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Jorge allowed the duo to handle the news of their tracking devices however they chose. It was common practice for him to provide a stun gun as most people were too freaked out to have the device surgically removed while on the road. It was understandable, yes, but the device needed to be shorted out before they arrived at the Atlantis Club either way. However they wanted to handle it was fine with the man.

As he settled back into his seat, his deep, earthy eyes fell into the rearview mirror where he watched both Duo and Isabel work in tandem. As she pushed the rice-sized tracker from her skin, watched as Duo did the same by turning his body partially incorporeal and pulling his out as if it were a tick. With both trackers in their hands, the wind manipulator proceeded to toss them into a sewer grate just outside the window, sending the trackers, and their owners, off on a merry chase through the sewer systems of New York. Splendid.

With a nod, the man smirked as he glanced to Duke. The driver seemed unsure about the two car mates, but he knew better to question Poseidon, especially in front of others. So they continued on in silence, Jorge checking the rearview mirror every now and again to ensure that both were still doing fine. He didn’t listen in on their conversation, catching only a few words here and there, instead focused only on getting back to the club. Once he caught the familiar glow of his neon signs, the man breathed a small sigh of relief. No matter his day, it was always good to come home.

Jorge stepped out into the warm, evening air, breathed in the scent of the city, and then bade the two others to join him. Stepping back, his hands clasped behind his back, he waited for them to exit and then went Duke off to park the car with a small wave of his hand. Once the car pulled away around a corner, Jorge offered the two out-of-place mutants a kindly, serpent-like smile before he turned and pushed through the heavy wooden doors of his establishment.

Marching down the staircase that lead into a much cooler room before, one would notice the sheer absence of pounding, rhythmic music. Normally the Atlantis Club was always bursting to the seams with partygoers but today it was clearly holding onto a different vibe. Rather it was a silent as a grave and the trio were only accompanied by their sounds of their descending footsteps. Upon touching down, the full and beautiful view of the club was offered: the large dance floor, the tables and chairs situated along wall-length windows that looked out underneath the bay, along with a full bar across the room. The only thing that looked out of place were the tarps that had been set up to catch debris from construction happening on the music stage that was empty of activity.

Jorge moved with purpose across the room, clearly a man who knew his environment inside and out. As he moved ahead, he glanced back at the others and gave them a grin.

”Please, come in, come in, make yourselves at home,” Jorge said as he moved around towards the back of the bar. ”Would anyone care for a drink?” He asked, already finding a bottle and a cleaned glass to pour himself one. ”After your harrowing evening, I would be remiss to not offer and, I assure you, we have the best of everything.”

Whether or not they partook of a drink, it was up to them. He merely slid over what they wanted when asked before he turned back to his own. With a glass of scotch in his hands, Jorge took a sip, sighed in satisfaction, and set it on the counter as he eyed the two of them. He took a moment to scrutinize the two, reading them, studying them, interested in who they were and what they could do. They seemed fine with bloodshed but most people were when survival was at cost.

”I must say, you two make quite the impression,” he started. ”Not often I spy mutants literally trying to claw the face off of one of SUPER’s Adapteds. Kudos to you, young miss.” Another sip. ”That is also a hell of a way to be introduced to our universe. Then again, the government isn’t usually known for rolling out the red carpet. How did you manage to find yourselves here?”

Abigail was quickly losing this fight. She reached out, connecting with her sisters, and opening the illusionary gap high above that the Old Ones were finally invading the world. It should have meant the end of any and all resistance because who could look upon such horrors and still maintain your sanity? In none of the holy texts could humans, save for academics who struggled to make logic from the illogical. These were not scientists, though, these were people, bystanders, wheat ready to be harvested and ground up to be used as the foundations for the new universe. And they they stood, they resisted, and proved to be more than Abigail could stand against.

Lying upon the gravel-covered roof, cringing and holding her wounded leg, she tried to implore her sisters for more aid, to pulling her denizens from around the park to defend and die for her. But the interlopers would prove to be faster than she could comprehend.

Slowly she started to standing, trying desperately to regain some footing, but a shrill scream from one of her victims had caused the opposite. As the blonde ran, Abigail was shoved over, back onto the ground, where she held her wounded leg again. She cursed under her breath, feeling her energy draining. All she needed was one good last shot and this night could be spa--! Her own scream cut into her thoughts as she felt a heel suddenly stamp down and dig into her legs. Teeth grinding, she turned her head to face her attacker and was only met with a cloud of sheer pain. Her eyes burned so badly she wanted to dig them out of her skull. The liquid burned, seeping around the sensitive flesh, and just kept coming, no matter how many times she feebly attempted to swat at the source. Blinded, she didn’t see what happened next, but rather just felt a solid fist collide with her jaw. The punch was so hard, everything in her rattled, even when her head slammed back down against the gravel.

Consciousness quickly began to evaporate from Abigail’s mind. Lying, prone and unmoving, she took several ragged breaths, feeling the connection to her sisters fading fast. There was nothing left in any of them, barely enough to hold onto life itself which caused the thick clouds of black mist to dissipate and slowly crumble. Down it fell, like cotton pulled by gravity into the earth. The cosmic horrors from above vanished, fading away into nothing and leaving only a dark, pristine sky where there had once been a mind-altering rip in reality. Now there only stood a full, silver moon and a twinkling of tiny stars.

The horrors were gone. As Abigail lay there, in pain, the edges of blackness slowly creeping over her field a vision, she gave a breath of consciousness before she muttered one last thing along with her sisters: ”Fahf ah uh'eor uaaah…” And, with that, Abigail’s head slumped, the last control she had over her minions completely vanishing, and freeing them from the nightmares they once beheld.

Really Jorge didn’t think anything of the words that he had said. He had offered her a thanks because he actually was grateful for her help, but also because she actually allowed him to learn just a little more about her. She really was a sweet girl who happened to grow up in terrible surroundings, a circumstance that, unfortunately, the man had seen far too many times with his job. There were always those mutant kids, locked away or tortured by their parents, but to come from an entire society like that was...well...surprising.

So he offered her his thanks. She was being brave when trying to learn about the new aspects of this world and the least he could do was show his appreciation. However, it seemed that his statement had caused a pause in the young Atlantean. She looked down, almost confused by his words, but when she finally looked up, he have to give her an encouraging grin.

>>"It is your help that I am grateful. I would never learn the way of cake or smear or the 'lectricity or the box that beeps or..."

The detective sighed, stopping his dish washing briefly so that the young mutant had his full attention. She really did seem grateful, so much so that she seemingly didn’t know where to stop her sentence. Every bit of her thanks came out and Jorge just watched her, warmth in his eyes for this Atlantean who was so, so far away from everything that she had every known.

>>"Sir hero Jorge. Thank you for allowing me to learn and grow under your eye. I should be washing and drying for my thanks. Please allow me make my thanks?"

She didn’t like washing, she stated as much, but under the pretense of wanting to show her gratitude, she was willing to do it. That really was sweet of her but the detective didn’t want Kalos to do something uncomfortable out of need to show thanks. While in some cases that was okay, he did want to help Kalos out of that mindset. He feared rejecting the offer outright because, really, that would probably be taken as an insult. Hrm...head-scratcher…

”You’ve already given me your ‘thanks’, Kalos,” he said gently. ”Just by working alongside. So how about this…” he glanced at the dishes. ”I’ll wash the plates and bowls,” Things she was probably afraid of scratching. ”And you can wash the utensils.” They were small and metal or wood, things that she couldn’t really scratch. ”But only do as much as you want. Deal?” He offered his large hand to her tiny one to shake on it.