(( OOC: Open to anyone who is out and about... I have nothing in particular planned, just a social thread, and establishing some of Sonya's power growth. This is vaguely "now" post-timejump... that is, over a month since registration. ))

Staying in Calley's apartment has been, without question, a huge logistical simplification of Sonya's life. She no longer has to worry about where she's going to sleep each night, or whether she has enough money to afford food in addition to shelter. She hasn't had to steal anything in weeks, which is a huge relief for her.

That said, it comes with a certain amount of oddity. No surprise, really... Calley and Slate aren't the world's most ordinary people, and that's not even counting the whole tiger thing.

Mostly they don't overlap at all... he's been staying with the Resistance, and she's been out and about collecting information. But they've run into each other a few times. She's confirmed from his descriptions -- vague though they are -- that she's more useful out and about than she could ever be cooped up in there, and also that he really does prefer to sleep on the floor in tiger-form.

She's also confirmed that he doesn't change from tiger to human when he sleeps. Which she'd been curious about, so she'd stayed up one night to watch. Entirely scientific curiosity, in no way related to any hypothetical desire to see him naked again. None whatsoever. Especially not with how scrawny he's been getting.

Although that has, admittedly, been concerning her somewhat. Not that it's any of her business, granted, but it can't be healthy, can it? Which has encouraged her to try her hand at cooking more, which brings her wandering through the supermarket aisle with a cart full of groceries her mom would approve of. Vegetables. Rice. Pasta. Onions. A pot roast. Lord, when did I get so domestic?

Well, it's healthier than the junk food I've been stuffing my face on, she thinks... then pauses, wondering if that was a Teresa-thought. They've been growing more common lately, and she's getting better at recognizing them, but still nowhere near perfect. Still, sometimes she can tell just from their content, and the 'diet-and-exercise' thoughts are typically Teresa's. Which is goofy, since we don't gain weight.

She'd figured that out after pigging out on what had to be the world's most absurd Thanksgiving meal ever... turkey burritos and pop-tarts and seven kinds of pie and a goldfish-bowl full of Swedish fish with whipped cream and potato chips and cheese dip and... ugh. Of course, she'd been depressed about not being able to see her family for Thanksgiving, which accounted for a lot of that.

Afterwards she'd been horrified to discover she'd gained five pounds in a single day -- definitely a Teresa-thought -- and subsequently bewildered to see it disappear in an instant when she reset her form. She'd repeated the experiment a few times and confirmed the results: she can eat as much as she wants, and once she's finished digesting she can simply revert to her recorded state.

Which isn't an excuse to eat like a pig. And that was definitely a Teresa-thought, and Sonya stops short when she realizes she's about to put a container of wheat germ in her shopping cart. Or not... it's not like I'm ever going to eat the stuff. Tastes like cardboard. She puts the container back on the shelf, carefully not asking herself how she knows what wheat germ tastes like.

It worries her a little, the growing Teresa-ness of her mind. What happens if she wakes up one morning and decides she is Teresa? She's never had this experience with any of her other templates, but then again she's spent more time wearing this body than all the others put together, and she's beginning to realize it's not just the body she borrows... it's the mind, too. Or at least the brain. Or something like that. It doesn't make much sense to her, really, and she tries not to think about it much.

Ice cream. Much better idea, she tells herself firmly as she picks up a gallon of fudge tracks to join the bottles of hot fudge and Maraschino cherries in her cart.

"Bang, bang! Got you, lousy mutant!"

Sonya freezes in surprise at the sudden voice from behind her, dropping the ice-cream carton on the floor and turning in horror to find two small children chasing each other down the aisle.

"Did not! I have a, a, mutant fours feel! Bullets just bounce off!"

"That's 'force field,' Sam," comes the amused-and-exasperated voice of what Sonya assumes is Sam's father. "And I've already told you, don't run in the aisles, and keep your voices down. You can play Cops and Mutants when we get home."

Sonya can't decide whether her primary reaction is relief, outrage, or dismay, and finally settles on a combination. "Right," she mutters just quietly enough to be officially talking to herself, "and later on they can play Concentration Camp Victim if you let them use the stove." Mr. Sam glares at her, but says nothing, and she gives him a big smile as she bends down to retrieve the damaged ice cream.

Honestly, Sonya's intention had been to put the ice cream in her cart and walk away. It really had.

But Sam's father heard her – which, to be honest, she’d meant for him to – and wasn't willing to leave it alone. Instead he steps up right next to her, intimidatingly close. "I suppose you're one of those sentimental idiots who thinks we should let mutants run around and do whatever they want to, and never mind how many of the rest of us they hurt, right? You bleeding heart liberals make me sick... you'll defend anyone and anything, won’t you, as long as it doesn't involve normal people living a normal life!"

He’s not exactly shouting, but he’s a lot louder than he needs to be given that he’s right up in Sonya’s face. Clearly he expects her to back away.

She doesn’t.

“No, man… you got me all wrong. Lock ‘em all up, I say!” She waits for the startled expression before taking a step back. “But the thing about the ovens… well, it’s the obvious next step, isn’t it? I mean, we can’t just let them sit in prison and plot their revolution, right?” He doesn’t quite know what to do with that, it seems, and she crouches down then to make eye-contact with the older of the two kids while he works it out.

“Only here’s the thing you have to remember, kids… and this is really important. Mutants are everywhere, and they can look just like normal people. So you can’t trust anyone. I could be a mutant… so could your teachers at school… or the cashiers at the supermarket. Your dad could be a mutant. In fact… and this is the worst part… you could be a mutant and not know it! And then when your dad found out he’d have to ship you off to the Camps, and --“

“OK, that’s enough.” Sam’s dad has grabbed her by the arm to pull her away from his kids, and she does something complicated with her arm to break his grip without thinking about it and stands straight.

“Oh, not hardly, Mr. Normal.” She looks down at the boy’s terrified expression and squelches a moment’s bout of conscience as he starts crying. “I’d say that’s just getting started. I’m just telling the kid the truth, after all… but if I were you I’d get busy coming up with some lie that makes you sound less like a monster, before your kids start believing me.”

Kyle had been on the other side of the grocery isle when this whole, terribly amusing, conversation took place. He wanted to laugh at the father who seemed to be rather protective of his sons.

Good for you buddy... but in the end, it might not do a bit of good... they could turn out to be a mutant. Let the right things slip to the right people, and BAM! Your kid disappears in the night and you can't do a damn thing to find him...

Kyle took a moment to scan the older child's mind. The younger was too young to be able to tell. Thankfully, his mutation had started working again. It had started up again some time after the raid. But there it was, basic 'what am I' information. There was no hint of this kid being a mutant. Lucky little shit.

Kyle came around the corner to observe the pissed off, and at the same time horrified, look in the man's eyes, "She's right you know. And if they do turn out to be mutants, there's more than camps to be afraid of. Mutant kids go missing all the time. But really, what's the harm in sticking a ten year old in a lab so you can stick them with needles and see what makes them so much of a freak? Those damn mutants are so uncooperative. Sheesh." Kyle gave an exasperated shrug of his shoulders and shook his head as what he had said hadn't been horrifically sarcastic.

> "She's right you know. [..] Those damn mutants are so uncooperative. Sheesh."

The voice is vaguely familiar, as is the face when Sonya turns around to look, but she can't place him right away. Still, he seems to be on her side in this little impromptu mutant-rights debate, so she returns her attention to Mr. Sam, who by this point is pulling both his children down the aisle, the youngest in tears. She considers tossing another comment his way, but decides to drop it while she's ahead.

Instead, she turns back to her unexpected ally and grins. "Nice to find another ally. I swear, some days I feel like the only baseline human in New York who isn't supporting these damn concentration camps." She sticks a hand out in greeting, idly curious about what she'll learn from touching him. "Name's Teresa."

(( OOC: feel free to do your "what-am-I" mindscan on Sonya, but be aware that there's at least three distinct 'selves' in there plus fragments of a half-dozen others, with very different answers to that question... (grins) ))

Kyle smirked, "Ahw hell. It was just too tempting to jump in on that conversation. It's so thoughtless to let them run around a public place playing 'cops and mutants'. Jeez. Stupid kids." He straightened up and stopped leaning against the edge of the isle. Kyle shook her hand, "Name's Kyle, nice to meet you."

Sonya isn't sure whether it's the flood of genetic information that runs through Sonya's awareness when their hands clasp, the name, or the smirk that finally lets her place the boy, but whichever it is the memory comes back crisp: coffeeshop. Rupert and Raina. Reuben sandwich. Cute. Well, OK, that last part she'd already noticed.

And also: mutant. Which is no surprise, really... all the baseline humans seem a lot more content with the MRA status quo. Though after meeting Naveed, Sonya's not sure she blames them as much as she once did.

His genome has vaguely familar overtones, as well... as though his mutation is one she's encountered before, or at least something similar to it. She can't quite place that, either, but lets it float in the back of her mind as she smiles back.

"Nice to meet you too, Kyle. And I wouldn't blame the kids, really... it's the father I'd hold responsible." She frowns a little, remembering him and the tail-end of the conversation. "Hey, were you serious about kids disappearing? I haven't read anything about that... or, well, nothing reliable anyway...?"

Kyle's normally flirty smile slowly faded at her question. He forced a smile... well... he couldn't quiet get to a smile, but he forced a semi-casual expression, "Oh, trust me Teresa. Kids go missing. Go ask the New York City police how many kids have gone missing in the last ten years they STILL haven't found." Kyle pushed the sleeves of his shirt up absently. He really didn't realize he was doing it. There they were. The scars. One in particular from a knife Eckman had used on him. Most of his scars were still covered, but there were a few in view now. Especially that one from that knife, it ran almost the entire length of his arm, from his elbow to his wrist.

"Oh."

She'd been about to clarify that she meant mutant children in particular when she's struck dumb by the pain in his voice and the scars on his arm. After a minute's silence she decides he deserves more of a response than that, and adds, solemly, "Is that what happened to you?"

He was only caught slightly off guard by her question. It was rather natural for that to be the response to such a speech, especially considering that the answer was yes. But He wasn't about to tell a stranger that... or anyone for that matter.

Kyle laughed it off as if the question had been a silly thing to ask, "Of course not. I'm not a kid."

> "Of course not. I'm not a kid."

No, but you were once, Sonya thinks but doesn't say. After all, there's no reason to expect Kyle to unload the deep dark secrets of his past to a complete stranger at the supermarket. On the other hand, one of her self-appointed jobs here on the outside is to hook up with independent mutants who might be of use to the Resistance, so she's not willing to let him walk away just yet, either.

So she goes along with Kyle's laughter, shrugs off the whole issue of childhood abduction and mysterious scars while picking up her shopping basket again, and responds with a flirty smile and a measuring glance. "No, you sure aren't," she adds approvingly, before indicating Sam's no-longer-visible family with a nod of her chin and changing the subject.

"Can you believe that guy, though? 'That's 'force-field', Sam,' as if the only problem with what they were doing was the kid's diction. Like they really do think all mutants are criminals... which I guess they are now, technically, but that's not the point, right?" She shrugs and adds "Sorry, I know, I'm ranting. I do that sometimes. It's just that people like that really piss me off, y'know?" She starts walking down the aisle with her groceries as she talks, as though expecting him to walk with her.

He was quite sure that she hadn't believed him when he'd said no, but she seemed content to let it drop, so he left it alone as well and simply pushed the thought aside. He could stew on it later if he so chose.

Kyle laughed again, but this time he was more amiable. His flirty personality had resurfaced, "Ahw, that's okay. You're cute when you're pissed and ranting." His smile was teasing as he fell into step beside her easily, "I don't mind. Besides, you're right. I'm really not much of an activist or anything. Not my speed and all. But I'm not gonna argue with a pretty girl who's clever enough to verbally closeline somebody like that... especially not when she's right."

> "Ahw, that's okay. You're cute when you're pissed and ranting."

Sonya scowls at that little bit of dismissive masculinity, turning back to glare at Kyle. "You like that, you should see me when I'm armed and hostile."

> "But I'm not gonna argue with a pretty girl who's clever enough to
> verbally clothesline somebody like that... especially not when she's right."

On the other hand, that she's willing to accept as a compliment. She grins back, suddenly feeling her mood lighten.

In fact, now that the adrenalin has retreated a bit, she can't help but chuckle as the scene replays in her head. "Playing 'Concentration Camp Victim' with the stove? Did I really say that?" She shakes her head, half in dismay and half in self-admiration. "OK, that may have been a bit harsh. But he deserved it."

Her mood plummets again when she reaches the cash-registers and sees the Family Sam already there, chatting cheerfully with a couple of middle-aged women soliciting contributions for the Church of Humanity, all of whom promptly glare at her and Kyle. She gauges the length of the line, estimates how long she'd have to wait, and promply puts her basket down on a shelf.

"You know what? Screw it. I'm eating out tonight. Wanna join me?"

Kyle glanced at her, the people ahead of them in line, and her again. He shrugged, "Sure. I'm cool with eating out." He gave her a careful, but pleasant smile, "That is, so long as you're not planning on being armed and hostile." Kyle laughed slightly, not entirely sure if she would take to his teasing and laugh with him or not.

> "Sure. I'm cool with eating out. That is, so long as you're
> not planning on being armed and hostile."

Sonya laughs at that as she leaves her grocery cart behind and trades dirty looks with the Church of Humanity reps as she leaves the supermarket. "Eh. That crowd inspires me, I'll admit... but OK, I'll be good. At least in public."

Once they're outside, she waves in the general direction of a nearby restaurant sign. "You up for mediocre Italian food?"

Kyle shrugged, "I'm up for anything except a Rueben. Those things are nasty. And... strange." Kyle stuck out his tongue in a strange expression of disgust, "Ugh, just the memory of it..." He realized what he was doing and looked at her, giving an almost nervous chuckle and stuffing his hands in his pockets, "Sorry. Bad experience."