A Meeting of Minds

June 11, 2015:

Betsy Braddock and J'onn J'onnz meet in a chance encounter

Cally's Bistro, NYC


NPCs: None.


Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

It's tough to resist the urge to indulge a sweet tooth. But, no one ever said good looks come easy. Betsy works hard for her money. She sighs, tempted sorely by the pastries displayed in the bistro's counter, and steps away before temptation overcomes good practice.

"Could I get a panini, please?" the leggy Asian asks, in a cultured British accent. "And a coffee- black, thank you, yes," she says. She pulls out her purse to pay, then frowns, digging in it. "Bugger," she swears, softly. "I think I left my credit card in the car," she apologizes to the girl at the counter.

"Please, allow me." John Jones, an older gentleman, says as he steps forward and pulls a wallet from out of his coat. "Coffee, and a bagel." he orders for himself, taking out the cash to pay for the woman and himself. "John Jones." he offers over to Betsy with a smile. "Pleased to meet you."

Betsy blinks at the unexpected assistance, looking John up and down curiously. There comes a tickle, then- a psychic sniffing, and Betsy's eyes widen minutely, then resume their more incalcuable expression. "Very kind of you, sir," she says, bobbing in something suggestive of a curtsy. "Betsy, Betsy Braddock. Charmed, I'm sure. I'm very embarassed- my mind must be elsewhere today."

Its an odd sort of thing to try and psychically 'sniff' at this man. His mind is a bastion- shielded from psychic intrusion. Even Betsy's powerful psychic abilities seem to 'ping' off the man's psychic defenses. He is no 'spring chicken', it seems. Although, if this is because of some personal psychic ability, or an extraordinary disciplined mind seems difficult to tell from a cursory scan.

"Oh, my pleasure, really, Ms. Braddock." he offers, with an easy smile. "Oh, don't be embarrassed. You've only given me a chance to play the chivalrous knight, thank you." John offers, as their meals come. "Are you new to New York?" he wonders, curiously. "On vacation?"

"No, I live here," Betsy says, drifting towards the end of the counter to await her meal being readied. "I have a place in midtown and in Westchester- I go back and forth. Work," she explains with a small roll of her shoulder. "And yourself? Courteous knights are a rare commodity in this day and age, particularly in New York. We're not a place typically associated with kind manners and altruism," she reminds him, deadpan.

"Oh, this city has a way of coming together when trouble hits. They're a family, albeit a dysfunctional one." John remarks, with a quiet chuckle. "I'm just a man who likes to help. Nothing more." he continues, "I've got an apartment in Gotham, but come to New York for work fairly often." he explains, "I'm a Private Investigator." he pulls a card out from inside his pocket, and offers it quietly to Betsy. "Been in the business for over forty years now."

Betsy accepts the card with carefully manicured nails and examines it. She reaches for her back pocket and produces a cell phone, takes a picture of the card front and back, and returns it to the man with a flicker of a smile. "Digital native," she explains, wiggling the phone indicatively.

"I don't know many private investigators," Betsy admits, reaching for her coffee and plate when it's served up. "It sounds like an interesting line of work from all accounts I've read, though."

John just grins as Betsy takes a picture of the card, and returns it. He returns it into his pocket, as he take his coffee and bagel. "It can be, but if I'm honest, most of it is just sitting in a car and taking pictures or serving as a professional witness for police cases. Sometimes, though, I get bored with all that and go to investigate the occasional crime my old friends in the department are having trouble with. Sometimes, I just look for runaway kids. I've got a lot of time on my hands." he admits with a quiet grin.

"What about yourself? What do you do?" he wonders, as he looks towards a table. "Care to join me for a meal?" he asks, with a nod towards said empty table.

Betsy nods regally, all the poise of the British echoed in her perfect posture, and moves to sit across from John. She folds her legs carefully, moving them to the side, and arranges her plate just so. "I'm a model and fashion consultant," Betsy lies smoothly, reaching for the panini and cutting it into smaller slices with knife and fork. "It's a bit duller than it sounds, though. Lots of business meetings, travel time, driving." She flips her fingers through the air dismissively.

John, however, sits far more comfortably and 'American' style. He takes a sip of coffee, nodding and listening to Betsy as she speaks. "Well, don't I feel special!" he enthuses, with that friendly smile. "Not everyday I get to have lunch with a model, or a fashion consultant." he says, tone playful. "Although, now I'm afraid you'll say I'm painfully out of style."

"Dreadfully, I'm afraid," Betsy says with a nod, sipping her coffee carefully. She frowns and moves to adjust the cream and sugar levels with precise motions of her hands. "It's quite possible to wear classic designs, though- you could wear a double-breasted suit jacket with a modern cut. A bit less material at the waist, a different stitch there- a slightly more adventurous tie, perhaps a belt made from kangaroo instead of cow leather…" She drums her nails thoughtfully on the metal tabletop. "Wingtip shoes, or perhaps some cautiously flamboyant socks. Eye catching, full of expression, and understated all at once," she says, flickering her fingers again.

John laughs, a wide grin on his face as Betsy gives her thoughts on his clothing. "Ah, I'm old fashioned, Ms. Braddock." he says simply. "In my day, this was where it was at." he says, still grinning- clearly not one to be offended easily. "Still, maybe I will get a new tie." he says, with a nod. "And perhaps a new pair of socks. Thank you, though." he says, with a genuine smile as he takes a bite of bagel, and another sip of coffee.

"Not at all," Betsy says crisply. It's possible she's a robot? She doesn't seem one for showing much emotion. "There are some options out there, of course, depending on your budget. I'm of a mind to periodically visit a clothier to get measured and fitted for one or two items of particular value, and then build a wardrobe from that. Having someone help you put together at least one or two outfits goes a long way to seeding the ground for a wardrobe."

"Eh, that seems like too much work for an old man like me, Ms. Braddock." John replies, with a smile. "I'm just living a quiet semi-retirement, at this point." he says, although he hasn't ignored Betsy's previous little psychic ping- rather, he's just sat and waited. His own mind begins to reach out to test at Betsy's mind- curious returns of those previous tests of her own.

Betsy's mind isn't perhaps as well ordered as some psychics, but her raw talent is significant. Enough that even a cursory probe at her defenses would return some uneasily suggestive results. Still, her talents seem unrefined despite their strength- a weightlifter instead of a fencer.

"Fashion is challening," Betsy agrees, seemingly ignoring the cautious advances. "Coordinating colors, textures, patterns, even contrasting them, all comes into play. There's a reason models and fashionistas make good wage at the upper echelons of the industry."

Curious and Curiouser- John's mental abilities are those of a master. He is, after all, from a species of psychics and telepaths. He has that weightlifter's strength, with a fencer's finesse- along with life long mastery. ~Curious.~ He speaks, mentally, to Betsy. A simple telepathic connection. ~You are more than meets the eye, Ms. Braddock.~

Still, he continues the conversation- as if to keep up appearances. "I'd imagine so. Lord knows I have no knack for it. Well, luckily, old men like me can get away with looking outdated." he says with a chuckle.

~And you're hardly a decrepit old man,~ Betsy responds cooly, without any sense of rancor. ~But I am grateful for the meal. I assume there's no malfeasance afoot- I shouldn't have checked for poison in my panini?~

"Age is its own fashion," she agrees with a tilt of her head. Her purple hair slips over one shoulder, then is immediately flicked back by a roll of her wrist. She finishes the last bite of her meal, pats her lips carefully to avoid marring her lipstick, and reaches for her coffee again. "And there are other skills that can only come with age, of course."

~No, no. Just curiosity- you had attempted to probe me at our first meeting- and I thought to return the favor as it were. I do apologize if I've offended.~ John offers simply, "True. I have experience." he says with an easy smile. "And there is a lot to say for having seen a lot. And, believe me, I've seen a lot." he says with a grin, ~So, then, where do we go now- even on this evolving planet it is unusual for two psychics to meet. There are few of us.~

Betsy has the good grace to look a bit chagrined. ~Yes, I apologize- habit of paranoia,~ she admits. ~I hope I wasn't too bothersome.~

"And it shows," Betsy says, with a vaguely impish and insincere look. "But, unfortunately, I have to away. Thank you again for the meal, sir- it was very nice to have a meal with a new friend."

~Yes, indeed. Please give me a text sometime,~ Betsy invites, her 'tone' courteous. She rattles off a string of numbers. ~I should think we could talk again when I have more time available. Farewell, John. It was a pleasure.~

J'onn J'onzz nods his head, giving a a wave. "A pleasure, Ms. Braddock." he offers with a nod of his head, "A pleasure indeed."

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