9820/Gloomy Ol' Mutant Town

Gloomy Ol' Mutant Town
Date of Scene:	29 October 2019
Location:	Bushwick (Mutant Town), Brooklyn
Synopsis:	Logan is just coming out of a bar where he finds Grail and a resident street urchin. Barry finds his way into the mix, and Drake becomes Captain Eeyore.
Cast of Characters:	Volt, Grail, Wolverine, Flash

---

Volt has posed:
Rampant gang violence. Anti-mutant 'tourists' bold enough to poke their noses in. The threat of sentinels on the horizon. There really isn't much opportunity to rest in Mutant Town. Not for local enforcement (official or otherwise), and especially for a teen taking that mantle upon himself. He can't remember the last time he didn't have a busy day for the half-year he's spent secluded here.

Drake Riley, better known to the locals as 'Volt', has taken to sitting unceremoniously on the sidewalk near the pub entrance. He doesn't really expect trouble to come from the interior. It was more a 'seat of opportunity'. And though he hates looking like he's slumming it on the street, that's really what it's come to, so screw it. At least the gradually chilling weather is making his wardrobe a little less absurd; a bulky hoody, with the hood drawn up. A baseball cap worn under it. Sunglasses at almost all hours. Scrappy jeans, and beat-up shoes. It's the sort of look that screams 'I am trying not to leave a visual impression'. Which is somewhat self-defeating, isn't it?

The sun has set in the distance, and stars have since come out. Volt's legs are drawn in towards his chest, arms folding around his shins, and chin coming to rest atop the knees. All quiet on the western front.

Grail has posed:
Mutant Town was an interesting place to Grail. To her, in a lot of ways, she thought this world had an odd and backward thought process to their most powerful. In some scenarios they cheered on their strongest but only if their strongest weren't strong because of some mutation. Even those that were aliens, those that were part of an accident or were otherwise different sometimes were cheered by this world for putting on a costume and running around. Weakening them in ways by giving them an out to their problems. She'd even seen the strange games they get all excited about involving tossing around leather wrapped materials.

...Mutant Town though. It was different. If one was a mutant, some would scorn them despite them being an often obvious improvement upon their race. A thing to be celebrating in her mind. Power and strength used to shore up a race. Yet, it was scoffed at for various reasons. Either way, as she walked through the area, she often looked at the various people here to see what was different, interesting, or otherwise improved. Also, here, no one even really gave her much of a passing thought. Tall, grey and red eyed. Perfectly normal here. Even now, she approaches Drake's position, considering him as she walks toward the pub, wondering if the drinks inside could even give her pause.

Wolverine has posed:
    The door to the pub opens, spilling a thick, acrid wave of warm air that carries with it the scent of tobacco smoke, sweat and alcohol aplenty. The music from within, along with the cacophony of jumbled sounds of numerous talking voices becoming a loud sort of continuous hum fills the streets, echoing off of the old brick and brownstone of the surrounding buildings in every which direction. Through that open portal, a lone figure ejects himself onto the sidewalk.

    Logan is, in ways, better than Drake at the whole "non-descript" thing. His attire consists of an Everyman's wardrobe. Chocolate brown leather racing jacket that's seen enough years and miles that parts of it are distressed and faded. A plain, gray hoodie under the jacket, with a green and black checked flannel underneath the hoodie. And, under that, a plain white tee. Tucked in at the front under a large, ornate silver buckle, strapped to a worn leather belt that's holding a pair of threadbare Wranglers on his hips. He looks like any other laborer in these parts, just leaving the bar to unwind after a hard day at work.

    But his features make him distinct. Rugged. Grizzled. The prominent brow. The thick, strong nose. The piercing eyes. The thick, wild mane of black hair that sweeps up from his temples to form vague, pointed hooks, while the rest spills down just past his shoulders. And the bushy, dark facial hair that grows into distinctive "thigh warmers" on either side of his jaw.

    Coming to a standstill at the curb, Logan draws the stub of a cigar from his lips, and butts it out on a streetpost before tossing the remnants into a nearby trashbin. As he turns his head to peer down the street, his steely blue eyes fall to rest, first, on Drake. He chuffs, a lopsided smirk crossing thin lips before he gives the young man an upnod.

    "Sup, Corey Hart?"

    It's then that his gaze rises on to the approaching woman. Large. In charge. Grey skin. Red eyes. Definitely got a dangerous vibe about her. But then... most people here do, in one way or another.

Volt has posed:
To be fair, Drake's attire is less to be discreet, and more to not give too many physical identifiers. Sunglasses at night are probably a big red flag that you're either talking to a white Stevie Wonder, or someone who doesn't want so much recognition. And being called Corey Hart, though it gets his attention, merits a reaction from the only visible part of his face: a confused lip-twisting. Corey sounds like a young person name. It's probably a Disney something. Drake's been disconnected from everything mainstream for the past year or so now. Flies right over his hoodie-hatted head.

"Stars. Crime rates. Blood alcohol content." The confused twist becomes a wry grin up at the other male. "Get boring in there?"

The head turns to regard- okay, that's a tall woman. But she's not wrong. In Mutant Town, she about passes for normal. His right hand raises to pinch the brim of his baseball cap in a joking display of gallantry, "Ma'am."

Grail has posed:
A look to Logan and she hmms a little. She knows that scruffy man from the bar with the Asgardian theme. She knows he can handle his alcohol far better than any other being on this planet she has run into thus far. He can't possibly be fully human. Either way, she nods to him as she approaches, crossing her arms and then looking to Drake at his 'ma'am' before blinking at him and tilting her head. She regards his attire before looking back to Logan.

"You, you seem to know good drink and have the ability to properly handle it. Does this place have proper liquor or is it a waste of my time?" She then looks briefly back to Drake and then to Logan again, "And do you know this one?" She gestures briefly to Drake.

Wolverine has posed:
    Logan sees the confusion, and shakes his head. Aquamarine eyes roll in their sockets, and a heavy, world weary sigh escapes his lips. "Kids today ain't got no culture. Corey Hart. He wears his sunglasses at night?"

    Logan makes a clicking sound of his tongue against the back of his teeth and gives a faint shake of his head, before muttering, "Guess it's before your time."

    As Grail approaches, and he gets a better look at her under the streetlight, along with a whiff of her scent, he recognizes her. Not that it's difficult. Grey skinned women with red eyes that stand taller than him aren't exactly a dime a dozen. He slips his large, grizzled hands into the pockets of his jacket and lifts his chin to look up at her as she addresses him. Thin lips arc up at one corner into a puckish grin, and he shrugs a broad shoulder.

    "It's perfectly good swill. Drink from the top shelf, you ain't even gotta worry about how much water is in it. The beer is cold, and they at least have a stout to make up for the lack of any actual, decent, Canadian beer. It ain't no Harry's, but it's probably the best this neighborhood has to offer."

    Another glance down to Drake, and Logan shakes his head. "Nah. Can't say that I do know this kid. Just caught him sitting out here in the curb tryin' his best to look like the Unabomber."

Volt has posed:
"Unabomber didn't have the hat," asserts the aforementioned 'kid'. "I double-checked that." Because that's definitely not the image he was wanting, and it had crossed his mind when he was first putting the ensemble together. Not that it was a deliberate fashion choice; more retrospective. But that's not quite the way avoid unwanted police focus, you know?

He doesn't rail against the 'kid' epithet. He's younger than either of them. It's fine. It's nothing to get bent out of shape over. Instead, he just tucks his chin a little further against his knees. "The sidewalk looked like it could use a little warming," he remarks dryly. "That's all."

Grail has posed:
"Unabomber?" She asks and looks to Logan before looking back at this 'kid' on the sidwalk and considering, "I do not know this unabomber but apparently he had terrible fashion sense." She states simply before looking then over at Logan again and listeing to him, "I suppose that sounds acceptible but can it actually make one drunk? I have found almost all the drink on this planet seems incapable of even making me feel anything." She shrugs, "I understand that humans are weak creatures but surely with the amount of powerful beings this planet produces, I'd think they would have produced some powerful drinks by now."

A sigh escapes her nose and then she simply shrugs and looks back to the 'kid' on the ground and blinks, "Is that your power? You warm areas up? I suppose that is a useful talent but not exactly anything impressive. Do you warm things better than most warm blooded creatures? I'd have to assume so."

Wolverine has posed:
    "Hey, look, kid," Logan says, holding a hand out in his direction as if to calm him down. "I'm just sayin' that you're sitting out here looking like every guy in those 90's self-defense videos for women."

    Judging from the twinkle in that thousand yard stare, one could easily come to the conclusion that Logan is just giving the young Drake a bit of good natured teasing. "I know jobs are scarce around here, but sidewalk warmer ain't exactly going to pay the bills. You got a place to stay or anything?"

    Turning his attention back to Grail, Logan lifts one thick, dark brow. "You know, most people tend to think the point of drinking is to be incapable of feeling anything at all."

    He turns his gaze back, to the bar, peering through the dirty glass to the hazy figures moving about through the orange glow of the lights, and concedes, "But no. I doubt anything they got in there is gonna do the trick for you. If you're really wanting to get yourself three sheets to the wind, I'm thinkin' you'll have to get a bit more exotic than the local dive bar scene. I might have just the thing for you, though."

Volt has posed:
Drake, the image of chill on the sidewalk, is a little nonplussed at Logan's approach at first. But he realizes it's a joke quickly enough, and his head de-tilts. "Nah," he answers first to Grail, cocking his neck back to look up at her through the lenses of his shades. "My power's different." His hands raise, palms upturned and fingers splayed. Brilliant blue electricity begins arcing between his fingertips in a low buzz; a minor demonstration, but one he hopes gives an idea of where his special abilities lie. "The sidewalk warming is just a talent."

The wry grin returns.

It fades just as fast.

Drake's head tilts to Logan, and a rare moment of seriousness enters his tone. "Mm'no. I'm alright. I always find something." Street living isn't what he expected on the longterm after leaving California to find others like him. But it's either this or... actually, there wasn't much choice to it. This was it.

Flash has posed:
There were those who were young, those who looked young, those who acted young, and a rare few of those who looked and acted young, but weren't. Barry Allen was in that exclusive club. The Unabomber was captured three years before Barry was even born, and yet, the name resonated, perhaps due to his interest in the sciences, or Good Will Hunting. But somewhere along the line Ted Kaczynski came up, and Barry read. He liked to read.

Walking along the sidewalk, and hearing some of the conversation, Barry stopped for a moment. He looked like he was out for a jog. He wore a grey hoodie jumper, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It said 'Sun City University' on the chest in gold and dark purple, with the university's logo beside it. Below that, he had on black shorts. His running shoes were dark purple, with white accents. " Ted Kaczynski was the Unabomber. He was as sick and twisted as he was smart. And a terrible dresser. I mean, now all he wears are orange jump suits. All day, and every day... hey, when did they install underfloor heating on the sidewalk?"

Grail has posed:
"You mean besides the place that is based on your Viking traditions that seems to have access to some kind of God like ale?" She asks and then looks over at Drake to hear him out. She looks over his hand and nods, "That is something of an impressive ability. I assume it does more htan just tingle." She nods before looking over to Logan again and appraising him, "I am interested while I work upon this world to restore this world's status quo."

A blink and she looks over at Barry Alllen, blinking at him as she looks him over and then looks to Drake and then at Logan, "Do either of you knkow this one?" She asks and looks back to Barry, gesturing at him, "He seems to know the Unabomber that you are impersonating." She nods to Drake and gestures to him, "However, he explains that you should have gone with an orange jumpsuit apparently."

Wolverine has posed:
    Logan doesn't seem too taken aback by the display of power from the kid. After all, this is Mutant Town. And electrical powers aren't uncommon among mutants. It's a fairly natural evolution of the human state, after all. They run on electrical impulses, so it makes sense that a common mutation would be to produce and control an excess of that power.

    "Yeah, sure, kid," Logan says, though he does give Drake that look. That one. The one that says he isn't buying it. But, Logan isn't one to press. Not too hard, at least. He's well versed in the need to be independent, and make one's own way. Or to find themselves. He's also been too proud to accept help in a tough spot.

    "Well, I'm pretty sure that St. Margaret's has a few cots open, and you can get a square meal in the morning, if nothing else."

    That's all he'll say on the matter for now.

    Turning his attention back to Grail, Logan gives a nod of his head. "Yeah. I got a collection. Wines made from living, mutant islands where plants found nowhere else on earth grow. Spirits from galaxies far away, distilled by ancient alien bootleggers. I've got a stash of some Asgardian Mead from a friend in Norway. A few other odds and ends."

    A beat.

    "I tend to get around."

    Then, Logan turns his attention on Barry Allen, approaching and picking up the conversation thread about the Unabomber. Sliding his hands into his pockets once again, Logan arches his back just a bit, looking slightly down his nose at Barry as he allows the faintest vestige of a grin to hit his lips. One eyebrow hikes heavenward, and he gives a slight upnod as he says, "Well, thanks for the TEDTalk, Encyclopedia Brown."

Volt has posed:
"So much more," Drake replies to Grail with a cagey, if muted, smile. His current living situation is a depressing sore spot. Focus on that tends to dampen his otherwise upbeat and mirthful disposition. The electrical currents shut off, and his hands slack once more to hang from his knees.

His head turns to Barry, then back to Grail. "No. And hey. Not impersonating." His right hand lifts to tap the bill of his cap. "Unabomber didn't wear these, remember?"

At last, he looks up at Logan. He doesn't really have a response, and his expression is blank. Placid. Perhaps telling. "I'll figure something out," he finally says.

Flash has posed:
Barry was used to being personable with complete strangers. He had grown up in Iowa, went to University in Orlando, and until recently, worked in the Gem Cities. Plus, in his alter ego, he was incredibly affable. Raising his hands, showing his palms, in a gesture meant to prove he had nothing to hide. "My name's Barry Allen." He puts down his hands, "And I'm kind of new here." Even though he technically had moved to Metropolis, the Tri-State Area was really just one huge city.

Logan's greeting wasn't exactly the warmth he had hoped for, though wasn't exactly unexpected in New York. "TEDTalk, well, actually now that you mention... never mind." He was about to say something about a great TEDTalk he had watched recently, but hardly the right crowd.

  To Drake, a perfect stranger, he asks, "I don't even know your name, and I'm a complete stranger, but what's your boggle? Perhaps I could help, and what have you got to lose? In a city this big, not like you're liable to ever see me again, right?"

Grail has posed:
A blink at Logan and she tilts her head, "That is quite a bit of getting around." She states simply and gives him an odd look before shrugging and turning her mind back to Drake as he speaks, "Well, you at least have confidence." She states off-handedly and shrugs. Not exactly an easy to impress type. She turns her attention instead to the exchange between Logan and Barry as well as Barry and Drake. SHe listens before looking ot Barry and hmmming, "Who is this Ted and why do you and him speak of him in such an odd manner?" She asks before looking then to Drake, "And if you have a problem, speak up. Hiding your problems never solves them."

Wolverine has posed:
    Not bothering to speak anymore of the housing issue, sensing that it's a bad topic for Drake, Logan just withdraws one hand from his pocket, where he's holding a small white business card between two fingers. This, he holds out in the direction of Drake, while looking at the newcomer as he introduces himself. Logan might seem a bit rough around the edges, and people who come across as so open tend to put him on guard. Nonetheless, he offers up a greeting of his own, in the form of "Logan. Just Logan."

    Glancing back to Grail, the hulking behemoth of muscle and masculinity just lifts one of those linebacker shoulders, and gives one of those headtilt blink gestures of acceptance. There's no point in denying it. He's been everywhere. Seen everything. Knows just about everyone. He's about to open his mouth to speak again when he thinks better of trying to explain who Ted is.

    "I think that's my queue to get goin'," he grumbles, as he takes a step towards the curb, where he's parked an Indian Chief motorcycle. Vintage. Matte black and brushed steel everywhere. It looks like it's had a few decades of good wear on it, but still maintained meticulously. "Try not to scare anyone off, eh?"

    Turning his attention back to Grail, Logan says, "And if you want to actually get drunk, come find me."

    With that, Logan kickstarts the bike. It's loud, as the engine cranks up, but quickly dulls down to a rumbling purr. He's not the type to needlessly rev the engine up to be obnoxious. Taking a few steps out into the road, only then does he hit the clutch and give it a bit of juice to accelerate.

Volt has posed:
Drake Riley first looks to Logan and the business card presented. He plucks it as it's offered, and though his gaze is invisible behind those lenses he wears, there's a visible twinge. Not quite a cringe. Not quite a grimace. Perhaps best considered a wince. And following that, there's a soft sigh and he slips the card into a pocket of his hoodie.

Man. There goes his smile.

To make matters worse, Barry and Grail both seem inclined to find out what's eating Drakebert Grape. He's self-aware enough to know he's lost his typical effervescence in a hurry, so he can't exactly deny that something's up. He just isn't sure how to explain it; especially with Grail's blunt manner. She doesn't strike him as particularly empathetic. But regardless, he relents.

Sort of.

"Dude's got a cool bike."

That isn't what's been asked.

"Things don't really go the way you hope," he finally says, vague as can be. "I don't wanna be Captain Eeyore out here. Just, when you find out your family doesn't want you, you go out to find people who would. Then you find out those people don't want you, either. So the only thing you can do is focus on trying to make your life mean something." There's a second before he sweeps his left hand aside in a general roundabout gesture, "Right now, that means just.. helpin' these people, I guess. Trying to keep this place safe." Because there's nothing left for him.

Flash has posed:
"You've never heard of TED Talk? Uh, well, TED stands for Technology, Entertainment, and Design. It's an organisation that posts conferences where a speaker gives a speech about a subject relating to technology, entertainment, or design. It's been around since the 80's, I think. Some really interesting content."

Logan's introduction is met with open body language, strong eye contact, and then, after hearing it, Barry can't help but say, "nice to meet you Just Logan. Is that short for Justin? Justice? Justinian? Please tell me your parents didn't saddle you with that one? Hey, just messing with you. Logan. That's a good name. Strong. Scottish for 'little hollow', isn't it?"

With Logan heading towards the motorcycle, Barry nods his head in agreement with Drake, "that is a cool bike," and is particularly impressed that it's vintage. He's got an eye for detail and that thing would fetch a great price at auction.

"There's nothing wrong with being Captain Eeyore some of the time, as long as you can be Captain Eo some of the time." And then it hits. "Awe, wow, that's rough," since Drake hadn't introduced himself, nor had Grail for that matter. Knowing that Bushwick has become something of a mutant town, it didn't take a forensic scientist to figure things out.

He looked Drake in the eyes and said, "I want you to listen to me, because advice from perfect strangers is the best kind of advice." He was trying to liven the mood a bit. "You have value. You have worth. And your life has had meaning since the day you were born. You are the only you that there has ever been, or ever will be. Every one of your ancestors, stretching back eons, has culminated in you. It was all to bring you into this world. And it's better for it."

Grail has posed:
A hmm and Grail nods to Logan before considering something, "I may take you up on that." She states and then looks at his bike, "I have seen many ride on those. Interesting idea." She shrugs, "Not sure it is for me." She then waves, "Till another time, Logan."

Then she turns her attention back to Drake, listening to him and then laughing. Yes, she laughs and looks to Barry before lauhing more and shaking her head, "Could be worse. I assure you. Your father could be considered one of the darkest and most evil beings in the galaxy." She shrugs and nods, "And you have to kill him." She looks up to Barry briefly and then back to Drake, "Either way, don't let your parents define you." Big talk coming from someone who has in a way done just that.

She then turns her gaze to Barry finally and states, "I do not care much for your technology. It's mostly primitive. I'm Grail, by the way." She then hmms at Drake briefly before saying, "Either way, this one has a point." She points at Barry, "Don't value yourself based on others." She then shrugs, "Well, until another time." She then is gone. Like, not disappeared. Not teleported. Just in a burst of nearly unimaginable speed (at least for most), she is simply gone.

Volt has posed:
Drake Riley blinks owlishly behind those shades when Grail laughs at what's been said. Well. He sure as heck wasn't wrong, was he? Woof. And then his frown steadily deepens, even when Grail suddenly seems to just stop existing. That's how hard she doesn't let the world define her. Dagg.

But that frown. It's persistent.

"I don't really give a crap about my parents," asserts Drake. It's mostly true. Mostly. "And to these people? Sure, I matter." He leans back where he sits, propping against the base of the brick building behind him. "At least some. And that's good enough. And also why I hate talking like that." Because it really /isn't/ good enough. So far as he can see, this is it for him. Options are exhausted. This is the best it's going to be.

Flash has posed:
"Yeah, exactly... wait, what?" Barry was all about agreeing with Grail until the part about being the darkest and most evil beings in the galaxy... and having to kill him. "Well, it's not for everyone," he said of human technology. Everyone was a critic. Whoever this Grail was, she bore watching, especially with the exit that he, unlike most, could perceive, though without his mask on, he had to be careful not to out himself as she left. He was fine to let her depart unaccosted.

We just Drake, who he still didn't know the name of, and Barry left, Barry listened, nodded, but he had given his best advice. It was hard to crack a shell like Drake in a single conversation, and the young man didn't seem ready to give much more. Placing his hands on his chest, hips, back pockets, he pulled out his wallet, taking a business card, which he crossed out a number, and then wrote a new one down using a small mini-pen that he kept in his wallet. The card said 'Central City Police Department' with a Missouri area code. The one he gave was of Metropolis, Connecticut. He handed it out, "in case I can help. Don't be a stranger."

Volt has posed:
Drake Riley is making all kinds of connections by slumming it tonight! And though he's wearing the very face of confusion, he reaches out to take the card - and immediately blanches. "Are you a /cop/!?," he balks. And in an instant, the scrappy teen has scrambled up to his full height, posture immediately defensive and expression severe. Oh, there's a reason he wears such bulky outerwear and sunglasses at night. It isn't for fashion. It's for discretion. A lack of identifiability. His crimes might be overall of a petty nature, but he's very aware that vigilantism and theft-for-survival still count as criminal offenses. Heck, it's been this way for a year, and not always limited to Mutant Town.

Flash has posed:
Clearly the guy had seen a red flag. And oddly, didn't even think that the kind of reaction might make a cop wary. But Barry wasn't exactly a cop per say. "If you want to get technical, I'm a forensic scientist. Recently took a job with the Metropolis Police Department's forensic science division. Have you ever watched C.S.I.? What I do is absolutely nothing like that, but it's what they based it on. Believe me, it's far less interesting, and dramatic."

Volt has posed:
Elsewhere, Drake might have been more concerned about flying under the radar with his friction with the P.D. But here? In Mutant Town? Cops are already reluctant to venture here, and he's more at liberty to defend himself. Though he'd prefer things /didn't/ get to that point, he'd rather know what he's dealing with up-front than be blindsided. Granted, Barry doesn't exactly act like a cop.

"Ah-huh," says a guarded not-unabomber. "Cards on the table. Cops and I have always had a rocky relationship. Not because I like doing hoodrat junk, but because - well, look around you." Barry's conversation partner coudln't be more blatantly homeless if he'd been living in a McDonald's ball pit. But what he's drawing more attention to is the poverty-stricken surroundings. "And I just admitted - sure, kind'a roundabouts - that I do the vigilante thing. The last thing I've got to my name is my freedom, so I'm not lookin' to get arrested. And I'm not lookin' to get /you/ fired."

Flash has posed:
Barry was not unsympathetic. He felt for the kid. But he couldn't afford to help out everyone, not on his salary, and especially not with having just moved halfway across the country. He didn't know the area well enough, with homeless shelters and such, "look, I don't even know your name. I'm not going to get fired for talking to you. And I am not on the clock. Bushwick's... got some burdens, sure, but there are some shelters, some educational programs, there are things that can be done. I literally just moved here. So, I'm not exactly a wealth of information, but you've got my number. Give me a call in a day or two. I'll see what I can do to help."

Volt has posed:
"Ugh. The last thing I want is charity," Drake says. "Look. I appreciate it. You're trying to be nice. But having things handed to me, or turning into Joe Average isn't gonna fix what's broken. I'm doing what I can. This is the hand life's dealt me, so I'm playing it through."

Beat.

"People around here only know me as Volt."

He can sense Barry is wanting to go about his business - or that's what he thinks he's picking up on, anyway. So his frame relaxes and his hands stuff bitterly into the central pouch of his hoodie, an overall relenting gesture. "Life sucks for some people. Even when all they really wanna do is make things better for others. That's just how it is."

Flash has posed:
"I get that," nodding his head at the charity comment, but Barry could see this kid was in need of help. He just wasn't sure how best to give it. Sometimes space helped, other times a word of advice, and yet other times a close watch was needed. It was too early for Barry to know. "Well, nice to meet you Volt. We'll agree to disagree on that. Life can suck for some of the people, some of the time, but it can't suck for all the people, nor can it suck for anyone all of the time. Life ebbs and flows. And now you've got my card. Don't be a stranger." And with that he reluctantly began to run off at a casual jog. He felt for the kid. Just, what to do?

Volt has posed:
That'd be a question Drake himself couldn't answer. Rejection seemed to simply be his life for the past nineteen years, culminating in this: dimestore wannabe superhero efforts until Mutant Town is, as he fears, eventually overrun or wiped off the face of New York City. Getting his parents to accept or understand didn't work. Finding his place among others like himself within Xavier's tauted institute seemed a nervewracking failure. What else really is there?

As Barry jogs off, he slides down again until he's seated on the sidewalk in silence. His arms loop around his shins again, and his chin sets over his steepled knees. His vigil resumes.