9580/Bar Hoppin'

Bar Hoppin'
Date of Scene:	14 October 2019
Location:	Bushwick (Mutant Town), Brooklyn
Synopsis:	Allegra Caradenza, as
Cast of Characters:	Prismatic, Volt

---

Prismatic has posed:
    It's a chillier evening in Bushwick, which means the piano in the bar was being finicky. The little placard on the doo was advertising 'live music!' and there were a group of somewhat rowdy curiosity seekers who had been slumming in near Mutant Town on a lark.

    At the piano, playing through "New York State of Mind", was a girl in oversized boots and ripped jeans, her hair tucked beneath a blue beanie. her fingers danced over the keys as she coaxed the bluesy, casual song from the keys.

Volt has posed:
Bars? Not Drake's typical dive. Heck, he isn't legally allowed in them. But it's cold out, and he's right at that age where it's a little difficult to tell exactly how old he is. And frankly, his actions lately in protecting residents of Mutant Town have gotten him a little leeway. He may have no name as far as the residents are by and large aware, but his 'not-a-costume costume' couldn't be more conspicuous in its effort to hide his identity. So, provided he isn't doing anything to outright break the law in the present, he's tolerated here.

As for what he's doing? The hoodie-sunglasses-baseball-cap-wearing vigilante is simply seated in a corner of the bar, head down, a glass of water before him. As far as music goes, this is alright. Not his typical jam, but it's fine. Suits the cooler weather.

Prismatic has posed:
    Not Alexis Carr's music either, but Billy Joel gets more tips than Puccini.

    The olive-skinned girl plays through the song, and gives a small smile to the bartender as she turns on the bench to grab a bite of a plate of fries.

    That's when one of the college guys who was slumming about Bushwick to get an eye full of some freaks makes his way over to the piano. He upsets the fishbowl marked 'TIPS (Piano Man requires $20 deposit), nearly spilling the bowl with dollar bills and change over.

    "Hey girl." he slurrs his speech, some of his friends egging him on, "how'd you like to work those fingers on me and get freeakay?"

    The way her shoulders stiffen doesn't indicate that the guy's going to have much luck.

    "Sorry, not while I'm on the clock."

Volt has posed:
This is why Drake doesn't do bars. Plus, illegal. ..alright, and because he doesn't drink. But it's mostly the atmosphere. It just ain't his scene. And the drunken dude accosting the girl grates on his nerves. His head remains low, gaze shielded beneath the completely unnecessary sunglasses.

"You're drunk, man. Let'er play," he calls.

The conduct doesn't warrant anything beyond a chide yet. He's keeping it light; giving the tourist a chance to walk it off without escalation.

Prismatic has posed:
    "What, you guys telling me you freaks don't like getting freaky here in Mutant Town?" the guy asks brazenly, squaring up and turning to Drake.

    The girl at the piano sighs, and draws herself to a stand. "The gentleman in the sunglasses is right. You're not displaying wise decision making skills, sir. Why don't you have a seat, and I'll have the bar send over a plate of chips, my complements, hm?" she questions, and turns to reach for her tip jar.

    Which denied dude promptly knocks his hand back against, rattling it dangerously close to tumbling off the back of the upright.

    Alexis takes a deep breath, and straightens up. She is... short. Almost a full foot shorter than the guy trying to show her a good time.

    "I said, sir, take. A. Seat."

Volt has posed:
Drake Riley breathes a somber sigh. This? This isn't even a challenge. He knows what he's capable of. And unless the guy has a gun and can draw faster than a literal bolt of lightning, he's pretty sure this situation is well in-hand.

"Don't worry about it," Drake calls to Allegra. "This guy's gonna tell me all about how he likes to do things. Outside."

Drake pauses to take a draw from his glass, sets it back down, then scoots the chair back to stand. "Isn't that right?" Because now the objective is to convince the guy he needs to go home. And he's noticed the increase in physical assertion on display here. That's gotta be taken outside. Drake's here to help the locals, not damage their business.

Prismatic has posed:
    Al takes a breath, and then gives a motion of ascent to Drake before she takes a step back from the two -- and the guy goes to motion his friends.

    He table -- three moe strapping college lads, finish their drinks and get up with low grins.

Volt has posed:
Drake Riley's expression remains a placid, judgmental straight line. He is unimpressed with the additional subordinates. "Alright, then." Despite the unbroken resolve in his demeanor, Drake's mind is working quickly. A single lightning bolt won't do it. But he's not a one-trick pony. This will be one of those many times he's thankful he spent so long honing control over how much he's projecting in terms of currents. There'll be no fatalities today if he can manage it, but a - shall we say - 'shocking' lesson in why not to poke the hornet's nest.

Hidden emerald eyes flick briefly to Allegra before he turns to take his leave. "You and the whole Westside Story Review - come on out," he says. He only intends to step a little out into the parking lot. Enough to signal to onlookers that something is afoot, and to keep some distance. Ample space between parked vehicles to avoid collatoral. This'll do. He suspects they'll try to surround him. He's hoping that's the play.

Prismatic has posed:
    Al picks up her fries, and she moes to follow, grabbing the fishbowl in the process and giving a wave to the bartender -- follows the group out to the parking lot. It's not often that she gets to see fights -- and really, she just wanted to make sure everyone was all right.

    One of the guys hangs back, eyeballing the piano player as the other three do, in fact, move to surround Drake, the lead one, an ugy sort of fellow on the inside, but likely someone's trust fund baby with boyish good looks raises his hands, and goes to take the first swing at Drake!

    "You wanna play rough, punk? I'll show you!"

Volt has posed:
There's a swing! Drake doesn't even try to get out of the way. He takes the hit, head snapping to the side and sunglasses knocked askew. He staggers a step, then rights himself. His right hand raises to rub against his jaw, then fix the sunglasses.

"'Kay."

In an instant, a brilliant blue 'bubble' of wildly dancing electricity projects from his being, reaching out to catch the three surrounding him. The force of the projection itself may be energy to send the three flying back, but the actual currents used is kept low; they'll likely feel like they've had wicked sunburns once the numbness goes away.

Prismatic has posed:
    Al gives a sharp cry, overing her ears in surprise, dropping the paper plate of fries in surprise as the bubble of energy arcs and snaps, catching the three up in its path, knocking them backwards. One lands against a car, and its alarm starts sounding off noisily calling into the chilly night.
    The other two skid down along the broken pavement as the fourth pulls a knife.

    And the piao player goes into action. Short as she is, there's not a lot of 'omph' to her, but her elbow goes into the guy's gut, and she gives a soft grunt, feeling the knife's blade strike her, traveling down her forearm-- but never getting more than the tip in. The fourth guy drops the knife, coughs, and turns to try and escape back into the relative safety of the bar.

Volt has posed:
The electrical aura immediately recedes, and Drake is left standing there with that same bland expression. It all changes when he sees the guy appear to knife the pianist. He's fine with the aggro being sent his way. In fact, he expected a knife would come out. But that's meant for /him/. Not bystanders.

His expression pinches and his stance shifts, bringing his left foot forward. The left arm reaches out and the hand ignites in a flash, casting a single, narrow bolt of neon blue electricity onto the fleeing man's back. Still measured, still controlled, but that one is intended to leave a mark.

Afterwards, he hurries tot he girl and cants his head. "Are you hurt? Are you bleeding?"

Prismatic has posed:
    "YAAUGH!" the man cries out, and collapses against the building. It'll be a good long while before they try to pick up chicks in Mutant Town again.

    The olive-skinned girl is bleeding, but it doesn't look very deep. She pulls out somee guaze and begins to loosely wrap, pretty much like it's a regular occurance.

    "I'll be fine." she comments quietly, "but thank you for the concern -- I was half expecting to have to save you." she gives a small smile, the shorter teen looking up to Drake with an amused expression.

Volt has posed:
Drake Riley leans back enough to let her apparently tend to her own injury. But the injury doesn't even seem that severe. So he instead focuses on what she says, and the head tilts enough to indicate he's looking her in the eye. And at last, that severe expression breaks into a more telling grin. "Next time," he assures. "Glad he didn't do any more than graze you, though. What's your power?"

Prismatic has posed:
    "Is that how it is? First meet a lady and immediately ask abilities and not a name?" she laments, though good naturedly, and she holds up her arm. "Even if he'd intended to strike me, he wouldn't have gotten very far. Pretty handy walking home alone at night." she states. "And your name, sir?"

Volt has posed:
"Metal.. bones.. or something?," puzzles Drake, unsure what to make of her claim. But his gaze shifts from her arm to her face again. "Sorry. Call me Volt." He can't be completely sure without outright asking the local law enforcement, but he has pretty good reason to believe he shouldn't be giving out his real name. He's committed crimes. Flagrantly, in fact, in an effort to get the 'right' kind of attention. And then that turned out to be a horrible mistake. So here he is, probably with a rap sheet, and back to being one step above a street urchin. If that.

"What should I call you?"

Prismatic has posed:
    "Everyone just calls me Al." the girl gives a shrug, "I... ah, don't do much superheroing. Mostly just play piano and teach lessons." she states, "and... something like that." she gives a wry smile at the metal bones guess Drake makes, and she rubs the back of her neck. "Ah, so I should probably report them to the police... but I have the feeling nothing much will come of it." she looks around to the vanquished college guys, "... but we should probably make ourself scarce."

Volt has posed:
Drake Riley's lips purse at the name he's given. "Al," he repeats, nonplussed. "You don't look like a dude. I think I'm gonna call you something else." Somehow mentally pairing her with the guy from Married With Children doesn't click for him. Go figure!

"Anyway, you're right. We shouldn't stick around. Or I shouldn't, at least. I'm the one who did this," he mentions, motioning to either side at the proverbial ruination of dudebros. "Not you. And look," he says, noting her fries on the ground. "They ruined your fries. The monsters. You should go back inside and, y'know, enjoy the rest of your evening. I'll bail."

Prismatic has posed:
    "Short for Alexis." Al points out, and she gives a look to her fries, and she gives a shrug. "I'd be horibly in remiss if I didn't treat my gallant hero to something. There's a pizza place nearby. Good enough to duck an dhide from angry fellows for a short while." she offers, and shakes the fishbowl.

Volt has posed:
Drake Riley looks then to the fishbowl and immediately feels guilty. She's not much better off than he is, is she? Or maybe this is just what she's doing for fun? She seems too posh to be a street kid. And what the heck is her power, anyway? She gave no explanations there! Powers are so cool, and she's holding out.

Ugh.

"Ahh," hedges 'Volt' as he raises a hand to 'scratch' over the hood of his outerwear. "No thanks needed, ma'am? That's what superheroes do?," he posits, playing on her turn of phrase. Pizza sounds great, though. "Won't turn down the company, though. And I definitely like 'Alexis' better."

Prismatic has posed:
    "Excellent. I've not had a treat in a while, should be a nice change." Alexis states, and she turns, leading the way. "So, Volt, are you an experienced hero then?" she inquires politely, stuffing one hand in her pocket, the other arm around the fishbowl. "How long have you been heroing?"

Volt has posed:
Drake Riley can't help but smile a little at her continued turn of phrase. And he follows right along with her, his own hands stuffing into the central pouch of his hoodie. His head is kept low, more as a natural defense mechanism against prying eyes; familiar territory from his days on the West coast. But his spirit seems a little brighter now, at least. "A few months now, I guess. I've been in New York close to a year, I think. Thought this would be the place to go to be something other than a guy with a secret."

The hood tilts, refocusing on her. "What about you? How's a girl like you wind up here? You seem too... cultured?"

Prismatic has posed:
    "I've been in the city for about two months, established a small but lucrative career teaching guitar and piano and on occasion providing joy to the masses for tips." she gives a small, wry smile to the hooded hero. "I'm bound to get my big break any minute now, as they say on Broadway."

    She makes a turn, and comes to the brightly lit by-the-sice pizza shop, reaching to open the door for Volt.

    "Well. I grew up with an awful lot of classical music and grandmotherly teaching. I suppose I do seem a bit old fashioned."

Volt has posed:
Drake Riley pauses when she gets the door for him, not quite used to that. But he manages to keep pace and slips inside. "I didn't say that," he asserts with an upturned index finger. "Those were your words! I said cultured. My parents used to go to parties where the adults would talk like you." The statement is given with a wry twist on the smile, and he nods to her. "You play nice. Pretty, I mean. Good." His nose crinkles. He has no idea how that came out so garbled. "You know what I mean. But the most important thing?"

He pivots to face forward.

"What kind of toppings do you like?"

Prismatic has posed:
    "Oh? What did your parents do that they went to parties with such cultured people?" the dark-haired girl asks, sweeping some of her hair back under her beanie as she looks at the menu overhead, "I'll probably just end up getting the cheese. Ordinarily I'm a peppers-onions-mushrooms-pepperoni-sausage kind of girl." she explains, "... and thank you." she replies in earnest.

    "Billy Joel isn't in my normal repetroire, but I've grown an appreciation for his music."

Volt has posed:
Drake Riley drawls a slow, "Iiii liiiike Sugar Ray." 90's and early 2000's are more his speed. "Chill stuff, I guess." Were she hoping for a cultured and self-reflective discussion about music, he's doomed to disappoint her. Drake is not artistic in any conventional sense.

"Why so conservative /now/?," he challenges. "My go-to's mushroom with pepperoni. Or just mushroom, if I'm skimping."

He'd been delaying answering the question about his parents. But after a beat, he more quietly adds, "My dad's a cop. Mom's just.. mom."

Prismatic has posed:
    "I'm not familiar with a lot of pop music by name." Al admits quietly, "Most of my formative years it was works by Hayden, Gruber, Chopin...." she trails off, and she gives a small smile, apologetically. "Sometimes by the song, but ah..." she trails off and she shrugs, and sheepishly gives a shrug. "Rent week."

    "Nothing is wrong with either professions, my parents weren't particularly active in my life."

Volt has posed:
"Mine either," 'Volt' replies, his tone flattening. The implication is likely a little different than hers.

He decidedly lets the topic change. "Chopin. That's one I heard of. One of the powdered wig guys." He strolls closer to the counter, unsure of how they're proceeding.

Prismatic has posed:
    "One slice of cheese, with a sprite, no ice please -- and whatever the gentleman wants." Alexis states, grabbing a tray and moving down the cafeteria-like line. It's not busy tonight.

    "You've heard of Chopin but not Bach? I'm... somewhat surprised." she gives a small smile, "And yes. Baroque music. Powdered wig guys."

Volt has posed:
"Did you say Bach? I didn't hear you say Bach. I know Bach!" Beat. "I mean, I know /of/ him, I dunno anything of his." Drake's head ducks slightly. "Also cheese," he adds. "And water." It's rent week she said. He isn't going to ask for something more than her. That just feels wrong.

Following suit, he tilts his head at her again. "It's still unusual to find someone like you in a place like this." Quickly aside, "No offense," and back to her, "You just seem like someone who'd be in some private university somewhere."

Prismatic has posed:
    "Oh, I've not been to Uni. I've been more or less living on my own for a few years, here and there, avoiding.. complications." Al replies as she takes money from her tip jar, pays the counter guy, leaves a generous tip, and grabs the tray.

    Now the thing is about these slices is these are slices from a 24" pie. So each slice is almost a small pizza on its own, oozing with bubbly cheese. Al folds hers properly.

    "And no offense taken, Volt."

Volt has posed:
Drake Riley watches her fold pizza like a heathen and thins his lips. It's a playful sort of condemnation, though. His own slice is elevated and supported - a two-handed affair. "Complications," he repeats to her. "The same kind that sees most people living in this area? Or something else?"

It isn't a rare scenario, being ostracized for being different. That is, as he alluded to, why most folks are in Mutant Town. In a way, it's why he's here as well.

Prismatic has posed:
    "More or less." Al admits quietly, "When you can't get immunizations required, there tends to be a lot of questions about why not." she purses her lips a moment, "It all tends to get a bit blurred after a whie, and I think I avoided coming here, thinking I could pass... but" she pauses, and looks out over the street. "There's confused, scared kids arriving every day. Not every one is going to be picked up by someone supportive, someone who cares. Perhaps that's my mission, why I am stil-- goodness. Look at me, talking all about myself." she shakes her head "How rude of me -- what brought you to the city, Volt?"

Volt has posed:
And it's back on him. Volt's expression tightens, and he occupies himself at first with a bite of pizza. It's pretty good, to be fair. But a bite only delays so much for so long. Once he's swallowed, he begins:

"I trusted the wrong people with information when I found out I could do things humans couldn't. I trusted my parents. My dad wanted me to be something else. I wanted to not be mad about being different. I needed to think. I was just gonna go to a park or something. On my way out, I was told not to come back."

He takes another bite, chews quietly.

"Heard a whole lot've weird goes on in this city. Thought my best bet of not having to hide what I am from everyone would be to find others like me. So I rolled the dice. Came here. Found others like me. But they were... I don't know. I can't even begin to imagine how reckless and careless those people were."

Prismatic has posed:
    "Reckless and careless?" Al questions. She considers a moment, weighing different questions.

    "I don't beleive my parents would have ever come to terms with what I am, in more ways than one. My father was... vaguely humanist. Somewhat concerned that his position was in jeopardy."

    She wiggles the ice and sprite in her cup. "So, I struck out on my own, and have not spoken to them since. Going on... three-ish years. I send cards for the holidays. That's about it." she gives a wry litlte smile.

    "I think this may be the longest conversation I've had without it being for a potential gig."

Volt has posed:
"Yeah, I don't even do that. Mine just didn't want me anymore. And the new group... the fact that they're not wiped off the map yet is nothing shy of a miracle. Or they're using kids are meatshields and banking on their massacre being a PR nightmare for whoever would go for it."

He pauses.

"I brought down the mood a lot just now, didn't I? Sorry. On to brighter things." He's pretty clearly burned by whatever he found in New York, but he's making an effort! "I'm pretty sure I couldn't afford ya."

Prismatic has posed:
    "Hey, when I first got here it was seven weeks in a shelter and working for the occasional hot meal. I, as they say, am not picky." Al gives a smile, and she looks a little peturbed.

    "Kids as meatshields? Why... why hasn't anyone looked into such a preposterous preposition? What kind of monsters do such a -- no," she wrinkles her nose, "I know just the sorts who do such things."

Volt has posed:
"The jerks who wanna play politics in a time like this," asserts 'Volt'. "I'll never forget it. Marching mutant highschoolers out into the open - blatantly mutant. Like, couldn't be anything else. Not remotely human. All because 'they shouldn't feel ashamed and we won't make them feel ashamed'. That's great. And stupid. And /crazy/ selfish. I dunno how many of their students they've had 'disappear' on'em because of their soapboxing."

He pauses to take another bite, now frowning. So much for brightening the atmosphere.

"In an ideal world, that wouldn't be the case. And don't get me wrong, I'd /love/ for mutants to not have to hide. But that's not the world we're living in. Not yet. And until it is, the adults in charge of'em need to get their crap together."

Prismatic has posed:
    Allegra Caradenza gives a frown, setting her slice down a moment as she shifts her seat uncomfortably. "That's... crass and selfish, I agree. It is one thing to be proud of who you are..." she states, and she raises her right hand, looking at her palm a moment, "... quite another to be paraded like a sacrifice." she ads softly, and lets out a deep breath, closing her hand into a loose fist before she turns to Volt, and she gives a thin smile.

    "I tell others that patience is a virtue, but let's not forget that humanity was divided for untold centuries by so many myriad items in our shared and bloody histories. At least we unite them somehow." she adds in a very dry tone, making it clear that it's just a particularly dark joke.

Volt has posed:
Drake Riley replies flatly, "At least that's something. But that's why I'm here. Sort of.. with my own kind. Doing something that I think matters. Doing what I can to keep people like us safe."

He looks at her pizza slice, then his own, then back up to her face.

"If you were a superhero, what name would you use?" It's a complete about-face on the topic. He hates dwelling on that - it's like cutting open a wound that's trying to heal. It's painful, unproductive, and does nothing but make him miserable. That's not a normal attitude for him, and it's as uncomfortable as it is alien. Superheroes, however, he likes. Probably why he's chosen a dramatic monicker.

Prismatic has posed:
    "That... is an interestion question." Alexis replies, blinking a moment. "I mean, I could be called The Skin, The Shield, I imagine most of the good single-syllable ones are taken..." she purses her lips a moment. "I... don't suppose I'd know what I'd call myself. I've never pictured myself particularly heroic."

Volt has posed:
"You were gonna jump in and save me," 'Volt' replies with a teasing perk of an eyebrow. "You're not exactly a bystander. So.. okay. If not a name, what kind of costume would you use?," he furthers. Now that the focus has been shifted, he's lifting the pizza again to resume nibbling.

Prismatic has posed:
    "Only what anyone would have done given my abilities." Alexis replies, balking a moment as she nips at some of her slice, and chews thoughtfully for a moment, turning the idea over in her mind.

    "I suppose... just plainclothes. To not attract attention. Or a mask and a fabulous hat, a'la the Scarlet Pimpernel." she gives a slight smile. "Mr. Volt, are you trying to recruit me to some sort of league of noble heroism?"

Volt has posed:
Drake Riley crinkles his nose at her. "Plain clothes? Boring. Superheroes are meant to be bigger than life. Idealized potential. Something to aspire towards. Like... like acting, I guess, only not. Because you'd be portraying yourself, but bigger. Like a 'you-plus' version." He settles back into his chair with a soft sigh. "I'd love a costume. Something sleek, modern, but functional." He starts to bite the pizza as he looks at her.

There's a wry smile.

"Well I wasn't, but /now/ maybe."

Prismatic has posed:
    "So, do you go for the 'boxy' look or the 'buldgey' look in your spandex?" Al gives a wry grin in respponse to the outfit, and shegives a smile. A real and honest smile, top teeth showing and everything.

    "Alas, the only costuming experience I have is for more... demure passtimes than superheroing about the city." she leans back a moment, "What kind of costume would you want? I'd say you're somewhat of a summer complexion. Masks still in fashion?"

Volt has posed:
Drake Riley openly scoffs at either notion! "Formfitting, sleek, flexible. And masks are /always/ in. An eyemask, I'm thinking. Kind'a angular, but subtle. Boots, gloves, probably a belt I can store some things in. If I were really being serious about it? I'd need to get my old tools. Lockpicks and stuff. I can jimmy locks with a bobby pin, but lockpicks? Those are the real deal."

He halts briefly in his excited momentum.

"I had kind've a shady past, okay?"

Clearing his throat, he sinks into the chair a little further. "Black and green." Despite green being not at all the color of electricity. "I'd think, anyway."

Aside to her, he starts grinning again - a boyish, even impish sort. "Girls get to have more fun with it, I think. Get to either be all business, or kind'a hot with it."

Prismatic has posed:
    Al's eyebrows go up at the mention of lockpicks in the utility belt, and she purses her lips. THAT information she stores for later, in fact. Always useful to know someone who can pick a lock.

    "I don't judge your past. Unless you were a perfectly horrible person, but you don't seem like you're a particularly horrible person right now. And having the right tool for the job is indespensible." Al comments, and she looks Volt up and down, and gives a shake of her head "Women have always had to wear form fitting, we're the more /graceful/ gender. Though everyone wears tights in ballet, at least the men get jackets."

Volt has posed:
Drake Riley shakes his head. "No jackets for me. Just something slick and smooth. I move better when I don't have a lot've bulk on me." He pauses, then bobs his head. "Like today. Too much to grab onto. Not so great in a fight." He then quickly adds, "Not that I'd want you to think you'd get beaten up! But uh, back to you! Form-fitting would probably be a nice touch. But the hotness part comes in whether or not you'd be showing skin," he teases.

Prismatic has posed:
    "Showing skin is... not something I feel comfortable doing. Considering what happened earlier." Al admits quietly, her shoulders rising in embarrassment. "I've always wondered if vigilantes get cold in the winter, it never looks like there's a lot of insulation on the suits." she adds, switching around the question, and she gives a small laugh. "And truth be told, I'm a better shield than I am a sword. I can take some punishment, but... dealing out extends to paltry self-defense measures. A kick to the eggs usually does the trick."

Volt has posed:
"A kick to the whatnow?," asks Drake, taking a moment to catch her meaning. People don't have eggs- ohhhh. He settles back into the chair with an airy snicker when it finally hits him. "Hey, I'd say that's exactly why you /could/ show skin and get away with it. Superheroes aren't supposed to be regular people. They've got... y'know.. /superpowers/. Yours is that you're tough."

Prismatic has posed:
    Al just gives a sweet smile, and chews her pizza as it comes to Drake what she's talking about. She leans back again, reaching fo a napkin to wipe her fingers with as she weighs options, and quietly states:

    "As interesting as it is to consider, I fear I'm more of a quieter networking hero. Because I tend to get aorund mutant town, I've been able to direct some to where they can get services. Food, shelter, spiritual support..." she gives a small shrug. "I'll leave the superheroing to the dashing and daring. Someome must lift your spirits when they are taken low, no?"

Volt has posed:
"Hey, nothing lifts my spirits more than an attractive, smiling girl in a costume," teases 'Volt', going so far as to bob the pizza slice at her. "But okay. I'll leave it be." He wouldn't want her to feel pressured about it or anything. After all, they're just talking.

Prismatic has posed:
    "Ah, then I beleive there's an establishment off Putnam that caters to such spirits being lifted. Among other things." she replies wryly. and she finishes off her pizza crust. "You seem a nice enough fellow though that I would consider /aiding/ the occasional venture."

Volt has posed:
"Oh god no, it's no good if you have to pay for it," asserts Drake with an uptilt of his chin. "Besides. If the costume is worn just because someone told'er to? It's no fun. Gotta have that personal touch. Gotta.. I dunno, mean something. Or at least reflect what's going on on the ins-oh my lord I'm talking about it again. Broken record much?" He cringes his expression a bit.

"What would you do about people identifying you, though?"

Prismatic has posed:
    "At least you're honest about where your interests lay." Al gives a wry smile, and she leans back in her seat, watching some of the other patrons bustle about the little slice shop before she looks back to Drake. "Best reason to keep a low profile. No one can identify you if no one knows who you are." she replies quietly. That, apparently, she's thought about.

    "What do you do if someone identifies you?"

Volt has posed:
"That's it, really. Convince'em to not spill the beans, or bail. Hence," Drake motions a hand around his absurdly concealing gear. Really, he may as well be wearing a niqab, with the exception of the eyes vs. mouth. "But I can't sit around and do nothing. That'd be even worse." He bites the pizza slice again, chews, then frowns. "Nothing's worse than being useless. A waste."

Prismatic has posed:
    "Willingly doing nothing, I would think, is worse. Some others cannot help their circumstance; profound difficulties in movement, advanced age or childhood restricts them. Those who have no voice, little way to be heard, but wanting so badly to be part of something more." Al replies. "It takes more than one hero to create community, Volt, and not all heroes need wear costumes."

    She looks out the window accross the street. "To paraphrase one of my favorite authors, it is the small acts of good that keep the darkness at bay."

Volt has posed:
Drake Riley finds it rude to interrupt her. As such, he sits there, weathering the lecture. Perhaps he didn't make himself clear. He can wait. But in the interim, he sets down the slice of pizza, patient. At last:

"I'm talking about people who /can/ do something, but don't," is all he says.

Prismatic has posed:
    "Ah, then the first group, which I am nominally part of." Alexis states, and she folds her hands, her eyebrows rising up.

Volt has posed:
"If that's what you think. If you're saying you're capable of doing more, but refuse, that's up to you to work out," Drake replies. His hands likewise have settled upon his lap. "If you think you /are/ doing something, then why would you put yourself in that category?"

Prismatic has posed:
    "Well, you were trying to recruit me for superheroism. I could be doing more... but unlike you, should my parents find out where I am..." she gives a small shrug. "They may want me to come home. So there's abalance I must strike, you understand."

Volt has posed:
"I'm not riding you on anything, Alexis," 'Volt' replies with a cant of his head. "I was just talking. More about /me/ than anyone."

He frowns, then nudges his chair back. "Thanks for the food," he says as he lifts to his full height. "Sorry it went weird."

Prismatic has posed:
    And she goes to stand as wlel, gathering their plates and tray, and she shakes her head. "No, /I/ apologize, Volt. I have been wrestling with some... difficult things recently. I don't have really anyone I can talk to... and I'm afraid it kind of... spilled out."

    She pauses, and draws herself to her full five-foot-two-inches of height, and then slips Volt a folded napkin.

    "I beleive it's common for a lady to give a gentleman a calling card. Should you ever wish to talk again, I think I would ike that very much." she smiles, and turns to leave, carrying off the tray.

    In the napkin? A phone number.