|Location||Mutant Town - New York City|
|Summary||An angel falls from the sky bearing pizza. Praise his light.|
| The neighborhood once known as Alphabet City has spent decades slowly reclaiming its former reputation as Manhattan's most dangerous, crime-ridden area. The stretch of city between Houston and 14th is populated with trash-strewn lots, poorly-lit streets, shady back alleys, and numerous storefronts, many of which have spent more years boarded up than not. A number of burnt-out or abandoned buildings have been broken into become the home of squatters who can't afford even Mutant Town's meager rent. It's the home of the desperate and the home of the principled, the one place where standing out as a mutant might afford you more safety than not, and passing as normal is likely to end in a mugging or worse. Aircars are far less common here than in the rest of Manhattan, and few ever stop within the bounds of Mutant Town.
The buildings here are dirty and dim; most of them escaped the development that marked other, more favorable sections of Manhattan, and almost all are aging buildings that still stand under six stories. Vendors often line the streets, selling food or jewelry or other goods from carts and trucks and blankets spread on the sidewalks. Windows are decorated in equal measure with bars and boards and signs announcing that mutants are welcome.
Graffiti decorates nearly every available surface, marking out gang territory and scribbling warnings for those who know how to read them; one stretch of buildings near the south edge of the neighborhood has become known for its street-art depicting the impressive variance of mutant life. The most famous is a mural that covers the entire width of the brick building at the corner of Houston and Avenue B, greeting all tourists (and their cameras) in six stories of red and black letters: WELCOME TO MUTANT TOWN.
In bright neon green spray paint, the familiar red and black letters of the WELCOME TO MUTANT TOWN mural are covered over by a massive depiction of a Kraken -- erm, or the beginning of one. It seems as though the vandals may have been interrupted before they could finish the job.(Set by Tiffany on Sun, May 15.)
| It is a spring day. The weather is warm and overcast.|
The on again off again state of the rain has kept some people indoors, although mostly anyone who was going to hang out outside just does so under cover or doorways and awnings instead. Some just take advantage of the breaks in weather to get where they're going. One dude strolls down the street with a plate full of greasy pizza, having a walking lunch, apparently. Or, more accurately, trying to. Because suddenly there's a blur of something diving from the sky right at him and his pizza, the winged shape veering at the last moment back up and away, narrowly avoiding collision and leaving the young guy startled and yelling. And also, without his pizza.
A block or some away, Armando touches down onto the ground with more delicate grace that the dive-bomb a moment ago. He shakes some lingering water droplets off of himself with a bright grin, made all the more so by the gold of his eyes. Then he enjoys the spoils of victory, folding the pizza in half and taking a bite. It's cooled off a little, but still good!
Standing out against her gradually browning skin, Tiffany wears a cream-colored sundress with a stylish, signature belt. The hemline of the dress ends mid-thigh but its thin fabric often flutters up above that. Leather wrap sandals wind their way up just above her ankles. Woody brown with a pop of turquoise on their undersides, the shoes' heels add a good 3" to her height putting her just below 6 feet tall.
Tiffany's umbrella is clear and superimposed with many pentagrams, which are made to look like they've been written in dripping blood. Walking in Armando's general direction with a pop-step of confidence and conviction beneath it, neither she nor her weather-inappropriate outfit are afraid of a little rain. As the winged man comes in for a landing, Tiffany lets out a wolf-whistle.
Armando turns when there's a wolf whistle, startled, then grins again. "Oh! Hey, chica!" He genuinely has to look /up/ at Tiffany in those heels. If the umbrella is supposed to be off-putting, he doesn't notice, just waves at her cheerily. "You want a piece?" Of...stolen pizza.
"Fuck yeah, I want a piece," Tiffany calls dryly. Her expression doesn't change, even as a low-rider rolls onto the block blasting an infectious Spanish-pop beat that her hips and head begin to sway with, "I've literally like, only had one cigarette all day." She clicks her heels closer but really, only as the music from the sick, tricked out car allows.
"Damn. Sometimes I envy people who can drive," Armando says as the low-rider pulls up on the block with crinkling speakers and heavy base. He scoots a little closer to Tiffany, dancing just a little with the motion, and then settles for tapping a flip-flopped foot to the beat. His wings are used to form something of a canopy above his head. "I don't think that's a balanced breakfast, girl," he observes, holding out a slice of pizza for her.
"I've like, never been skinnier," Tiffany's voice briefly raises an octave in a half-hearted attempt at a Valley Girl accent. She swivels her hips with a practiced, sexy slowness that won't set off a her abilities. Her shoulders start moving, too. Obviously, as the car grows closer, the dancing just escalates. It is known. "And last time I checked, sky pizza doesn't exactly count, either. It's like, double the calories as Earth pizza." Tiffany makes a grabby hand at a slice.
"Oh, the perfect time to eat, then!" That's what that means, right? You are skinny now so guilt-free eating? This is may be in a realm beyond Armando's basic understanding. "The pizza did not come from the sky, it came from my roommate, who should know by now to stop eating things in the fridge with my name on them by now, no?" He sounds mildly exasperated, even if he triumphantly grins around pizza. "You know, I would never have guessed you were a dancer." You don't say.
"I didn't know you had a roommate," Tiffany drawls. Is that a weird thing to say? Good thing she doesn't also tell him that pretty much everything she's learned about dancing has come from him dancing alone in his kitchen. Tiffany tosses around her bouncy, blackish hair as she brings the tip of the pizza to her lips. She's still waggling her butt as the low-rider passes.
The contents of the car, all young men between Tiffany's age and Armando's, hoot and holler at the couple. The passengers raise up their arms to do dance along with them. "Yeah, get dat, mutie!" One of them calls encouragingly but also y'know semi-offensively to Armando, likely in reference to the dark-haired vixen accompanying him.
"Used to have two. He's a pyro, though. Keeps setting off the fire alarm in the building. Like, he is the human candle left alone or something." Armando shrugs as much as he can, like, what can do you? He doesn't seem to think it's a weird thing to say, but then, she keeps the real weirdness to herself. When those in the car raise their hands up, he raises one too, encouraged for like...a moment. Then he laughs, if awkwardly. Oh. "Uhm," he says and heroically stuffs his face with pizza instead of saying anything else.
"Ew," Tiffany's heels clack against the pavement as she inch-steps just a little closer to Armando. Holding the pizza between clenched teeth, she brings up her hand to run through the back of her hair. She rocks her ass even more as if to dance up on Armando. It's extra sexy because of the fat, greasy slice of pizza hanging out of her face.
The music gets turned up and the car goes wild.
Certainly there are people out there who would find Tiffany's greasy pizza dance /very/ appealing. Maybe even that car full of dudes. Armando looks a little like an animal caught in headlights, his gaze flickering back and forth between Tiffany and the car. "I don't know why you are encouraging them," he says around a mouthful of pizza, because everyone is terribly attractive in this moment.
Tiffany sortof cackles, pulling the pizza out of her mouth and chewing as the car finally pulls off of the block. Her eyes roll lazily, "Whatever." She licks the delicious pizza taste from her lips, "I used to live with a pyro. She was was like, the absolute worst. Like this blonde yoga bitch."
Armando shuffles his feet against the sidewalk, which slip a little between the dampness and the flip-flops. But he seems a little more relaxed once the car pulls away, if also oddly sad about it. "Oh, I am sorry. James, he is not bad, but he does not respect the fridge names. And he cooks with his hands and makes a mess..." A thought occurs. "All our problems are in the kitchen, apparently."
"That's so not cool. How long is your lease for? Have you tried buying a fire extinguisher and just like, going to fucking town on him?" Tiffany chews, lifting her eyebrows as she lets the suggestion set it. She shifts her hand around the umbrella handle, twirling it just a little above her.
"I like my apartment! We have a view." Of like, roofs of other buildings and a tiny scrap of street. /View/. The suggestion of the fire extinguisher actually makes him laugh out loud, though, enough that he ends up covering his mouth as he trails off into giggles. Henchman giggles, obviously. "Ohhh noooo. That would be so mean." And yet…
Tiffany chuckles a little, too. It's an Evil chuckle ...and not the Henchman variety. "Let me know if you want me to like, scare the shit out of him next time he opens the fridge. I can totally do that." ... "Wait, is he cute? Who is cuter, you or him?" This is important information that Tiffany needs if she's to pick sides. Her heels tap as she moves to continue walking a few steps. She's not all dressed up because she doesn't have places to be.
Armando just doesn't have the self-possession and drive to graduate to Evil Villain status, alas. "Oh, could you?" He seems at least a little intrigued by the prospect, wings shivering briefly over his head. "Well--hey! I am cuter!" He protests because /really/. Who answers the other way? "He is just all big and hair. No finesse." James is way taller, though. He does have that going for him.
Tiffany wrinkles her nose up in mild disgust at the description before tearing another ravenous bite from the pizza. She chews, making a little sound of confirmation and nodding her chin. "I'm like, super talented at scaring the shit out of people for revenge," Tiffany just stares Armando dead in the eyes for a moment. "Speaking of which... I'm like, totally on a job. So." She shifts her eyes.
Armando stares back, but again, he looks more like he stares because he's been caught, not that he does so confrontationally. Whoa. "Uhm, don't scare the shit out of me, okay?" Hey, he can hope, right? Look at that face and those big eyes. Who would want to scare that? "...oh. Like, a revenge job?" He's started whispering now, because maybe it's a secret job or something.
Tiffany chin-nudges, "You're safe. For now. No, I'm like, trying to prove that someone is cheating on their wife with like, some invisible bitch or something," Tiffany chews, gesturing to herself with what remains of the pizza, "Somebody should have told them: nobody can hide from /this/ invisible bitch."
"Maybe," Armando posits, holding a finger up and looking really excited but trying to contain it, "It is an invisible /bro/. Or a ghost! Or, like, a double personality. Oh, what if there is a ghost with a double personality!" And we've descended straight into soap opera land. "Oh no, what if someone has come back for the dead, but they have like, amnesia and cannot remember how to not be invisible!""Whatever it is," Tiffany pants and waggles her head with theatrical determination, "I'm going to get to the bottom of it." She tears one of the last pieces of the pizza crust and chews ...hard, because it's the crust. "I'll smee myouu lmter," she says through her full mouth, eyebrows waggling as she starts to walk away. Her hair tosses this way and that as she checks both ways before she jaywalks across the street.