9565/A trip to Four Freedoms Plaza

A trip to Four Freedoms Plaza
Date of Scene:	13 October 2019
Location:	Four Freedoms Plaza - Ground Floor
Synopsis:	Reed takes a break and meets some mutants
Cast of Characters:	M, Mister Fantastic, Multiple Man

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M has posed:
Monet is terribly bored -- having decided to swing by the famous building as a matter of happenstance, she slips out of the car that has dropped her off here and stretches into the leggy 5'10" of her maximum height with a hand smoothed over her dark dress. Monet preens her hand over her hair, tucking a few wild curls behind her ear. She eyeballs the way the door is made after she crosses into it, the click of four inch heels gracefully apparent as she makes her way across the white marble floor. The click of her heels is satisfying; looking up at the ceiling of the four fredoms plaza. "A shopping promenade," she says mostly to herself with a soft "hmmm". Then, she's looking toward Sergius --then the room at large.

Mister Fantastic has posed:
As a resident, Reed Richards occasionally comes down to the shopping promenade area of Four Freedoms Plaza. By design, stores have limited shelf life here. They come in, open up for a few months, and then close, having broadened their brand awareness, and made a killing. And with the turnover, there's always reason for customers to flock to it. It's proven to be a highly effective fiscal strategy.

Although a celebrity, he is a known quantity in these parts, so he largely can hide in plain sight. Sometimes he's asked to pose for a selfie, or sign something, but largely, he is left to be allowed to shop like other people. He was taking an enforced break. He was under strict orders not to return to his lab for at least an hour.

So he wandered, dressed in his Fantastic Four uniform, with a lab coat over top. If there were any doubt to who he was, the outfit would be a dead giveaway. Although, there were some cosplayers who dressed like him, or other members of the Fantastic Four. He even posed for a selfie with a Asian American cosplaying as the Invisible Woman.

M has posed:
Monet is aloof, poking her head into a handmade cosmetic store where the people who work there want you to try and smell everything OR ELSE. There's no or else, really. Monet steps out of a store that sells chocolates, eating one handmade chocolate and peanut buttle pumpkin with a furrowed brow as she watches the cosplayer drift over to Reed. There's no immediate outpouring of fangirlish glee from the dusky skinned lady -- she simply watches him.

She notes his graying temples and the labcoat. She eyes his suit, not unkindly -- she just seems to be into aesthetically pleasing things. She muses quietly to herself, perhapds a bit too proud to approach him first. She watches him with dark eyes and a musing look, glancing over as the cosplayer leaves.

Mister Fantastic has posed:
Reed is being observed. He's used to it. But when the cosplayer leaves, and he is once again alone, he walks towards a children's store. He has two of his own, Franklin, who is 26 days away from his 8th birthday, and Valeria, who is 6 years, and a little over seven months old. Standing near the entrance to the store, Reed scratches his chin, pondering aloud, "what to get him?"

M has posed:
Monet is, for a lack of a better word, unsure of how to bug or interrupt Reed while he seems to be in the middle of the very important act of shopping for one of his children. Monet pulls her fingers through her hair -- not at all seeming tp be bothered by observing him or him noticing. She begins to approach him then, a small bounce in her step as she does. She keeps her arms relaxed at her sides, "Hello," She offers, matter of factly. "Legos are the best children's toy, in my opinion," she says.

Mister Fantastic has posed:
Reed Richards turns to regard the teenage girl. She was beautiful, to be certain, with a difficult to discern ethnicity. Her accent did not help. He was pretty sure she had learned English in some European boarding school, but could not pick up even a hint of her original language.

"They were always my favourite growing up, those and Meccano." He liked building things. "Then again, when I was growing up, they thought that a Queasy Bake Cookerator was safe for children. That was a variant of the Easy-Bake Oven marketed at boys."

M has posed:
"Because Allah forbid little boys learn to bake a perfectly good cake by lightbulb heat," She says with a little tsk -- amusement clear in her voice. Her accent is very refined -- trained into her by the best boarding schools and tutors. There's nothing of her original accent in her voice -- French if anything. "Aren't the Meccano robots the most fun?" She says to him brightly, looking away from him and around her immediate surroundings. It's hard to pinpoint her origin, not lending many specific clues. "I'm Monet St. Croix," She adds soon after, introducing herself since she had been the one to approach.

Mister Fantastic has posed:
"It gets worse than that. Many toys marketed, both when I was a child, and to this day, at boys, are the same as those aimed at girls, only with fewer or subjectively worse accessories. It would be more cost effective to buy toys aimed at girls and repaint them, if the colour is not to your liking, in many cases."

"My name is Reed Richards," although others introduce themselves as doctors who lack earned doctorates, Reed introduces himself without fanfare. "My son is turning eight years old. Perhaps you could help me pick out something suitable?" She was closer in age, marginally, and frankly, Reed had trouble relating to Franklin. He loved him, he spent time with him, but whereas Reed was, well, Reed, Franklin was... normal.

M has posed:
Monet is standing outside of a toy store in the shopping promenade with Reed Richards, musing over childrens toys with him. It's a weird world. "I suppose I could help -- what do kids even like?" She looks bewildered; perhaps because she doesn't even really remember being a child even if she clearly was. "I suppose designing him cool science toys with a little bit of your intelligence isn't something he'd be interested in? That's more up my alley. Something you made," she shrugs.

Mister Fantastic has posed:
"I would do that, and have, often. But I'm under strict instructions to remain outside of my lab for 48 minutes, and 32 seconds, but who's counting?" And he laughs softly, trying to play it off as that he genuinely is okay with being locked out of his own lab. Sighing, "as to Franklin, he is a normal seven year old boy. He likes dinosaurs, the New York Mets, Spider-Man is his favourite superhero, he's not yet taken an interest in the sciences, but he's still quite young."

Multiple Man has posed:
When you're juggling five or six cases at once, it helps to... well, be more people. Luckily, Jamie can manage just fine without having to call up the ole temp agencies. So he manages. Smoking, coffee and raw tenacity helps. The mutant Private Investigator, eyeballing Four Freedom's like it's a cruel obelisk. Outside, working on his second cigarette.... "Screw it. Let's do it." He says to Jamie Madrox. That's right. Two, absolutely identical 'gentlemen'. Same brown overcoat. Same green and yellow shirt. Same scowl.

After a brief and intense game of Paper, Rock, Scissors... a decision is made. Flicking his smoke away, Madrox makes it inside with ease. Unarmed. ID. Face tattoo. You know, the usual. It's not long before his almost too calm baritone catches up to Doctor Richards and Miss St. Croix. "Comic books. Action figures. Maybe baseball tickets. Cigarettes and a small roll of cash? What do kids even do these days?" A brow arches. The M tattoo'd over his right eye shifts. "Mets? Oh god... Ih, I'm so sorry..." He says with a soft smile, appologetic. A hand offered to Reed in greeting. "Jamie Madrox. Investigator. You're a hard man to schedule with."

M has posed:
"Forty two minutes? Why?" She wonders, because she's nosy and she doesn't mind asking. Rejection doesn't seem to phase her in most cases. "You clearly are not okay with not being able to go into your lab," she points out, musing. "I don't really know anything about normal children or what they like," she adds, furrowing her eyebrow as she tries to think of what normal mortal children enjoy.

When Madrox approaches, her keen eyes settle first on the M etched onto his forehead in ink -- and her eyes narrow shrewdly, dimples denting her cheek in a clear bit of amusement as she listens to him trash the Mets. She shakes her head -- "Baseball tickets and using your influence to get Spider-Man to swing by to meet him." Monet clearly thinks this is some kind of possibility. Monet looks over at the M on Jamie's face, then his eyes. "Monet," she provides her singular name, grinning.

Mister Fantastic has posed:
"According to my wife, brother-in-law, best friend, son, daughter, general practitioner, A.I. receptionist, the mailman, a couple of contractors, and common sense, I spend too much time in my laboratory." The way he listed off everyone, it was in jest, but there was seriousness behind it. He gave her a warm smile.

Reed Richards took appointments, but in order to make one, you had to identify who you were, what the purpose was, how long it was expected to take, and there would be a certain background check. Roberta, the Fantastic Four's artificial intelligence receptionist, was quite good at weeding out the legitimate concerns, from the frivolous ones.

So, when Reed was ambushed in public, it had him mildly disturbed. If Jamie couldn't get an appointment with him, it was likely that it was a waste of Reed's time. He gave Mr. Madrox a concerned look. "Well, what can I do for you, Mr. Madrox?"

Multiple Man has posed:
An easy smile. Loose posture. Lazy, sweeping hand gestures. It's all part of the act. What sets people at ease. Jamie plays his part all too well. This Jamie does. Another is across the street, chatting up the newspaper stand guy about weather. Sports. People. Another Madrox is in Nashville. On and in it goes. This one? Smiles all the brighter to Monet. "Jamie. Of course, I know who you are, Miss St. Croix. Daughter of Cartier. Sister to Marius. Who I am currently trying to find. Weird, right?" He chuckles under a breath, taps his brow at the big M in his skin. "You like?"

Tilting his head ever so slightly, he looks between him and Reed. Clears his throat and takes his hand back. Unshaken. Definitely not stirred. Both hands slip easily into overcoat pockets before he rocks on his heels. "See, I'm stepping outside of my usual sources and in doing so, I'm seeking expert opinions on... sensetive matters. While I could go to Dr. McCoy or the like, I've got a need for less involved parties. Politically. You know how it is."

M has posed:
Monet is relaxed -- fingers twirling in the dark curls of her hair. She doesn't seem to mind preening, eyebrow furrowed. "So perhaps you should take an actual vacation with your family for your son's birthday." Monet has some certain interest in busy fathers being around their sons for more than a few reasons. She looks at him matter of factly, eyebrow furrowing as she watches the concern in Reed's voice. She can tell he's annoyed, her own expression not betraying much emotion -- the surface pf her features serene.

When she notes Jamie with her eyes narrowed -- searching his face with her full mouth curving into a dimpled smile. "Oh, so that /is/ a tattoo of my first initial on your face, I /love it/," she says with a toothy, white grin -- her expression had faltered a touch when he mentioned her brother, Marius. She doesn't seem to want to go much further than that, looking at Jamie's unshaken hand. She mmms to herself quietly. "You do realize that I also know science and about a great many things, and I /love/ puzzles to boot," The nineteen year old girl informs Jamie matter-of-factly, with this almost manic intensity in her eyes. "My areas of expertise extend far beyond my brother," she says, the word "brother" spat more than said, with a clear measure of contempt.

Mister Fantastic has posed:
Jamie had not really done himself any favours. Ambushed him in public. Vaguely referenced sensitive matters. Threw out a Dr. McCoy name. "There are a great many Dr. McCoy's, Mr. Madrox. Dr. Alfred W. McCoy is a scholar of the Asian heroin drug trade. Dr. Barry M. McCoy is has contributed to classical statistical mechanics, integrable models, and conformal field theories. Dr Henry P. McCoy is biophysicist. LeSean McCoy is a running back for the Kansas City Chiefs. Jason L. McCoy is the mayor of Vernon, in Park Ridge, Metropolis. Josie McCoy is the lead singer of Josie and the Pussycats. Simon McCoy is a journalist."

Reed does careen his neck a little towards Monet at her reference to a scientific background. She was far more subtle in her approach, and he decides to test her, ever the teacher, "what's the historical background on tattoos, and why don't they fade, Ms. St. Croix?"

Multiple Man has posed:
Madrox, now an all too cheerful smile on his face, is clearly enjoying his hamfisted tactics. Accomplished investigator, lawyer and blah, blah, blah... going hard at it. As Reed lists off names one by one, Jamie shakes his head. Nope. No. He even swipes left at one name. "Come on now, Doctor. If I'm jumping -you- about some thing in public, am I reeeaally interested in what you have to say about The Pussycats? Narrows the list, don't it?" A cockeyed glance at Mister Fantastic before he just lays it out there. "Do you think you could effectively mimic the powers of Magneto himself in such a way that it would fool UN investigators?" Eyebrows up, Madrox tilts his head quizically. The bright, sunny smile still on his face. Even as Monet pulls his attention back.

"Coincidence? Fate? Mishap in an alternate future timeline? Only my mother knows for sure, Miss St. Croix. And she's not telling." Taking a hand free from his overcoat pocket, he unwraps a coughdrop. Popping it to the back of his mouth as he nods in agreement with Monet's point. "I do realize that. I just didn't want to load you down with -all- the questions up front as I have sooooo many about your brother. Like holidays. Do you still see eachother? Not for a while, right? Not in Gotham about a week ago?"

M has posed:
Monet cuts a glance over toward Reed -- watching him from the corner of her eye as she picks out his general annoyance with Jamie. She keeps it to herself, glancing over slyly toward Madrox. She makes eye contact with him as she looks down at her nails. "Tattoos have been etched into our skin since the beginning of time; it has been used as a status symbol, simple accessorizing, coming of age, love, punishment -- people are tattood for a great many reasons and the reason they don't fade is because they're beneath the epidermisnd in the dermis where skin turnover is not as rapid," she glances over toward Madrox.

"You could mimic his powers; he's a floating, genocidal magnet.. even though I do sympathize with the cause, I get searched at the airport every single time," she sighs. And then, she furrows her brow. "No, I do not see him. Ever. I would rather not.." She trails off. "What has he done now?"

Mister Fantastic has posed:
"Mr. Madrox, anything is possible, given the proper motivation, resources, and time necessary to execute it." It was an odd choice for conversation, the middle of bustling shopping promenade. But mercifully, people seemed to go about their business. No one even was asking Reed for his autograph as he spoke with Monet and Madrox. "Very good, Ms. St. Croix," he said at her explanation of tattoos. Once again, he asks, "what can I do for you, Mr. Madrox? Do you need someone to duplicate the physiological characteristics of Magneto, or are you trying to identify whether an action was performed by him, or merely an imposter mimicking them?"

Multiple Man has posed:
"Exactly. Exactly, Doctor... today. With today's technology, anything is possible." Jamie agrees whole heartedly. He's seen incredible things in his short and MANY lives. Too many things, really. God. He wants a smoke. Outside, Madrox lights a cigarette and doesn't wonder why. As Richards compliments Monet, Jamie shifts his attention.

"I don't blame you one bit, Miss St. Croix. Nasty customer, your brother. A case in Bludhaven matches his proclivities. I need to rule him out. I'd like to not because the alternative is... less than enjoyable." Both hands free from his jacket, Jamie snaps fingers and points to Reed enthusiastically.

"Now you're asking the right questions. But why ask them, right? Why take something -off- the list of crimes he's commited?" Brow arched again, he looks between the two almost challengingly. Daring them to come to the same conclusion. "What about twenty years ago? Could you do it then?"