7098/Lunchtime Introductions

Lunchtime Introductions
Date of Scene:	30 March 2019
Location:	Kitchen - Xavier's School
Synopsis:	Blink meets Daken for the first time while having lunch. How many Little Logans are there!?
Cast of Characters:	Blink, Daken

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Blink has posed:
It's a little past lunchtime at the school. Clarice is feeling more comfortable and more accepted around the school. Even getting some smiles from students and staff who have benefited from her mutant power recently. Or even just those who have been becoming friends with her.

Though still she tends to stay away from the kitchen during the normal rush hours, letting those in attendance and who work here have first crack at everything. Now it's sowing down, and Clarice comes in and goes over to open the fridge and see what there is left. Some cold fried chicken catches her eye. She pulls out the container, along with one with some dill spears. A hardboiled egg is added, and then an orange after she spots it down there in the fruit bin. She transfers things to a plate and gets herself a glass of ice water before moving over to the table to sit down with her bounty.

Daken has posed:
    No sooner than Clarice settles down, in slips another figure. Akahiro. Some still call him by the name "Daken", an insult that he wore as a badge for decades. But in truth, he has but one name. Akahiro. Or maybe one could call him Akahiro Howlett. That's kind of a riot, though. Either way, he's not exactly a familiar face around the school. He's been in and out, but mostly... mostly out. It comes with the territory when you've spent something like 70 years trying to kill one of the most respected members of a certain community.

    Right now, Akahiro is dressed somewhat casually, for him. A pale lilac button down shirt, with the collar left unfastened. A tie loosely wound around his neck with a diagonal set of assymetric stripes in black, grey and white. Over that is worn a Prince of Wales patterned vest, in ash grey, with a black satin back. Matching grey twill slacks with a crease so sharp one might slice their fingers on it down the front of each leg. They're held up by a thick leather belt bearing a large pewter skull for the buckle, and adorned with a thick wallet chain that dangles loosely around one thigh around to the back pocket. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, and his wrists are covered with various adornments of beads and silver chains and leather straps and even a Rollex watch there. And then there's his left arm, which shows a few spiraling marks of black ink etched into the flesh.

    "Might as well see what kind of swill ol' daddy dearest is keeping hidden away down here. I'm sure it'll only be the absolute best in American piss water..." He half mutters to himself as he stalks across the floor, having seemed to not even notice the elfen mutant with her fried chicken, on his quest to the fridge. He fills the room almost instantly, though, with a pleasant aroma. It's calming. Soothing. Masculine, yet not musky or overbearing. Like the smell of fresh cut tobacco and rich mahogany, mingled with something citrusy and sweet. A custom tailored cologne.

    Reaching the fridge, he peers inside with a disapproving look, reaching up and brushing fingers through the thick, mohawked mane of wild hair atop his head. Making a clicking sound of his tongue on the back of his teeth, he mutters something incomprehensible, before finally reaching in and fishing out a brown bottle of beer, which he promptly opens and lifts to his lips to take a swig, before kicking the fridge door shut and moving to the table.

Blink has posed:
Though though are a few different types of beer in there, it's pretty obvious which are Logan's. The other things in the fridge seem to keep their distance from them, as if the same stigma that keeps others from drinking them keeps back the food as well. Not American. Molson's Ice.

Blink looks up as the man she isn't familiar with comes in. The softly murmured words might have been caught, Blink looking at his face curiously as if trying to place a familial resemblance. Or maybe the words were missed and she is just looking at him curiously. The young woman is dressed in what might be a super hero costume. Dark leggings and a black coat, with brown trim and laces up the front. The cut revealing a bit of soft skin across her upper chest. Nothing to make Scarlet Witch jealous either in cut nor content, but it is at least a reprieve from the way the rest of the attire is mostly concealing.

"Hello," the Asian twenty-year-old offers softly, giving a little wave of her hands towards Daken. "I don't think I've had a chance to meet you before," she offers towards the man. She finds herself drawing in a breath, something actually smelling better than her friend chicken catching her nose. "I'm Clarice," she young woman offers towards him, brushing back some of the fall of purple hair that tries to obscure one of her eyes.

Daken has posed:
    When she speaks up, Akahiro actually turns crystaline blue eyes on to her for the first time, as if he had just then even noticed her presence. Blue eyes. His Eurasian features lean heavily on his Japanese heritage, though his jaw is perhaps stronger, and his nose a bit thicker and more squared than is common among the Japanese. That sky blue stands out in those almond shaped eyes with epicanthal folds. Those blue eyes wander over his kitchen companion for a moment. It isn't a leer, but it is certainly an appraisal. Whatever his conclusions are, though, remain inscrutable as his eyes meet hers once more, and level themselves there.

    "Heh. Well, Clarice. Have the lambs stopped screaming?"

    His voice is smooth. Articulate. The accent is muted and mutable in such a way that could suggest an origin anywhere from Britain to Connecticut. Posh is the best descriptor. Posh, but geographically indeterminate. The lopsided grin that curls the corners of his lips and creates dimples in his cheek is wolfish and yet inviting.

    "Akahiro," he states as an introduction, while idly spinning the bottle of beer in its place on the table, between his manicured fingertips. Looking down, he spies her dill spears. Giving a faint upnod, he asks, "You mind?"

    He doesn't really wait for an answer, though, before he leans forward, reaching out towards the container of pickles and opening it.

    SNIKT!

    A single claw of glistening metal shunts itself out between his first two knuckles, impaling a spear so that he can lift it up and take a bite.

Blink has posed:
The eyes that look back at Akahiro's crystal blue are what spell Clarice out most clearly as being a mutant. Eyes that are a vivid green, but the irises look nothing like normal human green eyes. Together with the hair, and the dagger-shaped birthmarks above and below her eyes, that is where one's mind would leap, even were they not in a school for mutants.

"You know, I haven't even seen that," Clarice comments as she picks up the hard boiled egg. "Though I've had any number of comments about it. I put off seeing it after I was a teen, and people started mentioning it. And now I sort of just don't want to see it out of stubbornness for not having done so yet," she tells him.

The green eyes peer up at Akahiro more closely as he moves over to the pickles. Clarice gestures to them as if the Eurasian man should feel free. As she watches the claw extend, her eyes widen just a little bit. "Are you... you're like the Wolverine? And Laura?" Clarice asks softly, eyes going from the claw back up to Daken.

Daken has posed:
    Crunch. Akahiro takes a bite of the pickle and chews it, relishing it for a few moments before washing it down with beer.

    "I can understand that," he remarks on the subject of The Silence of the Lambs. "I'm the same way. If people try to push me into one direction, I have to buck them off and go the other way. Try to push a movie down my throat, and I'll never watch it. I prefer to make my own choices, my own decisions. I'll never be a lamb. And I won't be silenced."

    He turns his attention from the half eaten pickle back to her and offers a momentary flicker of another, full smile before he considers her next question. It instills an instinctual flash of anger within him. Agression. Rebellion. Disgust. He feels the knot of hatred like a fist squeezing around his heart. A wheel, twisting in his entrails. A fire, burning in the pit of his lungs. He wants to lash out with the hiss of disdain that he is nothing like Wolverine. His nostrils flare, and his upper lip curls. And that scent that seems to radiate from him like a soothing aura suddenly takes on a subtle shift, with the notes of it becoming more acrid and slightly pungent. It instills the air of aggression.

    "Yeah. You could say that," He says, after a moment. Stilling his heart, and quenching the fire of hatred in self-awareness. That hatred is not true. That is the product of decades of brainwashing and manipulation and misinformation. That hatred is an illusion. "Wolverine is my father. I'm realizing that we're a lot more alike than I would have ever wanted to admit."

    Plucking the pickle from his claw and holding it in his hand, he takes another bite, nearly finishing it as he looks her over again.

    "What's your story, then, Clarice?"

Blink has posed:
Blink feels her hand tighten a little bit towards a fist as the scent changes, the young woman looking down at it and forcing herself to let it go. She didn't remember being in such dislike about the movie, never having reacted that way to discussion of it.

The generally genial and gentle girl forces herself to draw a breath against the out of place emotion she's feeling. "I've only met him once. He wasn't what I expected," Clarice says slowly. She picks up the hard boiled egg, adding a little salt to it and then biting the tip off.

She chews it thoughtfully and then perhaps explains a bit on what she might have expected from Logan. "I grew up in Genosha. As a slave. Until Magneto and the Brotherhood freed us," she tells him. "They took me in after." If Victor had much to do with her upbringing, she probably didn't hear the best of Logan. Or the school for that matter, which might make it odd why she's there.

"Now that I'm older, I'm helping out. Working as security for Princess Lorna," Clarice tells him. "And when she doesn't need me, getting out a bit to see the world. There's so much out there worth seeing," the young woman says quietly.

Daken has posed:
    "A slave," he remarks, and there's something in his blue eyes that speaks to a sympathetic connection. Quickly, he looks away, though, lowering his gaze to the beer bottle in front of him and taking the last bite of pickle, before another sip of the beer. The beer is not his choice. Not at all. But when combined with the vinegar of the pickle it's not half bad. He might even consider dropping a spear into the bottle for the next one. "I was a slave of sorts, too. Raised since I was a teenager to be a weapon. For..."

    His eyes roll upwards and he ticks off his fingers as if counting. "About sixty or seventy years. I'm... trying to see what life is like without that."

    Pushing that to the side, though, he looks back to Clarice. His head cants to one side. "So, you probably knew ol' Uncle Vic, then."

    There is only the slightest amount of sarcasm in the "uncle" part.

Blink has posed:
Clarice's gaze lowers a little bit and her head nods slowly at the confirmation of her previous status. She glances up, a bit of surprise showing as Akahiro mentions his age. Or at least alludes to it. "It's difficult when you didn't know anything else," Clarice says, eyes still a little wide as she looks at him, though the empathic girl's expression soon turns to one of understanding.

Clarice sets the hard boiled egg back down. "You don't really look that old," she tells him. "But I guess, yes, Victor is older too," she confirms. Clarice's fingers dabbles against the table, drawing designs without any medium to preserve them but her mind. "I don't remember anything before it. Anything before they took me from my parents. I was thirteen when they took the collar off of my neck," she tells him, a hand going unconsciously to her throat. She doesn't have phantom memories of the feel of it anymore. THose went away in the first year.

Only at night now, when the occasional dreams bring them back.

Clarice clears her throat. "So, um... if you ever need someone to talk things through, with? You know... it's not the same. But I know what's it like. To walk around and have everything you see feel so alien to what you knew," she tells him.

Daken has posed:
    Akahiro remains silent for a long time, letting Clarice speak to him, and refraining, for the moment, to respond about her curiosity regarding his age. He simply offers a small knowing smile and sips on his beer. He does keep his eyes trained on her, though. Attentive. Nodding and showing understanding. The shift of his scent settles, as well, becoming something neutral, but just always pleasant and enticing. It's only after she's done speaking, making the offer to be a shoulder to lean on that Daken finally responds.

    "I'm exactly 8o years old," he finally says, wrapping both hands around the mostly empty beer bottle and drumming his fingers. "I've got good genes. Plus, you know how it is. Asian. We don't age right on up to the very last ten years of our life, and then it all hits at once and we become ancient looking overnight."

    He offers a small chuckle, but it fades quickly. She had shared a bit with him. He didn't want it to seem as if he were blowing her confession off, either. It's just difficult for him to relate. It's an alien feeling. He's been trained to be a perfect sociopath, so attempting to create some sort of true connection? That's difficult. He's only been taught to fein such things.

    "I wasn't even born when my parents were taken from me. My mother was killed and I was ripped from her womb. The person who was responsible... he gave me to some people. But that didn't last. So I lost those parents, too. Then he came and took me away to turn me into a weapon to use against Wolv-...against my father."

    Rather than let that dark hole swallow them up, he deflects further details about his own upbringing with, "Never wore a collar, though. I can't imagine what that must've been like. It must have been hard. My collar was just... up here."

    He taps on his temple.

Blink has posed:
Clarice finds herself relaxing again as they continue to talk, that previous little bought of darker emotional energy she felt slipping away, not really something that the young Genoshian woman fills herself with. She listens to Daken, even at one point resting her elbow on the table and her head on her hand as she is drawn into his story.

Clarice gives him a sensitive look and says, "It can be tough sometimes, to want to know your parents. I know how it is. We were from Barbados originally, I guess. They were going to immigrate to Genosha. And they tested me and took me because they detected the mutant gene. And then shipped them back out of the country so they couldn't cause problems," Clarice says in a downcast tone. She shrugs and sighs. "Haven't been able to track them down, though I've tried.

She looks back up and over to him. "We were their mutant work force. Built up a paradise for them. Though, my power only showed up right near the end," she says, looking down and shaking her head. "That's like, one tiny, tiny silver lining. I never used it to help those bastards," she tells him.

Daken has posed:
    Akahiro's blue eyes narrow, not in anger, but in thought, coupled with a scowl that brings his brows crashing down over those eyes, and a stern set to his his strong jawline. He seems to be searching her face for something. Apparently, he doesn't find it. So, instead, he simply releases his beer bottle and rests his elbows on the table, clasping his hands together in front of his chin, almost as if in prayer.

    "You aren't relying on someone like Magneto to track your parents down, are you? Because they'll never find them. People... they'll do everything that they can to keep you, if you're useful. Just... if you're going to try tracking down your parents, make sure that you're doing your own investigation. Or only relying on people who have nothing to gain from you. Or better yet, only have everything to gain by actually giving you what you want. I hear there is this ace investigator in the city... Jessica something. Alias Investigations."

    Of course, Akahiro is a victim of a vast conspiracy that manipulates and misdirects people to steer world events from behind the scenes, so he's bound to tell her not to trust the people she works for. It's in his nature.

    "So, your mutant power..." He starts then, before lifting his bottle, tipping it back and downing the last of its contents with a few bobs of his Adam's apple. After finishing, he wipes his lips on the back of his tattoo'ed forearm and looks back at her. "Other than being some stunningly idealized, achingly beautiful World of Warcraft night elf character, what can you do?"

Blink has posed:
Blink resumes her eating as they talk finally. The egg is finished off in small bites, with little bits of salt added before each. A sip of water to cleanse the palate, and then the fried chicken is given a first bite. Mmm. Probably Samuel Guthrie's doing, if Clarice had a guess. She's smelled his chicken cooking before, but was so new to the school she felt out of place asking for any.

Clarice wipes her lips and then shakes her head in reply to Daken. "I've been investigating myself. Or, well I have used resources... access to Genoshan records, things like that," the mild-mannered young woman tells him. "I got their Barbados address they'd given. Went there, but they'd been long gone. Didn't return there after Genosha. One neighbor kind of remembered them, but only got my mother's name right," Clarice tells him. "It's been a dead end after that."

Clarice's green eyes may have that odd appearance to them, but her face is still exceptionally expressive. She also seems to wear her heart on her sleeve, shining a grateful smile as the investigator is suggested to her. "I haven't tried engaging someone else like that. That's a very good idea. I think I'll do that," she tells him with a grateful look.

Clarice starts to answer about her mutant power when Akahiro makes the rather flattering statements at the end. Her cheeks color just a little bit, like she were wearing the lightest dusting of blush. And she smiles and looks down, seeming very pleased and surprised by the compliment. "I... thank you," she tells him, smiling brightly. "My mutant power... I teleport. I open up portals that you can walk through and... that's it, you're there," she says. "Like I could open one to my room in Genosha right now, to grab a change of clothes or a drink from my fridge," she tells him.

Daken has posed:
    Well. That's cute. Akahiro's blue eyed gaze drifts over the spreading color that fills Clarice's face, and as she looks down, his head tilts to the side, casting his long raven hued hair along with it so that it falls like a veil. Again, his lips curl, rising more at the left corner than its opposite, to create a rogueish grin. Her bashfulness elicits the desire to push further, to see what other endearing reactions he might be able to wring out of her.

    "So you're a teleporting elf," he says with more than a little amusement in his satin smooth voice. "Maybe you should look in Germany for your parents. They have a history for producing teleporting elves in Germany."

    The comment about where she could open up a portal to, though? That sparks a devious fire to glimmer in his eyes. His chin dips in towards his chest just the slightest bit, so that he's peering up at her from across the table through his dark lashes. There is another subtle shift in the intangible aura the rolls off of him in waves. The masculine nature of his scent is amplified. Heady and thick and rich. It smells sweet and alluring, with just an undernote of musk, vanilla and peppermint.

    "That's an interesting choice of location to use for an example, Clarice. You could have chosen literally anywhere for that example. I can teleport to Seven-Eleven or to Madison Square Garden, or to Madripoor. You chose to mention your bedroom. Curious."

    But just like that, the sudden wash of pheromones seems to receed. It still lingers, but the surge relaxes, to an almost imperceptible level. After all, Akahiro's just playing around.

Blink has posed:
Blink lets out a soft laugh and a grin at terming her a teleporting elf. The term probably has been used for her, and not always in a kindly way. But she doesn't get that sense from Akahiro. The bashful smile continues though, and if Akahiro thinks to get a deeper blush out of her? He absolutely succeeds.

More redness flushes across Clarice's face as he comments on her choice of teleportal locations. She didn't mean that. Did she? Clarice draws in that delicious scent and finds herself wondering if perhaps she had subconsciously? Though she protests quietly, laughing and covering up her face for a moment almost shyly as she does.

"No, no, I just meant... that's probably where I teleport to the most. Just to grab things from home," she tells him, waving a hand as if waving off the idea she'd intended to send his thoughts there.

She's left with a blush, but the amiable young woman is still smiling softly to him. "I've been to plenty of great places. Though the more I am familiar with them, the better I do. It takes a bit to get to somewhere I don't know yet," she explains to him.

Daken has posed:
    There we go. Daken cannot suppress the smile that splits his lips, revealing the pearly white teeth hidden just behind them. His eyeteeth are a bit elongated. Too long, and just a bit too pointed. It gives him a predatory look, in spite of the good natured gleam of humor in his eyes.

    "You're very pretty when you get flustered. It's really kind of adorable."

    With that Daken stands up, taking his empty beer bottle with him and depositing it in the can labeled for recyclables before heading back to the fridge. As he rummages through, he speaks back to her. "That makes sense, though. It's one of those things. How can you know what you don't know? In this case, how can you reasonable create a portal to somewhere if you have never seen it before and don't know what or where to create the portal to?"

    He grabs another three beer bottles, clasped between the fingers in one hand, and shuts the refrigerator door, before making his way towards her at the table. "Anyway, it's been nice meeting you, Clarice. But, you know... I'm a busy man, and they always say leave them wanting more, so this is my cue to get back to what I was doing before deciding to take a beer break."

    A pause.

    "Look me up next time you're around and not hanging out in your bedroom in Genosha. My room is upstairs. Second floor in the men's dorm wing. I don't sleep much, so..."

    He gives the actual room number, before thrusting two claws down to spear a few more pickles. With that, he strides off towards the door. "See you around."

Blink has posed:
And Daken succeeds in keeping the blush relevant for a bit longer by noticing it. Clarice is smiling at him though, the somewhat shy girl seeming a bit charmed by the encounter with Akahiro. "Yes, it's like that," she says of knowing the place she teleports to. "Even seeing pictures and maps helps me, though being there is the best thing," Clarice confirms to him.

There is a brief flash of disappointment as the man says he needs to get going, though she smiles a bit at his quips. The young woman's green eyes study him as he carries the trio of beers towards the exit. "Sure, I'll stop by. I'd like to talk with you more," she tells him, Clarice lifting a hand to give a small wave goodbye to the man.

Once he's gone she turns back to her food. She draws in a breath, but finds the kitchen doesn't smell quite as good as it did a little bit ago. She reaches up and touches her pointed ears that she normally keeps more hidden within the fall of purple hair. A gentle smile results before she focuses back on her food. Mmm, chicken.