|Location||Lounge - X-Factor Solutions|
|Summary||Richard meets one of the new members of the crew.|
| The lounge is the one place in X-Factor that shows some signs of personality, and as such, it's far more comfortable than either the sterile neatness of the front entrance or the sleek tech of the conference room.
One wall has been painted kelly green, a color which sets off the less-exciting black of the refrigerator, cabinets, and microwave that make up the tiny kitchenette area. Another wall has already earned some graffiti. It's become common for new employees to leave a signature of sorts, scrawled somewhere on the wall in varied-colored marker. They range from literal signatures to symbols and pictures depicting mutations or call signs or some other mysterious image. They appear to be getting more elaborate as time goes on.One wall has been kept clear for a holoprojector that can be configured for use with any number of technologies, though its most common use is as a television. A pair of couches long-since worn down into narcoleptic comfort flank it, and a single wingchair sits opposite the coffee table set between. Behind the comfortable cluster, a small round table can seat four, and next to it a staircase leads up into the offices.
| It is a winter day. The weather is cold and fair.|
Richard is looking a little windswept and weary, his hand tugging at the wind of his scarf to loosen it around his neck. His coat has been dropped on the back of the sofa. He leans up against the counter as he futzes with the coffee machine, because /coffee/; he eventually gets it percolating away with that familiar sound of hissing steam before the water begins to drip through.
Tiffany's shiny black heels click as she makes her way into the lounge from the stairs. "Look," she shifts her large eyes. Presumably speaking into a com, her voice is an unimpressed monotone, "I can't talk right now. I don't know where they are-" The woman pauses in the doorframe to bend and adjust one of the shoes. "-and I didn't want to say anything but I think your husband may be stealing them? What shoe size is he in women's?" Looking up, she zeroes in past Richard at the coffee machine, "You should be more supportive of him. He's been under a lot of pressure. Look: I have to go. I'm being attacked." Her deadpan attention shifts to Richard after the call is ended.
Richard glances over at the first snippet of approaching noise and takes in Tiffany with a quick, distracted sweep of his gaze. He watches her with an upward twitch of the corner of his mouth as she finishes her call and looks remarkably unconcerned for the grave danger she's in. (Maybe the coffee is secretly housing a monster.) "Hello," he says mildly.
Lowering her heel to the ground once more, Tiffany ventures past the stairwell entrance. "Hey there," she says in awkward monotone. Her eyes gleam only subtly in amusement at him possibly having caught any part of that conversation, "Don't judge me, scarf-guy." Arching her eyebrow, she crosses the lounge to draw her call sign on the wall with the others. In thick black marker, she writes: TIFF. The 'i' is dotted with a fat heart.
"I'm the last person to judge anyone," Richard says with dry humor, glancing down at the scarf that's now apparently become his identifier. He looks back up to catch her signing the wall. "Joined the crew?"
"Yeah," Tiffany wets her lips, shifting her eyes again as she replaces the cap on her marker. She gestures with it in the air, twirling it towards herself, "I'm uhm, Tiffany." Her black heels click more as she closes the distance between them. Them being her and the coffee machine.
"Richard," he replies in introduction. "Nice to meet you, uhm Tiffany." HAH HAH YOU'RE SO FUNNY RICHARD. (He's not.) He tips his head to the percolating coffee. "You want some? I'm never worried about making a whole pot around here because inevitably people come through to finish it off."
Tiffany turns away slightly, showing Richard her profile. Closing her eyes, the corners of her mouth pinch upward in a TINY smile that she tries to subdue. Recovering from the dad joke, she flicks her eyes back over towards Richard, "That. Would be amazing. ...Thanks." Turning, she leans the small of her back against the counter and folds her arms, "Nice to meet you, too."
Clearly Richard has been hanging out with Jeremy too much. He doesn't have kids of his own to have the excuse. "Sure," he says in easy reply to her thanks, his own smile small and swift as quicksilver as it slides back away. "So, ah. How long have you been in the area?" he asks, the smalltalk coming a little awkward.
"Like, my whole life," Tiffany's eyes take a little time to settle into eye-contact. She looks away often. "One hundred years," she tucks her hair behind her ear, finally settling on just being wide-eyed. "I'm not one hundred," the young woman corrects herself in a quick whisp, "I'm just from uhm, New Jersey. And I went to school upstate. So." She motions vaguely y'know /upstate/ with her marker. "How about you?" Only taking the awkward start and running with it, Tiff can't help but start to smile.
"It's cool, I don't judge. I'm like 60," Richard says with a solemn, poker-faced expression. He also offers a Very Serious "I'm sorry" when she notes where she's from. As if in explanation, he offers back, "I'm from Long Island. Lived in the city for -- well, a long time, I guess."
"It was hard. Difficult times." Nudge-nudging her chin up in the semblance of a nod, Tiffany purses her lips at the note of sympathy. Without missing a beat, she gives his face a glance-over, "You look really good for sixty, though. What's your secret?"
"Time dilation," Richard deadpans. "You look better for a hundred, though." The coffee finally finishes up the last of its drip drip dripping, and he belatedly pulls out a second mug to set next to the first he'd already collected. He pours out two mugs full. "I think there's -- well, something dairy-based in the fridge. And sugar. Um." He glances around the counter for the box. "Unless the psionics finished it off."
"Vampire," Tiffany counters. She follows him with her gaze as works and adds a small, "Thank you," at his pouring a second mug full, "Oh, I only use sug-" The dark-haired lady's eyes narrow somewhat, "WAIT. ...Do psionics really use more sugar than other people?" Some of her naivety peeks through. A blush peeks through her olive complexion.
"Yeah. Or -- glucose. Something about -- how the psionic center works. It's been a while since I got the spiel; I'm not one myself." Richard smiles quick and then it's gone again. He hands over her mug and starts searching the counter again, finally finding the box of sugar knocked over and wedged behind the microwave. "I don't even want to know," he sighs, handing it over.
Tiffany leans back and lets Richard search without offering any assistance. Cupping the mug close to her ribs, she smirks quietly when he finds it. "Glucose," she tests the word with contained amusement. "Thanks," Tiffany flicks open the flap of the sugar and ...pours an exorbitant amount into her coffee. It takes enough time that she has a moment to look up and watch his reaction before looking back down at what she's doing. It's too much sugar. Upon stopping, she sets the box back out and clears her throat just a tiny bit, "Ehem."
"Let me know if you want some more coffee with your sugar," Richard tells her. He has the look of a man who has seen many psionics dump pounds of sugar into their coffee. "So I take it maybe you're a psionic," he guesses. He sips his own coffee black.
"I am a Psionic American," Tiffany confirms, turning on her heels to face the room as she brings the mug to her lips. She blows gently on the hot beverage. "I'm gonna take a wild guess and say you're not a sixty year old time ...dilator." She wrinkles her nose up at the last word just a little in what could be either amusement or vague disgust or both.
"Hey, I never said /I/ dilated the time," Richard points out, lips twitching into a faint smile. "But no, I'm not /technically/ sixty. And I don't dilate time. I fly."
"Oh," Tiffany says quickly, mouth curving into a faint smile of her own. She takes a sip of coffee, looking the taller mutant down and up, "That's pretty cool." She can't make fun of that. "Classic."
"It does seem to be the number one mutation people are jealous of," Richard confirms, albeit without much in the way of vanity the words might suggest. His smile does twitch, though. "It's pretty cool."
There's a pause from Tiffany, in which the confirmed psionic stares dead-eyed at Richard without sharing a single thought in her head. She lowers her mug only to raise it to her lips once more and sip, "I should probably go back upstairs and finish. ...that stuff."
"So what do -- oh." Richard blinks briefly as she announces her imminent departure. "Sure. It was nice meeting you." He offers her a quick smile.
Tiffany presses her mouth into a closed-mouth smile that actually does seem to make it to her eyes. Mischievously, it's likely more at having cut off his line of questioning. "I uh, separate my mind from my body." She /almost/ motions towards her own face with her mug of coffee, but her other hand quickly stops this from happening. "People call it a lot of different things." Pushing off of the counter, she briefly holds on to it for balance as she maneuvers in her sister's heels, "Nice meeting you, too."
"Ah." Richard looks mostly thoughtful as she briefly explains her ability. Interesting. "Anyways, I'm sure I'll see you around. Have a good one."Offering a vague sort of nod and the fractional raising of her coffee mug, Tiffany at least acknowledges the farewell. The sound of her footsteps can likely be heard in their trek up the set of stairs well after she walks out of sight.