Weird Eyes and Hair Club

March 04, 2016:

Storm and Lwa make new friends! Spoilers: those friends are each other.


NPCs: None.



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

Sometimes, the best way to understand where you are, and how to move around your new home is to get lost. With the constant rush of traffice, both human and vehicular, it's easy for someone to get swallowed up by the swelling sea of 'things to do, gotta do them now' mentality of the Big Apple. Lyn's movements, however, are calm and well paced. She's careful to not bump into anyone, or obstruct their path. One hand rests in her halfway in the front pocket of her ratty jeans, as the other holds around a massive, 40oz cup of soda.

Her lips hug around the straw, drawing in a mouthful time and time again, and her serpent like eyes note down every detail she can handle, logging it away. The city is electric, and with the blazing lights of Time Square shining like a becon, there's an odd comfort to it all; if not a hint of foreboding.

Some people stand out in Times Square more than others. Sometimes this is because they're yelling about the apocalypse, and sometimes it's because they look like they might break out into public masturbation at a moment's notice. Some just look out of the ordinary. Take this example: a six-foot-tall black woman with supermodel looks, blue eyes (contacts?), a tall and improbably full mohawk, and a designer overcoat, with equally expensive-looking boots poking out from underneath. This person doesn't stand out as a crazy or a reject, really, but more like — hey, maybe a celebrity is walking through the sea of people, hiding in plain sight?

Like Lyn, Ororo moves carefully, not bumping into anyone, not stepping in anyone's way. The March cold doesn't seem to bother her a tremendous amount, though her hands are tucked into the pockets over coat. She crosses Lyn's field of vision, though may or may not notice the young woman and her soda.

Lyn notices. One odd looking Afraican-American to another; she notices. Where Ororo's hair is brilliantly styled and white, the Creole's own is large, flooftastic, and still just as jet as the day she was born. She can't help a soft smile that touches her face, causing her cheeks to dimple. For whatever reason, perhaps curiosity, the girl turns and walks after the towering punk.

Once close enough, she offers a wiggling of her finger in greeting. "Hey," she sounds off before glancing to the side nervously. "Dis gon' sound weird, but, y'mind if I take y'picture? Been meetin' lots a'interestin' people dese last few nights."

Ororo stops in her tracks, and turns with her whole body to face Lyn. She cocks one eyebrow slightly — those are white too, so whoever dyed them did a bang-up job — and regards the flooftastic woman with a somewhat patrician-feeling gaze. Cerulean cat's-eyes — this woman's even odder than she let on.

"You are correct," Ororo replies. Her voice is melodious, her accent tugging at vowel sounds in just the right ways, and she speaks in such a way that she makes herself be heard, and clearly, without having to shout above the din of traffic. "It does sound slightly weird." Ororo's lips curl into a very small smile. "May I ask what you will do with this picture, once taken?"

Lyn blinks at the question, her head tilting back as the woman before her is easily a foot taller than she is. "M'guessin' get it developed?" For whatever reason, the inquire was lost on her. "'mean, don' have t'if y'don' want me to. Jus', I dunno, y'pretty n'I like rememberin' some t'ings I t'ink should be remembered." Another sip or two from her cup, she lowers the vessel, holding around its brim with her finger tips.

Visually, both women are odd in their own right, a cat looking at a snake is something different all together, but maybe since it was New York, it was forgotten or forgiven. "Met a man de other night, had a real pretty ride. But he was wearin' somet'ing on his head? Took picture of dat. Don' want y'feeling singled out, I guess. Jus' didn't wanna be rude n'just snap n' run witout askin'."

Ororo laughs softly. "I do not mind having my picture taken. I simply do not wish to end up on any album covers or internet ads." Her smile spreads into an easy grin. She seems… both distant and approachable at the same time. Ororo's a woman of mystery, contradictions, and contrasts, even down to the air she projects outward from herself.

Ororo stands still, hands remaining in her pocket. She seems amused now, like this is a fun diversion for her. "Let me know if I must do anything to help your photograph." Even the way she speaks is oddly stately, like she's addressing a forum with every sentence, no matter how innocuous.

Lyn scoffs. "Album cover, right. Don' worry 'bout dat, chere. Ain't gon' do not'ing wit it 'sides have it." Leaning down, she places her cup next to her feet and digs out an old, boxy disposable camera. It's small, black and yellow, with a red KODAK logo on its front. Widing the film spool with a cranking noise, she presses the 'flash' button and waits for its whining to stop. "Jus' standin' is fine. Don' gotta do not'ing special." Camera up, and a quick burst of light later, it's all said and done. "Dere." Lyn grins, giving it another winding up before slipping the object away, it creating an obvious shape in her pocket.

"T'anks f'dat. N'f'bein' nice 'nough t'let me take de picture." Moving to reclaim her drink, she picks it back up and offers her free hand to the woman in black. "M'Lyn, by de way."

Ororo does indeed just 'stand there' — but there's a little mischief on her face, not quite a full smile, but teasing at one, with a certain glint in her eyes… she's very photogenic, too, which helps. Ororo removes her hand from her pocket to shake. "I am Ororo," she says, in a way that sounds both effortless and like some grand statement of her essence. Her hand is warm. Maybe from being in her pocket.

"Ororo?" Lyn echos gently. "Dat's a pretty name. Lil odd, too, but I like it. Makes mine seem borin'." She comments her tongue sticking out a bit with the idea of being 'boring'. A smile quickly replaces it, and for whatever reason, she stares for a time. "Ah, sorry. Guess I should let y'get back t' doin' whatever y'was gon' do." Rubbing the back of her neck, she chuckles awkwardly and then looks around. "Sorry, but hey! T'anks f'lettin' me take dat picture! Um…so, wonderin'. You somebody special? I mean, y'look like y'should be."

Ororo's smile grows a bit more pleasant as her name is complimented. She slides her hand back into her pocket, and for all of the awkwardness Lyn feels… well, Ororo is totally the opposite. She seems totally cool and collected. "Everyone is somebody special, my friend," she says with enough genuine warmth to make it not sound like she's reading from a fortune cookie.

"I was going to get something to eat. My actual business in the city for today is concluded. Would you like to join me?" The weather-witch gestures to the Big Gulp of cola. "Unless you're already full," she gently teases.

Her comment causes the girl's smile to soften. She nods, and doesn't reply to it. But, the offer of food causes her eyes to light up every so slightly. "Would I?" She grins and nods, but then glances at her drink. "Ah…dis. Well, it cheap n'y'get a lot so…" Reasons, excuses, either or. "M'sayin', m't'ankful f'de invite. I'd love t'join ya f'somet'ing t' eat. Where y'wanna go?"

Ororo is a keen observer. She knows that light that appears in Lyn's eyes. Where she knows it from is another story to tell entirely. "Come with me, Lyn," she says, turning and beginning to walk. "There is a vegetarian-friendly tapas restaurant nearby that I am fond of. Does that sound acceptable to you?" Ororo doesn't ask it snidely. She's genuinely checking if that sounds OK to Lyn. It's evident in her voice. Again, there's that disconnect in syntax and tone.

"Food's food." Lyn explains gently, not seeming to mind where she's being led to. "I like t'eat, so, I ain't picky at all." Following after the white haired goddess, the girl continues to sip from her cup until it sputters from having more air instead of liquids. Tossing the cup into a bin, she rests both hands into a pocket each now. "Um, hey," she then questions gently, "what's a tapas?"

"Spanish food," Ororo explains patiently. "The idea behind them is that there are a number of small dishes instead of one large meal." Ororo turns the corner and stops in front of Pil-Pil, an unassuming-looking restaurant. It looks like it seats maybe fourteen people, tops, and is not particularly busy right now. It's exactly the kind of random hole in the wall that New York hides its amazing food in.

"Oh, I see. Well, I like spicy food." She beams and looks into the small eatery with a bit of a curious quirk to her brow. In an instant, she hesitates, her head lowering and looking down as she becomes concious of her snake like eyes. Blinking, she takes a breath and lifts her head once more, moving in with Ororo and keeping a stoic expression for the time being.

Ororo enters and sheds her coat. Underneath, she is wearing a grey blouse with high-waisted black slacks, and a necklace with some manner of African(?) design as a pendant. She looks awfully sophisticated for a punk. She greets the woman behind the counter in conversational Spanish, and motions for Lyn to take a seat before she does herself.

"Order whatever you like." Ororo doesn't actually SAY that she'll foot the bill, but it seems pretty damn implicit. She hands over a menu, and reviews her own thoughtfully. The look on her face is like she's reviewing the Ten Commandments on their original stone slabs. What a weird lady. "How long have you been photographing?" she asks, conversationally, without looking up.

Lyn offers a smile to the person behind the counter. Accepting her menu, she looks it over carefully. "Couple days," she answers smoothly, her slitted pupils moving back and forth as she drinks in the food titles (and what they mean). "Never really stopped 'nywhere long 'nough t'take it in. T'ought I'd give it a try." Her slender shoulders bobbing a bit, she sets her menu down and grins.

Once orders are taken, Lyn places her own and folds the menu up, handing it back to the server. "How long y'been um…" stalling out, her brows slope as her brain searches for something to say. "White haired?" Good job, Lyn.

Ororo can't help but smile at Lyn's story of the Secret Origin of her camera. She looks almost nostalgic, in her own way. For what? "Since birth," she replies to the counter-question. "You should have seen it before I cut my hair. It was…" Ororo makes a gesture with her hands, indicating a shape like Lyn's afro-curls, but then bringing it down to show it falling past her shoulders. "I much prefer my current style. Not in the least because it cuts about twenty minutes out of my shower time." She grins.

Lyn giggles and reaches up, touching her own large hair. "Guess dat'd do it, den." She muses, those dimples returning. "Dunno what I'd do if mine grew dat long. Bet it was pretty, dough." Turning to face Ororo more directly, Lyn rests her elbow on the counter top, cradling her cheek against her palm. "Guess I ain't de only one born wit weird t'ings den. Y'eyes always blue, too?"

"Always. And my pupils have always looked like this, as well." Perhaps that's why Ororo isn't put off by Lyn's snake-eyes — she's seen stranger, for one, and she has those cat-like slits looking back at her in every mirror. "I choose not to see it as weird, however. Instead, it is simply… me. I would hate to be indistinguishable from the next woman." Ororo says that with such breezy confidence that it might almost be infectious. "So I embrace my differences from the norm, and make them work for me." She might be trying to subtly sneak over a life lesson of some kind.

Lyn nods gently, still focusing on the woman by her side with an air of admiration evident. There's a smile again, smooth and kind, that presses against the corner of her girl's lips. "I like dat." She confesses verbally, taking a deep breath. "Y'talk diff'rent. I ain't one t'talk m'self, but, well. How long y'been in dis city?"

"I was born here," Ororo says. "My family moved to Africa when I was small. I spent my formative years there, and returned here… mm. Perhaps a decade ago. Close to it. I do not actually live in the city, but nearby. So I am here quite often, for many various things." Ororo's explanation doesn't really explain why she talks differently, other than 'maybe Africa.'

"And yourself?" Ororo looks over with a gentle smile of her own. "Pardon my presumptuousness, but you are clearly not from the Bronx."

Lyn chuckles. "Well, y'd be right 'bout dat." Smirking, she sits up a bit, but slouches comfortably a moment later. "M'from de south. Deep south, 'suppose. Didn' really like it dere, so, I left. Wandered m'way up here. Don' really linger in places f'dat long. But…so far, guess I got reason t'stay a spell." When drinks arrive, Lyn eagerly starts at her own with a sip or five. "'bout you, dough? What type t'ings y'do? Work here or somet'ing? You a model?"

"I am a teacher," Ororo says, as improbable as it sounds. Teachers usually can't afford clothes as nice as that, right? She has a more humble, singular sip of her own drink. "I work outside of the city. Today I was merely here for an appointment." She's drinking ice water, herself.

"What reason are you sticking around?" Ororo gives a curious lift of one brow. "If it is not too personal to ask."

"Oh wow. Mus' be a nice school den. Never been t'one m'self. Homeschooled a bit, dough." Lyn is downing a Coke; sugar and bubbles all the way. "Mmm, guess dat ain't a bad question. I 'suppose it's like a life debt a'sorts. Nice fella helped t'save me, n'I wanna do de same f'him. Somehow, anyway."

Ororo rubs her chin softly. Lyn seems to be activating all kinds of deep thoughts from the wind-rider. "I was the same way, myself. I lost my family young. I was given an education on the streets of Cairo. I suppose that is… a manner of home-schooling," she says through a smirk.

"While I was there, I was also saved by a man." Ororo's expression tightens, just a bit. "However, he was not a good man. I do not mean to be presumptuous about your life, as it is yours, lived by you, not by myself. I would simply advise, from experience, that you be careful who you entrust your life debts with." It's then that the first plates begin to arrive. Ororo has elected to start with what appears to be a small salad made mostly of spinach and chickpeas.

"Seems t'be a theme, honestly. Y'ain't de first t'try n'tell me I ain't in de right hands." Her lips form a frown then, only does it lighten as she gives a smile and 't'anks' to the server. Her own dish is much the same, just with a bit more veggies tossed in and spiced chicken hunks. "Sorry if I don' brin' up his name. Kinda brin's out de worst in people."

"That was not my intent, my friend," Ororo says. "What I am trying to tell you is to keep your eyes open for more than just camera opportunities. It is a lesson that I learned the hard way. As I said, I am a teacher. Please forgive me, but it is in my nature now to attempt to steer young people on the so-called right path." Ororo says that with good humor in her voice. She eats a little bit of her food before pointing out, "The reason these meals are broken up into smaller dishes is to encourage conversation," she notes. "That is why I chose this place to eat."

"I understand. N'I'm t'ankful, too, Miss Ororo. M'keepin' my head 'bout me. Promise." She grins and continues to eat as well, even using some of those fancy table manners people are bonkers about. "What made y'b'come a teacher? Did y'always wanna help people like dat?"

"Please. I am simply Ororo. No 'Miss,' if you would be so kind." Ororo makes a little wiggle of her fingers. Her own table manners are well-trained, but she doesn't make a big show of them. "I was brought here by a man — not the same man as I mentioned earlier, I must hasten to note — who saw in me great potential. I have done my best to honor what he taught me, and one way that I do so is by teaching at his school. Granted, I do not have the most glamorous of assignments: health class, the birds and the bees, that sort of thing. I feel it is equally as essential to know as math or literature, being just as much a part of our lives."

Ororo dabs at her lips with a napkin. "To answer the second part of your question: no, I did not always want to help people. When I was a child on the streets, I was selfish. I stole and profited off of the losses of others. It was not until my teenage years that I became invested in helping my community. Thankfully, that interest has stuck around."

"I, ah…yeah. I c'n relate. T'de five-finger-discountin' of stuff. Sometimes, I still do it, jus' tryin' t'shake needin' to. S'hard, 'specially if dats how y'survived." Poking at her food with the prongs of her fork, she takes up another bit of chicken and calmly chews it away. "Well, m'glad y'in a good place now. Dat's always good. Promisin', too. N'what y'teachin' is important." Lyn agrees, giving a few nods of her head that causes her large hair to wave with the motion.

Ororo's own mohawk tends to move with her head, to an extent. It stays straight up, but the way it sometimes wobbles… there's clearly no product slicking it into shape, or if there is, it's hard to detect. Her hair is simply another mystery of her being.

"The road presents itself to all of us," Ororo says, musing as she turns her fork over in her hand. "There are times and places where we do not notice it, and times when we might reject it, or make ourselves blind to it. It is possible to go through an entire lifetime without making a step forward. To those who see it, and understand its promise… if they remain true to themselves and their goals, they will find their way. As I did. As I hope you will, as well."

Lyn smiles and then giggles. "Well, didn' 'xpect dis t'happen. Dat's f'sure. I was jus' lookin' f'a picture of a pretty lady. Guess dem road's is more fun t'walk down den I t'ought." Beaming, she sips from her soda and goes back to eating until her bowl is gone, leaving behind only a few tiny leaves.

Ororo eats at a more measured pace, but being that these are basically appetizers, there is not much to eat. "Thank you," Ororo says, to the comment about her being a pretty lady. She seems genuinely touched. What a big softie. "You yourself are quite appealing," she comments, as the server takes away the plates and the next ones prepare to come out. Ororo opted for croquetas, little deep-fried balls of mixed ingredients. Vegetarian, in her case. "I imagine if our positions were reversed, I would be the one stopping to take a picture of you."

Lyn blushes, rose staining her cheeks as she looks away and down at her own meal. It was something fried as well, but with meat if she were so allowed to have some. They're ripe with heat, apparent to the degree that one's nose could pick it out via scent along. "T'anks. Guess some day I get my picture taken, too. Who knows." Another timid smile, she sets to eating like before, taking care not to pack her cheeks like she normally would. "Y'like it here? In dis place?" Comes a follow up question from a conversation topic awhile back. "Dis city, I mean."

The tapas joint is vegetarian-friendly, but meat is still on the menu. Ororo has simply elected to go without. "I can take your picture right now, if you like. You said you wanted to take pictures to remember things. Perhaps a picture would serve to remind you of your first time eating at Pil-Pil." Ororo gives an easy, wry smile. "The city is… I have a complicated relationship with it. There is so much about it that is completely divorced from nature. At times it can almost feel suffocating. But there is so much here. So much life, so much activity, so much humanity. Even in the places that fall between the cracks. I do not think I would ever want to live in Manhattan full-time, but I am grateful for the opportunity to spend time here, and meet interesting people." The goddess winks.

Another smile, another blush, Lyn silences herself with another mouthful of food. Cleaning off her fingers and lips with a napkin, she digs for the old camera and offers it to Ororo. "Ok, here." She then pauses and turns to the server. "Excuse me, could y'take our picture, please?" Assuming the serve would be happy to do so, or at least willing to do so, Lyn leans a bit closer to Ororo and smiles.

The flash is quick, as before, a blinding white light that is gone as soon as it blinks into existance. Giving her thanks, the girl reclaims her camera and puts it away. "Dat'll be a good one. We be de weird eye n'hair duo."

Ororo is playfully holding up a fork-stabbed croqueta in the photo, pointing to space with it like a leader's baton. She's not a goddess in every photo. Besides, she feels relaxed and at ease with Lyn, not in the least because she feels like she's run into someone at an earlier point on her own life path.

"I have been accused of worse," Ororo says with a laugh. "Simply promise me not to end up on any FBI Most Wanted lists. Otherwise this picture will be plastered in every article about you. Not that I mind that part, I just hope that if it is plastered in those articles, it is because those articles are positive ones."

Lyn chuckles and nods. "Promise. I ain't…I ain't bad, y'know? Jus' did t'ings I ain't proud of. Y'live or y'die, n' I jus' wanted t'live. M'doin' better now, dough. Got a place t'stay. New clothes, n'I eat more on de regular. Even picked up a job de other day. Meetin' all types a'teachers, too." As before, her meal is gone rather quickly.

"Hearing all of this pleases me," Ororo says. Yet again, she says words that should come out of a queen's mouth, with a cadence that backs that up, but filtered through a tone of friendliness and good cheer. 'Pleases me.' As if someone else's life was to be lived for Ororo's pleasure?

"We have all done things that we are not proud of," Ororo nods. She does not delay the next course by much, but part of her being a slower eater is that she speaks in paragraphs. "What I have found in my life is that it is not wise to forget or bury those mistakes and missteps. Instead, we should remember them, but without shame or rumination. There is no going back, no re-dos. We should meditate on them, and distill them to what they are — actions that we should not have taken, and examples on how to live our lives in the future. The most useful teacher to meet is oneself, Lyn. Remember that, always. You will learn so much more by examining yourself, and I do not mean in the mirror."

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 License