Owner	Pose
Drake Riley	Amidst the typical reports of crime on the news, one seems to have a recurring theme. Gas stations, two insofar, have been hit in the shadier parts of Harlem. The thing that makes it stand out - the calling card, as it were - are flashy uses of blatant electrical powers. The perpetrator's head is always tilted away from the cameras, but reports describe him as young, no older than twenty, with green eyes and a few extra colorful adjectives less appropriate for live air. The goods stolen are generally small-scale - some forty dollars, if that, from the till. Oddly, the perpetrator is specific about that. Stars speckle the clear velvety black sky. An unsuspecting gas station attendant is mostly alone at his workplace, save for a couple patrons. But it's one in particular who's putting him on edge - a youth, but he wears a cap with the bill tugged low, sunglasses, /and/ the hood of his outerwear. It's giving all the wrong signals, and the poor nervous fellow has half a mind to just cash it in and call the cops. Alas, he doesn't get that opportunity. "Hey, chum!," greets the shady character in an entirely-too-amicable fashion, head canted /just so/ to avoid the camera in the corner. He shoots a solo fingergun to the attendee. "That look on your face tells me you already know what's up." "Don't do something stupid..." "Hah, you kiddin' me? We're /way/ past that." The fingergun tilts, offering an open palm. Brilliant blue electricity begins gathering in tendrils over his hand, growing and building, until his entire arm is wreathed in the thrumming energy. The attendant rapidly backs up, and the very unsubtle display of power has drawn attention from the other customers. Only some shriek, but almost all of them bolt for the door. "Whatever you want, just take it!" "Forty bucks. -Ish. You know, whatever." It gets a puzzled look from the attendant. The thief's unelectrified hand bobs encouragingly. "Come on, come on."
Psylocke	The spree had been on the news. It had pinged on the system for metahuman activity. Not something that the school generally was worried about although they had expanded sometime back from a mutant focused school to anyone with powers trying to fit into the world. Yet, when the Professor looked into things futher, with the help of Cerebro, he had learned there was a mutant involved. Since Psylocke was already living in New York City, she was the closest to investigate the situation. She had called on her partner to join in on the hunt. It had not been the most enjoyable of duties. It consisted of him often going on patrol, as he liked to do, while Psylocke settled atop a roof somewhere and reached out with her telepathic abilities to try and find the person in question. Not him specifically. She didn't have enough information for that. It was more seeking anything involving someone that fit the scenario. They had struck out each night. She was sitting atop a roof in Harlem, in a lotus position. Her eyes were closed, the purplish butterfly effect showing around her eyes as she let her mind touch those of the people on the block. Every voice, every thought, all pounding through her brain at once. It wasn't pleasant. There was a reason telepaths kept shields in place. But it was a necessity. And tonight, it worked. The panicked mind of a person in that store running for the door. Then another. Two more. Telepathically, she reached out to Spider-Man with the address as she opened her eyes. <I'll meet you there.> The purple butterfly disappeared, only to be replaced by a flare of the red tattoo over her eye. A moment later, she melted away into the shadows of the roof where she was sitting, disappearing entirely.
Spider-Man	Things hadn't really changed much for Spider-Man. He went out on patrol all the time, most nights, but occasionally he did take one off. To him, being Spider-Man wasn't a job, it was a calling, something that he enjoyed, and felt compelled to do, at the same time. To him, it was more like jogging or going to the grocery store. It was just something he did. He didn't really think about it in any great detail, he just did it. So, having someone ask him to be on the lookout for something specific while he was doing it anyway, well, there wasn't much change. He just had a little more concern about possible leads to his objective. The problem with patrolling like Spider-Man, was that he invariably found something that needed to be dealt with. And this night was no different. There were two women, who presumably cut across an alleyway trying to get to a nightclub quicker. It would have been so much safer to walk the well lit, and better populated city streets, but no, they had to try and cut out a bit of walking in those high heels. Naturally, trouble found them in the form of a man who either wanted money or something far worse. Spider-Man wasn't sure; his spider-sense had tingled even before he heard the shrieking gasps for help. Swinging in, he hit the man in the back with two feet, "no, no, no, that jacket clashes with your complexion", and before he could hit pavement, which might have messed up the guy's face, Spider-Man webbed his jacket, and pulled him up, "you don't want a ladies small in fuschia, but a guy's large in an earth tone, maybe a nice sandalwood", in a move that cannot have been good for the guy's back. But that too was routine. Spider-Man knew how to hit a guy, what they could take, and what they couldn't. Part of it was experience, and part of it was innate, somehow connected to his spider-sense. He often tiered his actions to his opponent. "Here, this alley's got some nice shades, that two by four over there, the hobo chic pizza box, the pallets, why don't you stick around," the guy would have a bad back after this, but nothing he wouldn't recover from in time. Helping him with that recovery, Spidey webbed him up in a nice relaxing position for the spinal cord, dangling him from some reailing, "and have a nice think about what kind of fashion statement you want to make?" He then picked up the pizza box, and looked around, finding a can of spray paint that had been tossed in the trash, but that had a little bit of paint left in it. He wrote, "I caught this guy bothering two women. He needs a new wardrobe." And signed it Spider-Man, then stuck it to the wall across from the guy, so he could still appreciate the colour of the cardboard. Then to Psylocke, he replied to her along the telepathic link she forged, <I had to stop to give fashion advice, but on my way>. And then he jumped up, beginning to climb the walls. The two women were long gone, not having stuck around for a selfie, autograph, or anything. Nobody runs when Iron Man saves the day. He was so jibbed.
Drake Riley	The attendant shuffles forward to begin poking at the register, shooting frequent, uncomfortable glances to the electrified appendage. "You don't have to do this." The cliche gets a sigh from the thief. "Actually, I do. I don't expect you to get it, but just- let's get through this, alright?" The non-energized forearm props over the counter. "As long as you don't do something crazy, this is as unpleasant as it's gotta be." The attendant frowns tightly and shoots another look to the electrical display. "You're a /mutant/, aren't you?," he begins to seethe. "Good-for-nothing trash thinking they're bett-" "-Watch it," warns the thief, all mirth and lightheartedness instantly absent from his voice. The attendant glares at him briefly, then gets back to task. Two twenties are set on the counter and he slaps the register shut. "There. Get out." It's difficult to see the thief's expression due to the tilt of his head and excessive, obscuring amount of accessories he's wearing, but there's a scowl. He says nothing but swipes up the two bills in his free hand. His index finger bobs at the attendant in one final unspoken warning before turning to start for the exit. The electrical surge along his arm instantly dissipates, as though it were never there.
Psylocke	Outside in the parking lot, there are a lot of shadows. With the cover over the pumps to help block when it's precipitating, the flourescent lights are the only thing giving illumination. For some reason, the shadows seem even deeper than when he went into the store. Must just be because it's later, right? Then slowly a figure seperates from the shadows, the form rising out of the darkness to solidify into a humanoid shape. A moment later, it is more obvious as it becomes feminine. Then the triangular red glare over the area where an eye would be. In the time it would take to blink, the shadows recede and leave a Japanese woman standing about fifteen feet from the doorway where he is exiting. Her hair is dark, a purple when the light hits it just right. She's wearing a bodysuit in a dark purple as well, a sash of red at the waist. Soft boots cover up to her thighs, no heel to speak of. "Hello," she says, her accent British instead of what might be expected by her appearance. "I would like to speak to you." She holds her hands out to her sides, palms forward, showing she has nothing and being as non threatening as possible.
Spider-Man	Spider-Man can't teleport via the shadows, alas, that's not something that spiders can do, of course, spider's aren't precognitive either, so he could have totally gained teleportation via shadows as a power. Alas, that wasn't to be. He has to climb walls, jump buildings, and use his web shoots to swing through the city when they're tall enough. That's part of why he loves Manhattan so much. It was practically designed for him. He'll arrive late to the partly, fashionably late as all New Yorkers should be, and when he does arrive, he isn't really sure what's going on, so naturally, he approaches all stealthy like, reading the situation, getting a feel for the players, and such... by landing on top of the pump's cover. He dangles from it on a string of webline, hanging upside down. He adopted his least threatening pose, which wasn't much different from his most threatening pose, but he did wave a little with one hand, an upside down wave at that. "Hi, she'd really like to speak to you. I'd just like a cherry slurpee, and mmm, maybe a chilli cheese dog too."
Drake Riley	Truth be told, the thief was hoping something would happen. Perhaps by the time he got out to the parking lot, perhaps a little ways down the sidewalk. What that something is isn't necessarily what actually occurs here. "Ah-," starts the theif at the sudden emergence of a leggy purplette from naught but the shadows. He halts in his tracks, mouth formed into a small 'o', and eyes - well, those are still hidden behind the sunglasses. But rest assured, they're widened. "That was-.. you're.." His head tilts, taking in the features of her wardrobe before his gaze presumably lands on her face again with a sudden, bright smile. "Wow," he offers more quietly, but in complete sincerity. "You're a mutant, right? Like me?" It's impossible to mask the hope bubbling in his voice. And then appears Spider-Man. The thief responds in only the most natural way: "Holy crap it's Spider-Man." No, these aren't the happenings that weren't what he was hoping for. In fact, they might even seem welcome, well-received interruptions. The thing he didn't want to have happen comes to light at the tune of a distinct *ka-CHIK*. Behind the thief, the attendant is now holding a recently-cocked shotgun. "Everyone stay put!" There's a mixture of fury and nervousness in the attendant's voice, his eyes wild. "No one's moving until the cops get here! I-it's cool, Spidey, I got'em covered! You tie'em up!"
Psylocke	That was not what she had expected. Psylocke had been prepared to defend herself, the adrenaline rushing through her bloodstream, knowing that no one ever actually stops and talks. Yet, this one did. Ahd seemed happy? He was smiling, eager. What in the world? Until she hears the attendant. A frown touches her features and she reaches out with her mind toward that of the human. Yet, she stops just as she touches his brain, feeling that fear of mutants he has. She could reach out, control his mind. She starts to do just that, the attendant going very still as she blocks the neural receptor's in his brain. He might want to pull the trigger but he won't be able to. But while she's in his mind, she finds that the suspect did indeed rob the store. Even if he returns what he took, it's still a robbery. If Spider-Man helps him get away... She can't put Peter in that position. <I'm taking the kid and getting away. Act like you are after us. I don't want you implicated in the crime here.> Her words reach through the psychic link she shares with him, letting him know why she is doing what she is doing. The tattoo flares around her eye as she reaches for those dark powers she was given. "We can't let you take us, Spider-Man!" And with that, she reaches out and opens the shadows. Right underneath Drake. The hole will take him through a dark fall of about four feet then deposit him on a nearby roof. An instant later, she is a living shadow which simply melts into the darkness around her, disappearing from view. She reappears on the rooftop nearby, stepping out of a shadow near Drake. Her psychic link with Peter will allow him to pinpoint their location once he is done with the attendant.
Spider-Man	"It is?" Spider-Man replies to the 'holy crap it's Spider-Man', and looks about, comically, "where, I'd love to get his autograph, or maybe a selfie? I'm sure that J. Jonah Jameson's got him all wrong." But then his spider-sense goes off, he spies the shotgun, and just as it was about to 'ka-CHIK', Spider-Man fires of a thwip of webbing, mucking up the nozzle, "it's okay, I've got it covered, no need for that..." he didn't like guns. His uncle Ben had been shot by one. He was a firm believer that people killed people, but guns make it a whole lot easier for them to do so. Being told of what to do, Spider-Man fires off some more webbing after the thief and Betsy, but after they had made their escape. It was darn good timing, as the poor shop keeper would likely have thought it was just bad timing. Jumping down when they had disappeared, Spider-Man scuffed his shoes at where they had been, "the more I do this, the more I feel like I live in an episode of Looney Tunes. Don't worry about the shotgun, that stuff'll dissolve in an hour, no harm done, but, I don't like guns, sir. Sorry." He was in a seriously awkward position, trying to apologise for not having caught someone who he is trusting Psylocke to know was a good kid. "But for your protection, I'll be sure to stick around the area for the next hour or so," since he didn't want the guy to feel unsafe in case someone else attacked.
Drake Riley	The attendant is on edge, looking for any excuse to waste the gross demi-humans who've deigned to muddy up his place of work with their mutated genes. But for some reason, his intentions can't manifest into action. There's a decent chance he would've pulled that trigger in a few seconds, if left to his own devices. But that's not the way it played out. Impotent frustrations are all he can manage, failing to manifest in action. And had he even managed to, the muzzle of his shotgun is now gummed up with webbing! "What!," he balks, hapless. And as the two presumed mutants vanish, that frustration only grows. "Augh!" But what's he going to do? Go off on Spider-Man? Unlikely. "I'm just glad you were here," he submits in a gravelly tone. On the thief's end, the world is a non-stop rollercoaster of confusion. Did Spider-Man just try to nail him? That sucks. Did the floor just eat him? That might also suck. But when did he wind up outside? Failing his haphazard landing, the perpetrator lands on his rear with an undignified grunt. His head whips one way, then the other, taking in his new surroundings. "Oh my God, that was /awesome/," he marvels. And once his shaded gaze catches the female again, she's met with a bright smile. "It's true, right? You're a mutant?"
Psylocke	Psylocke can't help smiling a little at the reaction. Not typical. Usually disappearing into the ground, falling through blackness so thick it seems to be touchable, then landing on a roof generally shakes a person up. Not this one. "Yes, I'm a mutant. I go by the name Psylocke," she says as she keeps a mental touch on her partner back at the station. He's good. The attendant didn't try to shoot him. She does release her touch on the man's mind though, letting the human have control of his trigger finger again. Not that it will matter now that he's relaxed and the gun won't fire anyway. If it did, it would probably explode and take off his own hand so hopefully, he isn't that stupid. She keeps that light mental touch on him in case he is. "You seem...happy to have been caught," she muses, half comment, half question in her tone. "What's your name and why are you robbing gas stations?" There, just cut to the chase.
Spider-Man	Spider-Man does at least make good on his stated interest in a cherry slurpee and chilli cheese dog, ordering them both and consuming them while taking a seat on the curb. He even posed for a selfie with the attendant and signing a few things for him. Spider-Man has surprisingly nice penmanship with a sharpie. He doesn't get asked for an autograph very often, so he takes his time. Afterwards, he'd roll up his mask, placing the discarded wrapper for the chilli cheese dog in the recycling, and making sure there was a cap for the slurpee, which he still hadn't finished, and he'd head off, since the shotgun webbing should be getting close to dissolving, and see if he can join Psylocke and the other guy, providing it hasn't already wrapped up.
Drake Riley	It hasn't. The aforementioned other guy is far too entrenched in the moment, brimming with awe and eagerness. Spider-Man has plenty of time. "Psylocke? That's so cool," observes the miscreant dreamily. But her note on his demeanor seems to snap him back to the present. "This?," asks the thief as he raises the two twenties to wag in the air. "That's just enough to not starve. I wasn't trying to get rich. I was trying to get caught." Beat. "/Kind/ of. Get caught by the right people, I mean. By you." He's suddenly a scramble of motion as he gathers himself to his feet. "The name's Drake, and, uh.. well.." He plucks the shades off his face to hang off his collar, letting those vivid emerald green eyes rest on her face. "I wanted to find people like you; people who're mutants, but /doing/ something with it. And what better way to find a superhero than to act like a supervillain, right?"
Psylocke	Her violet eyes remain on him as he bounces to his feet, taking off the sunglasses so she can get a better look at him for the first time. His words have her frowning slighty, brow furrowed. "You are robbing places to get the attention of heroic mutants?" She's assuming he probably wanted the X-Men. She's not going to bring up the X word though. Better to focus on the situation. "If you wanted attention, there's a right way and a wrong way to get it. Mutant Town is a good start. Go over, spread the word you want to find people. The groups you are referring to have feelers out in the communities all the time. And if it is heroes you wanted to impress, being a villain isn't a way to do it." No, she is not going to consider the various members who started out as just that. Because she's trying to make a point, not undermine it with examples like Rogue. "Why did you want to be found, Drake? What is it you are hoping to get from your adventures?" Again, to the point. She isn't intruding in his mind though, instead letting him speak for himself instead of intruding in the privacy of his brain. She probably should be intruding but that will come later. Maybe.
Spider-Man	This is not Spider-Man's first attempt to websling with a slurpee in hand, and it won't be the last. He's gotten the hang of it, and he can be pretty quiet when he wants to be, so of course he 'appears' on the rooftop by making that annoying 'slurping sound' when someone's drained the liquid from their slurpee and is waiting for more of it to melt, becoming something he can drink again. Setting the slurpee down on the ledge he stood, well, stood isn't really the word. He rested on the balls of his feet, which is odd, considering the heel was way more ball like, but he was on the front of his feet, heels lifted, knees bent, and one arm between his legs. It was a very uncomfortable looking position, especially for a guy, but he liked it. When he gets looks, he says, "oh, don't mind me, I'm just here as an observer. Not a mutant, but mutant friendly."
Drake Riley	This serves as the first hit to Drake's zeal. His smile fades. "Yeah, if I go looking for a place to fit in around /there/, I'll find it. Right back with another gang," he posits. "I got /out/ of that life. The idea's to keep it that way, not join a new one with superpowers." He turns to pace a couple steps to the side. "You don't gotta say it like that. Makes it sound like this is just some thing I thought would be fun or something." He pauses at the sound of the slurping, Spider-Man stealing his focus. An owlish blink follows. His mouth opens to comment, but nothing comes out. He just looks back down to his feet as he resumes pacing. "I wanted to be found by people like me who're /good/. It's the only play I got left. My family doesn't want me, my old friends would keep me doing crime, and I don't want to feel like a freak. That answer your question?"
Psylocke	It is an effort to not roll her eyes but Psylocke manages. "I don't mean a gang. I mean that schools and heroic mutant groups are always keeping an ear out there. Believe me, I know." That should hopefully get the point across without saying it outright. "First and foremost, we need to return the money you took. All of it. From all the businesses." She crosses her arms, glancing over to Spidey and trying not to smile at him and his slurpee. It would ruin the mood of the situation and she's trying to play this straight. Well, her part. He knows of the school. He knows she teaches there. He's an assistant teacher himself at Xavier's. He also knows about their little secret with the big X that no one talks about outloud. Good thing they have telepathy. She arches a brow, silently asking him if he thinks the offer should be made. She continues to speak to Drake, glancing back at him. "We can't help with the way you feel about your powers. If you feel like a freak, that is on you. You aren't one. You are simply different. Just like us." Okay, Spidey isn't a mutant but still. "Some of us are born this way. Some get their powers other ways. It doesn't make ona freak just because they are different. I mean is a redhead a freak simply because they have a hair color that is the least common in the world? Is someone with a rare blood type a freak? No." She unfolds her arms. "Tell me more about yourself, Drake." And she does reach out now, just letting her mind brush his to see if he is telling her truths or not. It is not her digging for information, just that sense of truth or false when he speaks.
Spider-Man	<I kind of got schooled by Emma for butting in on mutant affairs, so I'm not sure I'm the one for having an opinion here. But this kid sounds like he could use the help of a place like Xavier's. That's just my two cents.> Spider-Man thought to Betsy as he was there, friendly, for morale support, for either, and a witness, but mostly, he was just there. "I wasn't born with my powers. I got them when I was a teenager, which I understand is similar to most mutants, just, I got mine in a different way. It's a long story." Actually, it was a short one, but he didn't feel like everyone knowing it. One of these days somebody was going to do some research into experiements involving spiders. "It's a tough time, going through changes you don't understand, but you get through it, with a little bit of luck. For the record, she's much nicer than her accent would suggest. No wonder they always hire Brits to be the bad guys. So menacing and cold, not like us... hmm, your accent, Coast City?"
Drake Riley	"Los Ange-," Drake cuts himself off with a sharp shake of his head. "Doesn't matter. Not going back. And," his focus turns to Psylocke, "you're saying that like you have no idea what people say about us. My family /doesn't want me/. You caught that, right?" The defensiveness is rising, arms folding over his torso. "I kept what I can do a secret for a long time. Then I told my dad. Then they wanted me gone." It's true - mostly. He was told to basically stop being a mutant, and when he started to sneak out to get a breather, he was told to not come back. So while it isn't verbatim what went down, it's certainly the truth in his interpretation, and not far off the mark in reality. "I dunno why they treat us different from them," he says, freeing the hand with the two bills to motion towards Spidey, "but they do. That's life. That's not me choosing to get kicked around. That's me playing the hand I'm dealt." Drake looks at the twenties in his hand briefly, then holds it out to Psylocke. "That's all of it. Take it. I've not exactly been livin' large." The condition of his clothing and personal upkeep likely reflect his status as a homeless person, and forty dollars here and there don't afford much in New York City. Psychic powers probably aren't necessary in determining this. He's been getting by with keeping fed. The luxury generally ends there. "There's not much to tell about me. I wanted to be with people like myself. I'm starting to think there aren't any of those around."
Psylocke	<Emma can take her corsetted arse back to Boston.> Seems Psylocke isn't a fan of that sort of attitude. Or maybe she's just protective of Peter. But he is a teaching assistant at the school and he deserves better treatment from a member of the faculty who, honestly, has less seniority than he does. Maybe it's time for her to be a bit more vocal back at the campus. Course, Spidey's words about her accent and villainy isn't helping his cause either. She focuses back to the young man in front of her. Decorum says get with the Professor or Jean before taking him to the school. Right now, she's not really caring much about decorum. This is a kid living on the streets, barely staying alive and only doing so by stealing. He needs a roof over his head, warm food and a bed to sleep in. She accepts the twenties then tucks them into the sash of her costume out of sight. They will appear back on the counter down at the shop in a little while, before she heads home. For now. "I know of a place like that. Where there are others like us. Mutants mainly but some humans and metas in the mix. A place where young men and women can go learn how to live in this world while exploring their powers and how to control them. Would you be interested in a place like that perhaps? It wouldn't cost anything and you would be off the streets. At least give it a tour, read the pamphlets, then you can decide if you want any part of that."
Spider-Man	<If you want to get technical, she'd be taking her corseted chest back to Boston. I heard she used to walk around with only panties covering her butt, but I didn't meet her until she discovered how wonderful it was to wear pants in a northern climate.> Yes, Spider-Man can't help but joke, even telepathically. Of course, he was kind of happy that Psylocke hadn't made that particular discovery either. "And it has prices that can't be beat. There are plenty of scholarships available to the disenfranchised. Hey, why don't I give you two a moment to talk about it, while I get us some chilli cheese dogs? Want a slurpee?" He seemed to be asking the kid more than Betsy.
Drake Riley	Drake Riley had just started to resign himself to being alone and potentially falling back into a life of delinquency, and likely eventually harder crime. Or maybe even looking into those mutants who prefer to run things; anything to stop feeling so isolated and rejected. But it seems Psylocke's interrogation has reached a satisfactory conclusion - or at least a lull. He'll take it. And either way, it appears she's relenting, and there's that bubble of hope behind his eyes again. "I, um.. sure. You know, cool. I can take a look," he says, attempting to not make himself completely vulnerable a second time around. Then there's the mention of food. Screw defense. "Heck yes, chili cheese dogs with /Spider-Man./," he enthuses. There's a small chance he might be something of a fan.
Psylocke	That makes Psylocke smile as she glances over at Spider-Man. He sometimes stresses of the bad publicity he gets thanks to Jameson. So when he gets to meet a fan, it makes her happy. He needs that positivity in his life. She is all about Peter's happiness. "I can take you there directly after you eat. As for me, I'll take a cherry slurpee," she says to Spidey as she gives him a playful wink.
Spider-Man	Spider-Man did a neat dive off the building. Leaving his cherry slurpee on the edge, he just leaned back and fell off the roof, thwiping out a webline to take him towards the station, where he'd head in, greeting the attendant, before getting two more cherry slurpees, and two chili cheese dogs. "They were so good I thought I'd get seconds... and thirds..." yeah, he was totally not a convincing liar, but his money was good, cash of course, because he couldn't really use a credit card. I mean, who would give out credit cards to a superhero? Especially one with as bad credit as Spider-Man. He's not sure how, but he's sure that if he could have a credit score, J. Jonah Jameson would find some way to undermine it. A few minutes later and he was back up there, offering a chili cheese dog to each, as well as a slurpee. "There you go. Try not to slurp. It's bad manners." Yes, he had done just that earlier for a specific effect.