still kinda felt weird to call her anything else.

She entered the parlor and with her came the electronic jingle of a small door-come, a plastic box set on knee height for most, to greet her. People were moving about the shop, dominated by one big sales counter under whose glass cover the most dazzling and colorful amount of ice cream was stored. Big heaps of cookie-and-nuts were followed by a poisonously green mint, a wonderfully looking cranberry and others. So many others. People were queued before that counter to receive their goodies and pay for them in kind. Some of them settled in corners that were not full of chairs, but be-pillowed and which invited lounging much more than anything else. How, Granny wondered, do they keep these things clean, as she queued up dutifully and then looked toward her smaller companion. Her words had not been forgotten.

“Your mother sounds like a wonderful woman. Old bones like me do not care much for computers.” She even gave something of a bit of a shudder at that. Indeed. Horrible devices for spending time with. They did not talk, were dangerously loud and quite difficult to cope with. “So. What flavors would you like?” She said, pointing to the counter. “And what would you like to ask an old woman like me?” Just in a pair, her offers. Again.

Air conditioning! Shade! The duo had walked out of an oven and into a temperature-controlled paradise. A crowded paradise, true, but also a paradise with a wide selection of ice cream flavors. Of course, they had pistachio, but there were so many other flavors that Kaitlyn had never even heard of before! The window between the customers and the ice cream was lined with stickers that indicated the names of the different flavors, some of which were very strange and Italian-looking, like "stracciatella.". Kaitlyn didn't know what any of those tasted like, but she already knew what she wanted.

Granny's first question was easy to answer. "Pistachio!"

"And... Uh..." The second one called for a bit more thought. Her first temptation was to ask why they were getting ice cream in the first place, but she feared that the older lady might retract her offer in that case. So she went with a question that would never offend anyone:

"How old are you?"

She smiled a bit at this question, remembering. How young had she been when she had last asked such a question this bluntly? Probably sixty. Good times those had been. “I am probably as old as you are young.” She managed. Maybe to snuff her slight incredulity. She caught her balance, proverbial balance that was, quickly. She ordered ice cream, letting the young one ponder her words for a bit. “But that is not an answer to your question, is it?” Her head lowered itself somewhat. As much as she could with her hurting back. And then from her lips came a conspiratorial whisper. “Seventy-two. I am seventy-two this year.” And that was that. She still held her head and voice the same way though. Conspiring. Bestowing secrets. “People usually think I am too old to think properly. Like the man earlier. They also think people like us the young and the old are weak. They need to be disabused of such silly notions.” She was completely earnest at this. And probably the child might listen. Maybe the mother – that Lori woman – too. Children were never too young to have seeds planted. Especially if they were truth. As Granny saw it. Also:

Two balls of delicious pistachio ice cream sitting in two plastic cups. Granny exchanged green for green. And then set down on one of those pillow-things with a sigh. “Now lets see what this tastes like, shall we?” She looked like an old cat right now. A very comfortable old cat.

=Thread closed=