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The girl answered, but not in a way that the prawn was expecting. There was a flare of heat behind the prawn, as though someone had suddenly poured kerosene onto a campfire. Jack's stride slowed to a halt, and she glanced over her shoulder. The girl was on fire. People were scattering. Great, a metaphorical and literal hothead.

>> “Listen here f****n *sshole. You f****n start a f****n fight you f*****n finish the f*****n fight.”

"I didn't start a sight," the prawn said, holding her hands up placatingly, "I told you to sto' cussing-out a kid. Totally diss-erent."

The drollness was gone out of her voice, too, now. She'd seen enough stupid mutants to not brush the threats off so casually.

>> “Turn around or your f****n stupid *ss people’s f****n deaths will be on your stupid *ss conscious.”

Jack's expression tightened, her hands fell to her side.

"Are you s'run around here?" the prawn asked, her voice booming at the girl. Her expression had turned sharp, her pupils thinned to scathing slits, "Do you know what dey do to nyu-tants who start shit in duh city!? Dey gots ro'ots. Big ones, designed to take us down. Iss you really want to 'e collared and s'rown in a cage like an ani-nal, 'lease, kee' doin' what you're doin'."

"I ain't got sh** to do wiss diss, iss your stu'id *ss wants to get arrested, go ahead," Jack began to back up, but she did not turn her back. She wasn't going to give the brunette b***h that kind of opportunity. The prawn's hands, which had previously been flexed in a frustrated gesture of "why?!" had now balled themselves into fists, and were imperceptibly shaking. Jack stole a glanced at her hands, and noticed an almost imperceptible glimmer of blue was creeping along the pores of her carapace.

"No..." she murmured. Even if she was maintaining her outward composure, internally she was terrified. Scared of this obviously unhinged child, scared of the cops... and her body was responding. Her body responded to the mounting pulse, the racing thoughts, and was arming her the best way it knew how, "No, not here..."

Her lavender eyes watched the kid carefully as she continued her backwards retreat, "Well?"

Jack heard the footsteps slapping the pavement behind her, the shrill, petite lady (though she used that term very loosely), pursuing her down the sidewalk. Jack turned her head marginally, feline lavender eyes pulling downwards. Ah, so she was one of those damn fool kids that wanted to fight everything that moved. This would be fun.

>> “Guess not?! Is that f****n all you f****n have to say after you f****n went out of your f****n stupid nosy a** way to tell me what to f****n do”

" 't's all I has to say," the prawn confirmed coolly, a thin amusement still in her tone. The girl was squared-up, her muscles tight. Wow, she really was ready to take-on the prawn. They came to a crosswalk where the the light was read, and a small cluster of people were awaiting, and cars shot steadily past. Jack slowed to a stop, and as she did, she pivoted slightly, her shoulders facing the child. She didn't hunch, now. And, for a moment, she was quiet. Her head was inclined ever so slightly.

"And now you's goin' outta your way to whine at nee," Jack observed, peering down her nasal ridge at the child. Really, she came up to about... the base Jack's sternum. She was tiny and ready for a throw-down. God, the guys at Chrysalis would've gotten a kick outta this, "So... are you gonna waste ny tine and your tine soll-owing sun stranger around, or are ya gonna get duh Hell outta here?"

Unlike the girl, who was all piss and vinegar and theatrics, Jack was cool. It was that deceptive kind of cool, though-- like the undercurrent of a river. On the surface, a river was glassy and tranquil, but the undertow wouldn't think twice before pulling someone under. It was a classic confrontation of youth versus experience. Jack had been that fiery fight-everyone person once. But then she'd gotten her *ss handed to her a good many times, and had settled down.

The signal changed, and Jack waited a few seconds to peer down at the kid, before turning once again to cross the street. She walked with long, casual strides. Which, given her size, meant the girl would probably need to jog (at least) if she wanted to keep-up.

A laugh burbled out of the prawn at Devon's coy expression. Yes, more company would've been ideal, but here they were, cutting the rug... Jack nodded to Artair as he entered. She'd have to say hello later-on. The music ended, the two parted. Devon thanked Jack for the dance, and the prawn patted his shoulder, squeezing it lightly. Any time.

Devon bee-lined for the bar, and Jack rocked on her feet at the center of the dance floor. Dancing alone really wouldn't be all that fun. She also didn't particularly feel like returning to the group she'd just fled from, either, so she found a place at a cozy table the ran along side the dancefloor, wedging herself into one of the tiny seats, and then casually crossing one leg over the other.

She'd abandoned her drink... somewhere... she couldn't recall where. Or maybe she'd finished it? Oh well. Jack rested her head on one hand, surveying the other attendees. She could always go greet Artair... or maybe... attempt round two at trying to approach unfamiliar faces. But Noel was over there. The prawn sighed. Or she could just... sit at the table and stare off into the distance. That always worked. If she'd been smarter, she would've brought a book.

Around the time that the smell reached Erik's nose, the same stench wafted past Jack's antennae, sharp and stinging. The prawn's antennae twitched, and she squinted down at the source of the unpleasant smeal. Smoke! Jack hit her own emergency stop button, jumping off of her treadmill. She expected a fire. Erik punched a hole in the control panel.

If Jack had a human face, she would've been gaping at the scene. He just... punched a hole... in a treadmill.

Admittedly, the prawn probably could, too, if she tried, but...

And he was a guest here? And he was breaking sh**?

"At least... Hadden's rich?" she offered placatingly. And a humanitarian, to boot. It would be uncharacteristic for Devon to charge the poor galumph money for damaged machinery.

"Are you tra'eling?" she asked, in regards to guy's guest status.

It wasn't like Jack to stick her nose in other people's business. Really, for the most part, she kept to herself in public. She would only deign to speak the absolute minimum, often using her phone as a crutch to interact with human-seeming types, and murmuring to those she deemed trustworthy.

She was one of numerous pedestrians on the sidewalk, walking close to the wall, shoulders hunched. Her phone was clasped in one massive, primary hand, and lavender eyes kept a wary watch of the passerby's. Most people paid her no notice, jostling into her like she was any other person on the sidewalk. That was New York for ya. Unless you literally burst into flames, no one seemed to give a rat's *ss about you. And even then, they really only cared if you caught some part of them on-fire.

Some chick nearly went *ss-over-kettle tripping over a kid, and rather than grunt an apology (a standard New York Reaction™), she instead opted to cuss the kid out, berating him for some apparent wrong. The kid, in-turn, burst into tears, running haphazardly after his mother. Jack's mouthparts crawled beneath her surgical mask. Something very flagrantly rubbed her the wrong way about the interaction.

The speech-to-text app was still open at her fingertips, and she hurriedly typed a rebuff out to you the young woman. Having typed her message, Jack hit "play".

<<Maybe you should watch where you're going,>> a cool, robotic voice spilled from the speakers of her phone. It was a masculine voice, here-and-there spritzed with a British inflection. The prawn stared flatly at the young woman from her place against the wall, passerbys continuing to brush past, maneuvering around the two of them like a river against two stones. There would be no doubt about where the reprimand sprung from, especially given the prawn's attention to the young woman.

And, if there was any doubt-- Jack's hands flew over the digital keyboard once again, penning another message to the young lady. She hit play again.

<<He's just a kid. Bigger folks need to look-out for smaller ones.>>

This was coming from one of the biggest folks in the five boroughs-- you couldn't expect people to get out from under-foot, you just... had to watch out for them.

The prawn watched the guys pantomime, jogging along at a brisk pace on the treadmill. Erik walked along with her, and she smiled to herself. What, no more blocks? Fine...

>> "'ow 'ong 'air?"

It was a unique experience, talking with someone who also had challenges talking. She was beginning to understand how others felt when they tried talking to her. Her gaze flashed forward as the the speed of the treadmill beneath her mounted, her stride shifting to a more clipped pace.

"How long has I 'een here?" she reiterated, trying to be sure that she'd understood him correctly, "Al-nost a year... Known Hadden lots longer, doh. He's a good guy."

She inhaled with a flash of pain, but in a good way. There was something about running that made you feel so alive, yet subsequently also a little like dying. She was much more of a weight-training buff, but acknowledged the perks of cardio.

"I 'ork downstairs," she continued, "Is a really short con-yute."

A laugh barked out of her. A mile had passed. One more mile, and her warm-up would be done.