((ooc: Continued from “Not Quite what was Expected”.

Em and Ted—feel free to join in with Helix and Wallace/LG! I’m just going to say those two are asleep as we come in. ))


Having Ian complain about his wing cramps all through the heinously long five-block drive was both odd and oddly amusing. Rupert didn’t know what to say, so he focused instead on just keeping a straight face as the teenage mutie fidgeted all over his passenger seat.

The building itself was five stories tall, and a relatively non-descript gray stone box. Rupert’s apartment was on the third floor. He made sure they took the elevator up—normally he would have taken the stairs, but he really felt no desire to field the question ‘Why are you panting so hard? Do you have asthma, or are you really that out of shape?’ It was option C, of course—‘One of your lovely kind stabbed my left lung a few months ago, kid. So shut up.’

Yes. Yes, he steered them to the elevator.

The apartment itself wasn’t small, but it wasn’t terribly big, either. As Rupert unlocked the door and stepped inside, he couldn’t help but look around and say, “Actually, I’m not sure where you’re going to sleep. Is the couch good for you?” His own bedroom was down the little hallway dead ahead and to the right, across from the tiny bathroom on the left. As they entered, the kitchen was to their right and the living room was to the left, separated by a countertop.

Flipsy greeted them as they came in, with an enthusiastic wag of her tail and a little-dog dance around Ian’s feet. The tan and white dog was a poodle-c0cker spaniel mix. Miniature poodle, that is. Rupert looked down at her, then up at Ian. “This is my dog, Flipsy,” he said, while his face very clearly sent another message: ‘Yes, she’s a poodle. You got a problem with that?’ Among the beat officers on the NYPD, he was still living down the day he’d brought Flipsy home from the pound.

“Those,” he pointed over to the dog bed by a chair in the living room. A young black Labrador puppy and a ferret were curled up in a warm heap. “Are LG and Helix; they belong to some fr—mutants. I’m apparently looking after them for awhile.” He shrugged, looking around. “It’s not much, but make yourself at home, I guess. Are you hungry?” If there was one thing Rupert had, it was food. In fact, if there was one thing Rupert was good at, it was making food. The inside of his refrigerator looked a lot like he’d robbed several restaurants. Mostly Italian joints, but a few suspiciously French desserts were tossed in there, too, along with several wraps of Mexican descent. He tended to cook more than he needed, and he was much more likely to make something new than to eat leftovers. Yes, he was wasteful. It wasn’t one of his more serious crimes on this Earth.

((ooc: Some more descriptions about the apartment: it’s not too messy, but not too clean, either—expect a few random clothes items to be thrown around in odd places. There’s unopened mail on the counter and a stack of back-issues of Church of Humanity newsletters on the coffee table in the living room, if your character knows what that organization is.

Also, you can God-Mod with Flipsy all you want—she’s a cutesy, very people-friendly little dog… who may take any chance she is given to steal your food. LG and Helix are run by Ted and Emerald, so we should just let them sleep, for now. ))

Ian looked around the apartment at the assorted clothes, mail, and magazines. It kinda reminded him of home before he got kicked out. Nice apaprtment rather homely other than the pets lieing around the floor. He looked down at the poodle dancing around his feet he reached down and patted it on the head. Continueing along he sat down on a neatby couch.

"A couch is cool with me and something to eat would be great. I haven't eaten in a while."

The poodle, Flipsy, came over and jumped onto the couch with Ian. He smilied petting the dog on the head fondly. The realizing he still had his coat on he took it off and extended his wings. Shaking them a little he rubbed the ears of the dog and then turned his attention back to Rupert.

"This is a pretty nice apartment you got here, Rupert. I think I'll enjoy it here and your dog's real freindly."

He then turned his attention to the sleeping pets on the floor. Who had they belonged too. Some unfortunate mutant stuck in a camp somewhere. Was there mutation obvious like his? He didn't know but it would probably be better not to think about such things it could get rather depressing.

"I think I'll like it here just fine."

Stretching out on the coach he turned his eye upon Rupert, who despite all, he still didn't fully trust.

"A couch is cool with me and something to eat would be great. I haven't eaten in a while."

Well, at least the kid wasn’t fussy, and Flipsy liked him. Though Flipsy did like everyone. Rupert opened his fridge, and started looking for something he could re-heat that would keep him out of the living room. He needed something that he couldn’t just stick in the oven... something... like that vegetable lo mein. Yes, he had some Chinese food, too. He couldn’t take credit for it: this really was from a restaurant. He pulled out the little paper cartoon, got out a pan, and mostly avoided looking at Ian, except for a few sneaked looks. Those wings looked a lot bigger in his apartment than they had up on the roof.

"This is a pretty nice apartment you got here, Rupert. I think I'll enjoy it here and your dog's real friendly."

“Thanks. Yeah, she’s a real people person. Ah, dog.”

So, he had a mutant in his apartment. And it would be sleeping on his couch. Because he had invited it to. He wasn’t quite sure why this had seemed like a good idea. Okay, leaving the kid on the roof had been out. He’d probably have kept trying to find the freak school, which would have gotten him caught by the Stalkers sooner rather than later. But... but there was a mutant in his apartment. Rupert suddenly wondered if finding black feathers on his floor would act on his nerves like a faucet dripping. As he pushed around the crackling lo mein with a spatula, he comforted himself with the thought that, technically, turning the kid in was always an option.

"I think I'll like it here just fine."

“That’s good to hear,” he answered conversationally enough. “With any luck, Congress will come to their senses about this whole thing sooner rather than later.”

The fact that he took comfort from thoughts like that started building up into a migraine in the back of his head. Yep. He was doing really well with this reforming-his-act deal. Clearly, all traces that he’d been a zealot were gone. And another thing: mental sarcasm, contrary to what one might think, wasn’t actually good for budding headaches. He turned the burner off, and got down a plate. There was only enough here for one, but he wasn’t particularly hungry at the moment. It was all Ian’s.

He walked into the living room, and handed the plate and a fork off to the kid. Something Rupert’s apartment was lacking: any sort of kitchen table. The coffee table was the closest he came to a place to set a plate down and eat. It had been an effective system for a bachelor who liked to look over case files while he ate. He might have to rethink it a little, now that someone who might care was living here.

Awkwardly, he sat on a chair, and tried not to stare at Ian’s wings. They really were big—which made perfect sense, since they could support the weight of a six-foot humanoid individual in flight. He compulsively picked up a magazine from his table, then set it down like he’d burned himself. The Church of Humanity newsletters he’d been looking at. Right. They were really very amusing, once you didn’t believe what they said anymore. He resisted the urge to look at Ian, and search the kid’s face for any sign that he knew that those magazines were published by one of the most fanatical mutant-hating organizations in America. An organization to which Rupert was a member. Yes. Well, bringing the kid here had been an excellent idea, all around. Bravo and hats off to his own intelligence in unforeseen situations.

He hopefully whistled for Flipsy, but the little dog wasn’t about to leave the side of the only person with food. “So,” he asked, in an effort to feel less awkward about just sitting there, “where did you say you were from, again?” It didn’t hit him until after the words were out that Ian probably didn’t want to think about his home, right now. Right. Great. He left the question awkwardly hanging in the air between them, and made an effort to not sit at military-attention in his own chair in the middle of his own living room.

Wallace's nose wriggled. There was something new. Waking up, he opened his eyes sleepily. Then he saw something very new. A bird! He loved birds. They were such fun to chase. He ran towards Bird, and was expecting it to fly away, but he reached it a lot faster than he had expected. This was a very large bird. So large, that Wallace slid straight into it's ankle. Wallace looked up at Bird, got scared, and retreated under the sofa. There he made frightened little puppy noises, in the hopes that Thing 1 would remove Bird before it did anything.

Ian listened to the puupy's noises and began to feel thourghly sad. He hadn't meaned to sacre the thing. He shook his head and turned away only to notice the magazines for Church of Hummanity. Not so much of a suprise considering this man's past but a reason for him to keep his guard up. Averting his gaze away from the magazine he turn his attention to Rupert.

"I think I scared your puppy there."

Pointing to the source of the whining sounds. He shook his head and then remembered Rupert's question. Where he was from was kinda a touchy subject, but being honest with this man was probably the best strategy. He was a recovering zealot and not exactly high on the people to trust list. So show your nice face and be good to him and he might just return the favor.

"I'm from a smaller city by the name of Athens, it's in Georgia. Pretty far away from here nice enough place to live unless..."

He let it trail off there. No real need to go into to detail about what happened there. He would like to keep his past in Athens if at all possible. No need to focus on that when his future was ahead of him and that wasn't even that bright.

"Tell me if there's anything I can do around here to help. You know you're helping me out so hopefully I can return the favor."

He then turned his head to the untouched food sitting in his lap. He picked up the fork and dug in demolishing the food in what was probably record time. Wiping his food from his mouth he turned his attention back to the whining.

"You can come out I won't hurt you."

Rupert was honestly a little surprised by LG’s reaction to Ian. He hadn’t been aware that he’d been raising a puppy zealot. Actually, he wasn’t even sure how that was possible, particularly since the pup’s former owner was a mutant. Maybe it was just something about Ian. Dogs were able to sense things, sometimes. The way Flipsy was sitting next to the winged teen on the couch, wagging her tail like her life depended upon it didn’t exactly support that theory, though.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him,” Rupert said, tilting his head to stare under the couch where the little dog was huddling. He stood, and started walking into the kitchen. “So Athens, Georgia, huh? Can’t say I’ve ever been there. New York born and breed, personally—have you ever been to the city, before this? It’s normally a great place...” He trailed off, too; enough said on that topic. He started rummaging through the cupboard under the sinks. Ah—there it was.

"Tell me if there's anything I can do around here to help. You know you're helping me out so hopefully I can return the favor."

He straightened back up, and gave a shrug as he came back to the living room. “That’s good of you to offer, kid. Thanks. I can’t say I’m thinking of anything off the top of my head, but thanks.” He almost wished he did have something to tell the kid—having a teenager cooped up in an apartment all day with nothing to do didn’t seem like the best idea. Especially since the wings probably weren’t his only mutation, with Rupert’s luck. Actually, with Rupert’s luck, his other ‘talent’ was lighting things on fire, or making peoples’ heads explode. That would be just fantastic.

“You can come out,” Wings was trying to convince the puppy, “I won't hurt you.” ‘A’ for effort, but puppies usually weren’t fluent at English.

As Rupert rounded the couch, he gave a low whistle. “Wow. When was the last time you ate?” That plate was practically polished. “Here—try this.” He offered over what he’d just gotten from the kitchen: a puppy-sized milk bone. Bribery could take a person far in this world, especially with dogs.

Ian shook the bone in his hand idely for a while before lowering down to the bottom of the couch. Shaking it back and forth there he began to whistle trying to coax the puppy out.

"Come on I'm not gonna hurt you. Here I've got a nice bone for you. You like bones don't you?"

Ian continued to shake the bones as he turned the conversation back towards Rupert.

"I have to ask you a question Rupert. You said a lot of mutants were arrested. Well any idiot can see that. But how many escaped, how many people like me are still out there?"

Ian really wanted to know the answer to this question. It had been the reason he had came to New York in the first place. To find people like him was his number one goal. But he also wanted to find a way to help those in the camps. That would require more mutants.

"The reason I came to New York was to meet people like me. So if you knwo of anyone please let me know."

He continued to try and coax out the puppy unaware of the poodle Flipsy eyeing the bone with delight.

Bone. Correction, his bone. All thoughts of birds were gone, only the bone was there. Wallace darted out from under the sofa like a tiny streak of black lightening, clamping his little jaws around the bone. His momentum carried him forward, causing him to roll under the table, when he skidded to a stop. He then proceeded to gnash away at the bone, blissfully unaware of the ever-jealous Flipsy, who after having had her food eaten by some stranger was not in the mood to have the same thing happen to her bone. Flipsy was currently edging slowly towards the table. Or rather, towards the huddle of happy black bone-stealing fur beneath it.

Wings’ puppy-coaxing didn’t seem to be going so well, right up until the second the little black lab barreled out from under the couch, grabbed the bone, and skidded straight on past to land under the table. Rupert took a moment to raise an eyebrow, and laugh. Puppies were interesting critters. Like children, but with more common sense, and a worse braking system.

Finally, he got around to answering the mutie’s questions. “Yes,” he said, leaning back against the arm of his chair. “There were definitely some who escaped—I can even describe some of them; quite a few that actually are criminals managed to escape. As for exactly how many got away, I don’t know.” He gave a shrug, choosing to keep watching the puppy—and Flipsy’s semi-jealous approach—rather than look at Ian and his angelic black wings. “This is the first time we’ve made an effort to systematically keep track of mutants, so we don’t know how many have slipped through the cracks of Registration.” He paused a moment, his eyebrow furrowing. How had the Registration Act ever sounded like a good idea to him? There was no real way to tell if they’d caught all the freaks, and in the meantime, the ones who had escaped were buzzing like a jabbed beehive. Even Ian here, who seemed like a nice enough kid—as freaks go—had been ready to start something up on that rooftop if Rupert had been after him.

“I wish I could tell you where you could find some more of your kind, but...” he gave a little shrug, “I’m not exactly the first person that a mutie should trust.” He realized what he’d just said, and hastily clarified: “Not a person they’d think to trust, anyway. Which is fine. Great. It’s a lot easier to play zealot when you’re not socializing with the freaks.” He stood up, and hastily walked over to the kitchen to hide the wince on his face. He really, really needed to work on his word choice. In any case... when he came back, he was carrying a spare key from one of the kitchen drawers. He offered it to Ian. “Here. It’s for the apartment. I can’t say it’s wise to go out wandering around outside—actually, I would strongly advise against leaving here—but... If you want to try and find the others of your kind, I can’t stop you. And you certainly wouldn’t find them just sitting tight in here, waiting for this whole mess to blow over.”

He sat down in his chair again, and attempted to give Ian a stern father look. Which was rather hard, since he wasn’t old enough to be the kid’s dad, and he’d never particularly cared for rug rats, anyway. If Raina had actually—no. No, he wasn’t thinking about that. “Just promise me that if you go out there, you’ll keep it low key. If you get caught, you don’t know me, and I don’t know you—and I will be just as much of a jackass to you as to every other mutant if you end up in my camp. And promise me that you’ll keep those,” he waved at the feathery masses on the boy’s back, “things covered. No flying!” Considering that the boy had been on a church rooftop, it seemed like he really did need that last bit of advice. Teenagers... were a little dense like that, sometimes.

Ian took the key and nodded. Rupert had given him good advice and he intended to follow it. To the letter if he had too.

"Alright I'll keep that in mind. Keep the wings covered, don't go attractign attention, and try to stay to inside the apartment, got it."

Ian smilied and turned his attention to the dogs. He was begining to think about what he was going to do to entertain himself during his stay at Rupert's. A good idea would be to find a book or a map on the city to try and find some likely places people like him would go. Yeah that would be a good idea but there was no real hurry.

"I think Flipsy there is jealous."

Ian laughed as Flipsy dived for the puppy and the bone. He turned away to avoid the scramble for the bone and walked over to a nearby window. Folding his wings flat against his back he gazed out it at the sky. Instantly he felt a longing for the sky, a longing to feel the cool wind on his face. He fought this urge down but continued to stare out the window losing himself in thought.

WHOOOMF!! Wallace was sent skidding along the floor, the bone still clenched tightly in his teeth. But now there was a Thing on the other end of the bone. Wallace snarled, which sounded more cute than anything else due to his little puppy lungs, and tried to rip to bone away from Thing.

Flipsy was not having any of it. She kept a tight grip on the bone, and yanked backwards. Unfortunately, Wallace was still just a little puppy, and so he lost his grip, and Flipsy trotted off happily with her bone to go and sit on her bed.

Wallace looked towards his bone with all the puppy-dog-eyes-ness that he could master. But Thing 2 wasn't even looking, and probably wouldn't care if it did. So Wallace searched for something else to do. Then he spotted Bird, who from behind looked.... really cool to climb! Wallace yipped happily and, returning to black streak mode, thudded into Bird's leg. He then tried to climb his way up, aiming to try and grab hold of the wings.

(( OOC: Picking up from Jogging ))

It's been about twenty minutes since Sonya received Naveed's command to take him to Rupert.

That's long enough for her to hail a cab, give the cabbie Rupert's address, and have him drive there. He doesn't live that far away.

It's also long enough for her to wonder why she's doing this.

It seemed like the thing to do at the time, at first... after all, she had just told this guy Rupert had shot his relative, and he had kinda freaked out about it. But once the adrenalin (and the initial effects of Naveed's mental influence) wore off, it had very much seemed like a bad idea.

To begin with, how is she going to explain Teresa knowing Rupert's address? She only knows it herself because she'd gotten the precinct secretary to give it to her, back when she was wearing Stanley, with some story or another about his network access seizing up and wanting to send Rupert a Christmas gift he didn't want the whole office knowing about. The last thing she wanted was any kind of connection being made between Teresa and Stanley. She'd rather not introduce Rupert to Teresa at all, frankly, especially not while he's sober: he's not stupid, and he's no doubt already figured out that "Stanley" was a shapeshifting mutant, it wouldn't take enormous brilliance to connect the dots. And even if she finds a way to squeeze out of that one, there's still Rupert's whole mutant-hating thing. Sonya's pretty sure she'd gotten through to him the other night, but Naveed isn't exactly the best poster child for the whole Mutants Deserve Your Love and Support movement.

So, really, the logical thing to do is to tell the cabbie to stop, and run the hell away. Which Sonya would absolutely do, except Naveed had told her to bring him to Rupert, so she has to do that first.

Between the absurdity of that thought-process, and the whole glowing-red-eyes thing, it doesn't take much careful analysis to conclude that Naveed's mutation involves mind-control. Useful talent, that she thinks with a touch of envy, and makes a mental note to let Syn know about this guy as soon as she has the chance to make a private call. Or, well, to let Syn know she's got something, anyway... cell-phones being easy to tap, as Sonya has learned from countless television shows. Wonder what Raina's is.

It's an interesting sensation, being mind-controlled. Sonya had always thought it would be like being drugged, or a zombie, or something... but it's not. She's completely herself, except for this compulsion to take Naveed to Rupert. I could shoot him, she realizes with some surprise... nothing in her compulsion stops her from doing that, or makes her want to obey him in any other way. Right. So, that's the plan. I shoot him, then I get the hell away... or, no, wait, first I have to drag his body to Rupert's apartment, and... oh, hell.

She gives up at this point; the cab has reached its destination, and it's just easier to follow through to the end. "He's paying," she tells the cabbie as she gets out of the cab and heads to the building's front door.

A minute later she is knocking on the door of his apartment with a trembling hand, her phobic response to the barking from the other side of the door competing with, and losing out to, Naveed's compulsion.

Rupert laughed as the puppy tried to climb Ian like a tree. Been there, done that, lost a pair of dress pants over it. He really had to take the little guy to obedience school. Maybe when he was a bit bigger.

Other than Flipsy’s act of bone marauding, and the puppy who thought he was a cat, things… seemed to be settling down. At the least, their conversation wasn’t as heavy as it had been all day. Ian was safe in the apartment, and even seemed to be agreeing to stay inside as much as possible—knowing teenagers, Rupert was waiting to see how long that would last. The kid was already looking out the windows like he had a severe case of caged bird syndrome. Still, though… maybe, just maybe, they were going to pull this off. When the resistance contacted him next, he’d mention the kid, and see if they didn’t have a better place to put him up. But for now… this could work.

knock

…Or it could all blow up in their faces. That was always an option, too. He put a finger to his lips, trying to signal Ian to be quiet. Who the hell came to his apartment? No one came to his apartment. Everyone at the station just called him, no one at the camps cared, his girlfriend was incarcerated, and his parents had retired to Florida. No one—repeat: no one—came to his apartment. That was why he suddenly had a very bad feeling about this. If someone had spotted Wings on the way over here, would his fellow officers be nice enough to call first, or would they just—

knock

—yeah, that.

Rupert scooped up Wallace, and whispered into Ian’s ear: “Go into the bedroom, and close the door. Don’t come out no matter what happens. If things sound like they’re going… if it doesn’t sound good, there’s a window in there that you should be able to squeeze out of.” He looked dubiously at the teen’s wings, and added in his own mind: I hope.

“I’m coming, I’m coming! Sorry—had to contain the puppy.” He called out, for the sake of whoever was out there. Slowly, he went to the door, and cracked it open. No one in uniform. No one he recognized, either. Just some young woman, and a man that looked oddly familiar. Rupert still had the black Labrador puppy in his arms. Flipsy, of course, was wagging her tail at his feet. “Can I help you?” He asked, putting on a slightly puzzled smile.

Sonya had expected something to feel different when she successfully led Naveed to Rupert... but nothing does. So, is that it? Can I go now? She isn't sure. She doesn't seem to be leaving... but on the other hand, she doesn't neccessarily want to leave... or does she? Mind control is weird, she concludes, and idly wonders what would happen if Naveed mind-controlled Slate while Calley was in charge before deciding she's woolgathering. He's opened the door, she's done her job, she can leave now.OK, here I go!

She continues to stand there looking at Rupert.

Guess not. So, what... I have to introduce them?

> "Can I help you?"

Worth a shot.

"Um... hi. Not me, so much, but this here is Naveed. He's a mutant, some kind of mind-control thing with his eyes, and he wanted to meet you. You might want to run away or something. Um, Naveed, this here is Rupert, he's Raina's boyfriend. As for me, I'm, um, leaving now."

To Sonya's delight, she actually manages it this time... or at least, manages to step away from the door in the general direction of the stairs.

(( OOC: whether she gets stopped, or comes back on her own, or flees this thread, depends a lot on the events of next few seconds... ))

Ian nodded and ran into the bedroom closing the door quitely beind him. Taking the orders to ninth degree he crouched down under the window and prepared to make a run. There was no way he was going to the camps now, no way!

"Ok Ian calm yourself down."
Panic, that was what was coursing through his veins. He had to constantly keep himself from flying away not waiting to know what happened next. He was scared that was true, but he had been scared before. He had lived on his own for awhile and had seen some of the worse things the world had to offer.

"I'm screwed..."

Keeping his voice down as low as he could in his paniced state he hung his head into his hands and fought of the urge to start crying. No he couldn't go to the camps now, no matter what.