2746/The F* Is Shawarma

The F* Is Shawarma
Date of Scene:	07 October 2017
Location:	Shawarma spot in NYC
Synopsis:	Ellie meets Drake and set about trying a new food she never tried before. A creeper joins the scene, and soon after a senior Xavier student.
Cast of Characters:	Negasonic Teenage Warhead, Slipstream, 1326, Surge

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Negasonic Teenage Warhead has posed:
Every now and then Ellie goes meandering the city for the sake of doing so, and every now and then she runs into something she's never seen before. Case in point: Shawarma Palace. She stops, looks at the sign, looks at the dingy place with the ridiculously good smells coming from inside, and snorts, "the fuck is a Shawrma?" Only one way to find the answer, boldly go where no one but a few hundred people have gone before, a right step, left step, right step, and in she goes. Ellie Phimister is going to discover Shawarma, just like Tony Stark before her. True mark of greatness.

Slipstream has posed:
Heading down the street is Drake, decked out in a dark purple Twitch hoodie and his team's fragging jersey beneath it. His brown hair has a bit of a spike to it from a bit of gel tousled in, destroyed jeans and some sneakers. Spying Ellie and recognizing her from the other day, he angles himself to slip into the Palace as well, calling out. "Yo, you a pita fan?" He asks as he gives her shoulder a playful bump. "Mind company?"

Negasonic Teenage Warhead has posed:
Ellie turns her head when someone calls out, not sure if it was meant for her, until she recognizes livestream dude, "pita? It said shamwow outside...which is it?" So clearly, she's not quite a fan, more like someone who has no clue what she's about to have. "Sure, you can tag along, but you still owe me an explanation of how I make cash out of doing twitter."

Slipstream has posed:
"Twitter? Not so much. Twitter is how you communicate with your fans. Livestreaming is where people watch you do whatever you're doing and if they feel generous, they donate or hit the sub button and then the site pays you. Whatcha thinking about doing though? You gonna be a pro gamer like me?" Drake asks. "Shawarma is like an Arabic thing. It's how they make the food. They take a pita, shove meat and veggies into it. Grill it. It's freaking good. When I was in Istanbul for a tournament, I had a bunch of this stuff. Definitely get the lamb."

Negasonic Teenage Warhead has posed:
"Ugh...I twit, it's what I do," Ellie grumbles, realizing this free cash avenue isn't setup for her sort. More like Drake's sort, and she's definitely not that. She doesn't have a gaming console, or computer or whatnot, and will never wait the horrid long line for either of those at the Xavier's rec room. She shrugs at the given explanation, "Arab? Whatever, I'll take it," she walks up to the counter, "give me one of them shwarmas, with the lamb and everything, this guy knows," she points at Drake, seems he's just been designated the shawarma expert for ordering purposes.

Slipstream has posed:
"So, you can live stream real life. It's called Arr Ell." Drake says to Elle as he steps to the counter and slips his chain wallet out of his back pocket and thumbs out a number of bills. "Two of those. Two sodas also." He cuts a glance to her, then the cashier. "Make mine extra spicy. I like the fire." He even pays for her as he pushes the twenties across the counter. "Get a camera mounted on a pole or something. Selfie stick. Walk around town and bullshit. Shaved head with an attitude would get a shit ton of doofy guys watching you." He tips a wink.

Volf Boiardi (1326) has posed:
Moriarty, Braccato's online handler in Homeland Security, had briefed him half an hour earlier. The subject was one Ellie Phimister, a female teenager with an irregular blip in the DSS system. Normally, she'd fall through the cracks, but she was exceptionally vocal on Twitter, and had offended a domestic censor or two, drawing the computer tracking systems across her background. That had led the trail to her mysterious disappearance from the foster system, namely a blank where she should be in the system. Electronic records had been tampered with, and everyone had forgotten the existence of a single girl. That was a lead on a shadow organization that the government suspected was operating in the New York area. Little did they suspect that it was the Xavier Institute's clandestine Mutant training and Essex Factor civil rights program, both of which were potentially offensive. The X-Factor was a powerful weapon, to be wielded in the right hands by the body politic, and had to be strictly evaluated before proliferating into the general population.

The deep cover operative in question investigating, Volf "Braccato" Boiardi, was a stunning example, a former Lucchese hitman.

Volf, his Superman t-shirt on display beneath his garment district trenchcoat, shuffled into the Arabic deli with his black boots, his backwards hat failing to hide his face but making him appear deliberately undisguised. A notable figure is not necessarily a confident figure, the hitman using the practice of altering his gait to bring attention to himself as a loner schlub, but not the kind of schmuck that wanted attention. His silent eyes searched across the schawarma joint as he walked along with his hands in his coat pockets, spotting Ellie from her Twitter profile photo.

Slipstream has posed:
With a chime of his phone, Drake gives a glance down and lets out a sigh. "Ugh. Come on Turbo. I don't wanna do another scrim." He mutters, then gives a glance to the girl. "Hey, let's hang out tomorrow? I hope you like the pita." He says as he heads to the door once his bag is slid over to him, giving her a wide grin. "I can set you up with a stream so you can start gathering fan boys."

Negasonic Teenage Warhead has posed:
"Arr Ell?" Ellie mimics Drake, before laughing at his antics, "who would want to see that?" She snorts, not thinking of it as a very good idea at all. "Wait..." Ellie notes as Drake reaches for his wallet, "you paying for me?" She didn't quite expect that, this wasn't even a date. Than again, she's not one of those feminist and proud to the point of refusing free money, she'll take it every day, "cool." If anything, as she listens to Drake she considers. Mind you considers, nothing more than that.

When Volf comes in with his Superman shirt on display, Ellie can't resist a snort, pointin outright at Volf as she nudges Drake, "hey, livestream guy, look, we found Superman."

Volf Boiardi (1326) has posed:
Volf's eyes slowly move towards Drake as the domestic spy watches the gamer's movements, noticing the teenage gesture with the bag slinging over his shoulder. Cool, relaxed, the kind of movement a practiced kid uses when he knows how to pick up a lady, but doesn't have to, because he's not in the practice of chowing down on pasta and humping his belly into a grass field. That's why his dad made sure he lifted weights.

Volf, despite being a far older man, offers Negasonic a dangerously sly grin, his chin tilting downwards as his mouth tightens into what could almost be called a smile, aside from its lack of cherubic quality about his cheeks. He slowly pulls his hands from his pockets, doffing an imaginary burden with just a faint assertion of lifted weight off his posture.

"I forgot my day clothes at the laundromat," he says with dull, dry humor as he walks past the departing Drake, turning his left shoulder sidelong with a look of macho adherance to male code of ownership of a woman. He's eliminating himself as a competitor in the most obvious way possible, in public view of everyone here.

"Now you know my secret identity." He steps up beside Ellie in line, pulling what looks like a wad of hundred dollar bills out of his pocket. It's actually a wallet made to look like that, obvious when he spreads it open and withdraws a ten dollar bill.

Negasonic Teenage Warhead has posed:
Ellie gets her freebie pita and waves at Drake as he heads out on his way, "we'll see about that," she answers about the offer to meet on the next day. She looks over at the condiment, bravely trying some of the different colored ones. Not sure what either of those are, before heading to sit down at a table. "Oh yeah? What does a guy your age even does with a Superman shirt? You a fan of his or something? Or just a cousin?" Ellie asks stingingly, not known to be the most polite of the group of students at Xavier's.

Ellie snorts when Volf suggests he truly is Superman, "no way, you're playing me," Ellie states, eyeing the hundred dollar stash before it turns out to be a wallet, "nice wallet though. Also got it from Superman?"

Volf Boiardi (1326) has posed:
"Got it from the Flying Dragons, actually," Volf replies courteously. "A bit of Spanish medicine, they call it." He slides the ten dollar bill across the counter, exchanging a knowing grin with the clerk (the wallet is from Egypt, it's a common street item if you know the right people). "I'll take a Coke on the side." As his food is sliced off the rotisserie of meat and vegetable off the back, he looks over at Ellie with a pivot. "You don't like the shirt? You'll figure it out in about ten years, if you keep up with that fashion sense," he retorts.

As his food is delivered, along with the can of Coke, he gives a hand wave to the cashier's gesture at the register, before moving around to sit at a table near Ellie's, facing her diagonally across a middle aisle. "Superman, I suspect, doesn't even have a secret identity. None of the superheroes do. Otherwise, someone would figure out they have powers. One car hits Superman in civilian clothes, everyone knows, am I right?" he asks, opening his soda with an eloquently thuggish precision.

Negasonic Teenage Warhead has posed:
"Flying Dragons? The fuck are they?" Ellie asks, before digging into her pita, taking a mouthful and finding it quite an interesting mix of spices. She's not sure if she likes it, but she certainly isn't hating it, munching away on her first mouthful. Good thing too, because that puts a delay on her ability to answer Volf, which eventually comes in the form of, "if I ever get your fashion sense, I hope I'll have the common sense to commit suicide first."

"Really? I don't think Superman would be stupid enough to let a car hit him in the first place, he's Superman, not Stupidman, right?" Ellie rebuttals, before taking another bite of her pita, shaking her head a bit at Volf. Naturally she has no clue there's a purpose to his visit coinciding with hers.

Volf Boiardi (1326) has posed:
"They're the enforcers and movers for a local Tong," Volf says matter-of-factly. "Bad idea to go in on a business venture for them unless you've got superior sense, but they're decent friends if you want an interesting trinket."

Volf can't quite decide how sarcastic Ellie is being, whether she's wise beyond her years or just a damaged kid in a Slaughterhouse Five cyclic from a violent trauma in her childhood. Two cases come to mind, both from Gotham. Dr. Jonathan Crane, the Scarecrow, and the luminary of Arkham Asylum's downtrodden, Dr. Jeremiah Arkham. Never could two brothers pass further apart in the night. Scarecrow's case was clear homicide hidden with masterful intent, the product of a damaged childhood with maternal manipulation into an organized system to produce the very man that became Dr. Crane. Dr. Arkham, meanwhile, was a prodigy at manipulation and levers, and performed his act out of self-defense. Dr. Crane sublimated upwards, Dr. Arkham passive-aggressively redirected laterally. Crane's mother was a product of the same woman that made Crane, Arkham's victim was a violent lunatic that could've been a danger to the public. Crane planned, Arkham made a field decision. One was a government operative, the other was a doctor.

Volf has heard a dozen things about those cases, but Volf has always held the private opinion that Crane should've been groomed for intelligence in his undergraduate studies. You don't smash a hammer into a Mustang because the engine is too hot, you modify the hood. Arkham, meanwhile, was trying to fix Crane, so Arkham was in the right field. But Volf doesn't make the calls with cadavers, only corpses.

"So you think that Superman has the entire flow of Metropolis traffic gridded out in his mind when he's going out to get a burger?" he asks, using a plastic fork to pick through the pita and eat a chunk of lamb, instead of using his hands on the dish. He's a technician, a byproduct of using car bombs.

Negasonic Teenage Warhead has posed:
"Oh, so you're Yakuza?" Ellie intentionally gets it wrong when she questions Volf about which Asian gang he's affiliated with. Clearly she knows her stuff! "So, you've got bunches of superior sense, huh? Are you on of those mutants or something?" Ellie asks casually between bites, clearly not giving a damn either way.

Staring at Volf in disbelief, mostly that he's even still carrying on this line of conversation, Ellie mutters, "I'm suggesting, if he's so super, fast and all around awesome, he wouldn't let a car hit him. Where's your superior sense none?"

Surge has posed:
     There's a flash of actinic blue light from outside, and a similarly blue haired teenager is suddenly opening the door, the bell jingling. She heads over to the counter, giving the employee behind it a friendly nod. "I'll take a number five, with a large sprite." She slips a ten across the counter herself, gets her change, and steps back a bit while her meal is parepared, the metal gauntleted fingers tinking softly as she drums them on the surface of a nearby table.

Volf Boiardi (1326) has posed:
"Wanna beat my ass, huh," Volf says, lowering his eyes to his food to hide his concerned look. The statement is a deliberate, hard jab, of intuitive logic from an older man. That's category three, any probable background of a suicidal vigilante. Deeply repressed personality trauma. That's the accidental murder of an emotional attachment. Different Vonnegut book. Sirens of Titan. Plenty of dogs in Gotham howling at that bright, beautiful moon. Sometimes, Volf feels the urge to do it himself. But his call is merely a challenge, not a chase.

As the flash comes outside, there's a faint, faint ripple of mnenomic energy as Volf startles, thinking a siren is outside. It's a barely palpable memory suppression of everyone in the shop triggered by a cop spook, merely removing details like hand signals and subconscious body language. He becomes a putty man in anyone's mind affected, especially if they're unaware. The reflex is both a blessing and a curse, like all X-Factors.

"Mutants? You could say that. Everyone is weird to you when you're on the bottle in a city. The natural assumption that most people miss is that it's also you that's weird." He demonstrates his keen study of people, intentionally. It screams cop, besides the explanation of logic to a potential civilian.

Negasonic Teenage Warhead has posed:
Ellie is familiar with just such a blueish flash, and turning her head, sure enough she finds Noriko taking an order. She doesn't show any signs of being familiar with Noriko, aside perhaps to the faintest inclination of her head. But that could have just as easily been her leaning for another bite. Then Volf makes his comment, and Ellie laughs, spitting out bits of shawarma and whatever else was in her pita. Good thing the tray is right there to collect it, "are you for serious? What makes you think I wanna beat your ass? The fact you were a Superman shirt like a dweeb and boast a superior sense which you clearly don't have?" She shakes her head, and eventually provides a tip, "man, lay off the booze. You're outweirding the weird."

Surge has posed:
Noriko Ashida slips into the next booth over, wanting to give Ellie her space. Just another face from school, and she's not going to push social activity. Although... "Yeah, anyone fighting in here'd be crazy. I'm pretty sure the owner has half the Avengers on speed dial." She digs into her meal, which is practically packed to bursting. Hey, running here from Westchester takes a lot of calories, okay? "Plus, why get kicked out of a place that has good food for cheap?"

Volf Boiardi (1326) has posed:
Volf checks that down in his mental notebook, the insular subculture she immediately displays alongside Noriko. Noriko is his line to whatever group cleared Ellie out of the DSS records. "You act like I'm wearing a Blaze comics t-shirt with Booster Gold's face," he retorts, sitting up in his chair and taking a long drink of his soda. "Army veterans have their t-shirts, I have mine."

Boiardi eats a piece of pepper and onion he's spiked on his fork after spreading more pita aside, turning his attention to Noriko. "I'm sorry if you caught us at a bad stretch in our conversation. I'm not sure if our friend here realizes that I'm headshrinking her." He turns his attention back to Ellie, chewing his food in the side of his mouth with a polite, faintly wolfish grin, as he swallows.

Negasonic Teenage Warhead has posed:
Ellie laughs as Noriko adds her two cent, and gestures at the blue haired girl with her elbow, "hear that, Superman, very stupid idea. Further evidence you ain't got that superior sense you were talking about. So, sorry to break it to you, but you're not Superman." Then he talks about Blaze comics and Booster Gold, and Ellie looks dumbfonded, "dude, if I wasn't eating, I'd check the interwebs to find out whatever the hell that is..." She has another bite, munching energetically, until she hears Volf's comment to Noriko and snaps at him, "what the fuck is headshrinking? Are you saying I'm a psycho? Because I've never been to a shrink ever." Okay, that's a lie, child services certainly forced her to have some sessions with therapy people. It was super lame too.

Surge has posed:
Noriko Ashida picks up her tray, slipping around and in next to Ellie now that she's been accepted into the conversation. "Yeah, poking around in people's heads tends to offend. Pretty sure we're just here to eat, not give you free practice." Her eyes narrow, the teen staring Volf down as she takes another bite of shwarma.

Volf Boiardi (1326) has posed:
Volf watches a lean-to tent come into position, knowing it's just a matter of pressing down on the canvas and letting the tree do the work. Ellie demonstrates a much rawer version of the reputation that a standard superhero has, Noriko is clearly more disciplined. He quietly glances down at her thumb as she picks up the tray to move near Ellie and sit, looking to see if she holds her thumb out in an Eastern grasp instead of making the curl inwards as an American Christian, or the thumb ball push he performs as a traditional European Catholic. Softpalm the Easterner, inquire to the American, or show the European blunt deference.

"Who said it was free?" he asks, looking at Noriko with a pointed, serious but amused look. His face freezes into a cop face, with the far away look of quiet thought that one once saw in a hunter, survivalist, or warrior. He quietly lifts a bite of lamb to his mouth, inserting it into his mouth as he shuns Ellie in favor of his attention on Noriko.

Negasonic Teenage Warhead has posed:
Ellie appreciates Noriko's backup, even if she's entirely sure she could handle herself, the guy is rather creepy coming on to her with all this mind games out in public. The fuck was his problem? Ellie will certainly need to twit about this experience later on, for now she just gets on with her meal, eager to finish it and get out of here, and farther away from the guy in the Superman shirt.

Rolling her eyes at Volf, Ellie whispers to Noriko, "you ever seen that douche before?"

Surge has posed:
Noriko Ashida does indeed keep her thumb straight, and she's clearly suspicious now. "Well, she clearly didn't ask for it, so you can't charge her. And you need a license to practice psychiatry." She gives Ellie a miniscule shake of her head, fingers on her free hand drumming a little faster. Her fellow student's probably close enough to feel the slight prickle of static in the air that occurs when Nori's on edge.

Volf Boiardi (1326) has posed:
"Guess I can't," he says, as his face pulls aside and then down, chewing his lamb. He thoughtfully thinks to himself, falsely, his X-Factor blocking all telepathic attempts that would possibly exist, hence his superb comfort in all situations in a world of mutants and masterminds.

"But, as for licensing a psychiatrist," Volf says, looking up with an oddly playful smile. "Psychology is the language of God. Sociology is the language of the Goddess. Economics is the language of Man. And advertising is the language of the devil. So what is the language of Limbo?" he asks with an honest smile, dropping his guard now that it's established that Noriko is a junior lawyer. He can't touch either of them. He looks back at Ellie, his teeth a little softer on the lamb now that he's done his spot analysis. He swallows languidly, then says, "Sorry if I was busting your benjamins, kiddo, I just don't like the t-shirt getting made fun of. Anyone can be a superhero, all you need is the opportunity. Some of us are just chasing the magic."

Subject confirmed, Ellie Philimister. That was rapid entrance into the joint, but Homeland Security may have caught her on an incidental camera glance. If not, he'll be looking through a lot of blue haired driver's licenses in his near future.

Negasonic Teenage Warhead has posed:
"And your language is the language of lame," Ellie interjects, having had about enough of Volf. He's far too uppity, gives a creepy vibe, and she feels like she might want to punch him in the face soon. Reason enough to just finish her meal and leave. She does just that, wiping her hands on a few napkins, before clearing her stuff, and snorting, "if you don't want to have your shirts made fun of, don't wear stupid shirts," she then turns to Noriko and adds, "sorry for leaving you with Mr. Creepy here, but I really gotta bail!"

Surge has posed:
Noriko Ashida entirely agrees with the sentiment, rapidly wolfing down the rest of her shwarma and washing it down with Sprite. "Who says you're leaving me, I'm coming too. I don't need any more people inside my head than I already have." She tosses her wrapper and cup into the can, slipping out of the booth and stretching a bit. "You want to come with me, or are you taking the bus?"

Volf Boiardi (1326) has posed:
"See you on the flip side, crook. That's an L upside down, you know." Volf goes about eating in a leisurely fashion, sipping his soda and lounging about the restaurant after the exchange, securing himself with an arch of his back into a bodybuilder pose with both foreams on the table to indicate a prison posture, after the pair leaves.

Negasonic Teenage Warhead has posed:
Ellie is starting to look a bit rattled, as she snaps at Noriko, "why is Mr. Douchebag calling me a crook? What the fuck is his problem?" Groaning to herself, Ellie forces herself to head out, kicking the door open as she snaps at Noriko, "I'll go with you, the bus might have losers like douchebag over here..."

Surge has posed:
Noriko Ashida shrugs. "Fuck if I know. Maybe he doesn't like teenagers who stand up for themselves." She walks along with Ellie for a few yards, getting out of sight from the shop windows, before crouching a bit to let her fellow student climb on, looping her arms around the punk girl's legs. This time, she accelerates a lot slower when she takes off, but still swiftly disappears from view, a trail of blue sparks marking her passage.