|Pop & Locks|
|Location||Avenue B Apartments|
|Summary||Moody finds a stray outside in the rain.|
The sky is heading toward dimness, and Rohan is loitering. Loitering in the friendliest way possible, of course. Clad in jeans, a worn t-shirt, and an almost as worn leather jacket, Rohan is leaning against the side of the apartment building, hand cupped around a cigarette as he lights it, the wind ruffling at his hair. He glances up and down the street, considering, as he puts the cigarette to his lips.
POP! With a puff of cooler air, a girl in a broad teal straw hat appears on the sidewalk in front of the Avenue B apartment building, arms loaded down with cloth grocery bags. Moody is wearing snug gray canvas pants, frayed at the hems, with chunky boots peeping out from beneath and a t-shirt with an Icelandic music festival logo on it. She doesn't start juggling for her keys or code, though. Instead, she looks up, scanning the upper floor for lights.
Rohan tilts his head to one side, exhales a breath of smoke, and then raises one hand there. "Hello there," he says, with a tinge of northern England around his voice. He flashes a dazzling grin. Look, he doesn't bite.
Moody lets out a squeak and drops one of her bags, a canvas thing that sends a trio of bruised apples rolling across the pavement. "Hellfire!" She scrambles after them, juggling the straps of the bags to keep them from sliding off her arms.
Rohan raises that hand again, this time in a 'stop' motion. "Don't," he says, flinging himself heroically on said apples and beginning to gather up the split groceries. "I've got them. I'm sorry."
Moody gives Rohan a skeptical look as he palms her apples, but holds out the bag and jiggles it open. Give 'em up, buddy. "Yeah, it's fine." She tilts her chin and looks back at him, then up at the building before saying, "You can smoke on the roof, you know. That's less creepy than lurking on the stoop."
Rohan obediently places the apples back in the bag. There you go, apples. Safe and sound. "Actually," he says, with a sheepish smile. "I'm sort of locked out. It's a bit embarrassing, really. I'm just crashing with friends for a few days, and they aren't answering their buzzer. Perhaps they're sick of me."
Moody 's eyebrow flickers upward, skeptical, and she looks at Rohan again. "And they didn't give you the code to the door? Doesn't sound very friendly to me." She shifts her bags again, revealing red welts from the weight of the straps on her forearms. The rain starts up again, gentle splatters of warm wet hitting the pavement with the faintest of hisses.
"Well, they haven't thrown my stuff out the window either," says Rohan lightly. "I checked. It's...very temporary." He glances to Moody's arms, and gives a sympathetic wince. "Need some help carrying those?"
"It was 10 for $1 canned meat day at the Cost Savers Warehouse in Queens," Moody admits grudgingly. "Four train transfers and my arms are killing me. Listen, you aren't like a serial killer or something, right? I'd feel really lousy if I let a serial killer into the building. It'd ruin my week."
"Not a serial killer," replies Rohan, tossing away his cigarette and rubbing it out underfoot. "Promise." He is already reaching for the grocery bags. "That's...an awful lot of tinned meat."
"Well, it's almost all still before it's best by date." Moody holds onto the bags and shakes her head, "Just wait here a second." And then she *POP*s away, the air rushing to fill the void where she stood in a puff of wind before she's back again in less than a couple of seconds, appearing right where she was before. This time, no bags. "I'll let you in, but I don't use the door. I only stopped down here because I was checking to make sure none of my roommates were naked in the living room. There's a sign we flip on the window." She points up, where the lit window has a faintly glowing circle hanging in it. "So. If you don't have a code to the building, how were you planning to get into your friend's apartment?"
"I have my ways," replies Rohan, tapping his nose with an arch look. A moment later, he admits, "Mostly they involve standing in the hallway looking pathetic. That's a very good life skill. I recommend it."
Moody snorts softly. "I'm familiar. So, do you consent to letting me teleport you in?" She blinks once, and the little Eye rotates indicating that she's recording. Maybe he's not used to it, maybe he is, but mutants who use their powers in New York City get into pretty damn big trouble if they don't get consent. "Wait -- how much do you weigh?" She looks him over, considering.
"Hey," replies Rohan with mock indignation, "that's a rather personal question, don't you think?" Not that the answer can be that embarrassing; he has the look of someone who is mostly lean muscle but hasn't been getting quite enough meals lately. He considers her for a moment, with a flick of an eyebrow, and says, "I consent."
"Well, as long as you don't have metal bones..." Moody shrugs and steps over, "Just hold still and don't forget to breathe," she instructs -- and then wraps her arms around his waist and /lifts/, huffing out a breath because honestly she's not that big, and POP. Off they go!
Moody pops them back into reality, landing in a square marked by masking tape on the floor and plopping Rohan onto his feet again. Her face is a little red, and her hat is askew and she's faintly damp from the rain. The groceries are in a tumble on the floor just outside her box.
Rohan only looks a little startled. Evidently he's been teleported before. At some point. He looks around him, and only comments, lightly, "Big place."
"We're a little empty right now, actually. Two of our last roommates got together and moved to Ottawa," Moody bends over and starts collecting her groceries, heading into the little kitchen to start unloading. "It's tough to make rent, you know, so we're always looking for new bodies. Who can pay." Clink clink clink goes the cans of meat. "But, y'know, five bedrooms, so. Nobody wants to live up here because of the stairs."
"Five bedrooms," repeats Rohan, casting a glance at the doors. "You could always try letting them to unsuspecting tourists," he suggests. "You know, the sort that book things because they're a good deal and forget to look at things like maps and guidebooks."
Moody's laugh burbles out. "In Mutant Town? Good luck. The only people who want to live here are mutants -- broke like me -- or weirdos with a fetish, you know? I don't need that kind of drama." She pulls off her hat and flips it toward a hook on the wall. It misses, flopping down, and she fetches it and puts it up with a cheery swish. There's a bright purple streak in her hair. "But it's almost time for university to start, so maybe we'll get lucky and find a couple of students. Want a drink?"
"Don't _say_ it's in Mutant Town," is Rohan's suggestion. "Describe the location vaguely and see if they're taken in. Remember: tourists." He ambles toward the kitchen, pausing to look at things with undisguised nosiness. "Sure," he agrees to the drink.
The kitchen isn't big -- it's Manhattan, after all -- but it's clean and there's a decent solid surface counter and induction cooktop. Sure, the cooktop's a decade old, maybe more, but it has all its buttons. There's a basket on the counter, into which Moody deposits the slightly dinged up apples and a couple of pears in dire need of eating, and the rest goes into a cabinet labeled "Communal". Each of other cabinets has a name on them, though two sport only a small strip of residue where tape used to be. As for the drink, Moody pulls out a bottle of inexpensive lager and holds it out, "I'm Adelle, by the way. Though mostly I go by Moody."
Rohan studies the cooktop for a moment, and takes the offered lager. "Rohan," he says simply. "So. Moody. Is that a nickname or a description?"
"It's a surname. I'm actually the sole of equanimity, as it happens," Moody drawls as she finishes putting away her groceries. "Apparently one of my ancestors wasn't. Grandma came up from Jamaica when she was small, so I guess it came from there. Mom never really said much more than that." She gets herself a soda, something brightly colored and smelling of fruit, and leans against the counter to drink it. "And why are you in the big city, then? Work, or are you one of those poorly planning tourists?"
"It's not the only big city in the world," points out Rohan, following a swallow of his lager. He considers the question, and brushes it off with a shrug. "I hadn't been here before."
"I guess that's reason enough." Moody allows, straightening up. "Well, welcome to New York City -- and to Mutant Town, I guess. It doesn't explode that often anymore!"
Rohan's eyebrows undergo through a variety of interesting contortions. "Did it used to explode regularly?" he wonders. "Does it still explode on occasion?"
"Oh, yeah. Especially in the 80s, there were always explosions. It wasn't Mutant Town back then. If you ever want the historical tour, let me know. I don't know that there're many who know the city as well as I do." Moody smiles, then, a secret smile, for herself more than anything. "These days it's only the occasional bit of crime. Too risky to really let loose in town."
"I'll keep that in mind for when I decide to write my historical treatise on Mutant Town," promises Rahan. "I'm sure it'd be a runaway bestseller. People always do like to read about freaks." There's a brief edge of bitterness to his voice.
"I was thinking more 'The Best Bars That Used to Be Speakeasys' myself. Explosions are overrated, but a nice gin swizzle is the bees knees," Moody rinses out her empty drink container and puts it into the recycling, arching an inquisitive eyebrow toward Rohan's lager. All done?
"Make it into a walking tour," suggests Rohan, handing over said bottle. He grins. "I'm just full of ideas on how to fleece tourists and this isn't even my city
"Maybe I will. I gig most nights, though, so it'll take some thinking. Always good to have a fallback position, I guess, in case my dreams of musical stardom fall through." Moody rinses clean the bottle and adds it to the right bin. "Well, if you're staying in the building, I might run into you sometime."
"You a musician?" asks Rohan. He shrugs lightly. "Well, I don't know if I'm staying. You know. Things change. It's a small space. I'll...see."
"DJ. You could do worse than an autumn in New York, though. Gets real pretty when the leaves in the park turn. You should check it out." Moody crooks a grin and leads the way over to the front door, undoing a truly epic series of locks and latches to open it -- mostly old school and mechanical, but at least one modern electronic one too.
"It's been a while since I've had a real autumn," admits Rohan, almost wistful for a moment. "I've been in India for a while." India, and all that could imply for a mutant. He wanders over to the door, and adds. "We're just one floor down, I think."
"Well, if you're ever bored, c'mon up to the penthouse and shoot the breeze. There's usually someone around here, and we mostly don't bite." Moody grins cheerily."I do," replies Rohan just as cheerily. "But only on request." He flashes Moody a quick wink, and slips out the door.