Future Partnerships


alexander_icon.gif griffin_icon.gif

Scene Title Future Partnerships
Synopsis Two telekinetics meet and bond.
Date October 7, 2010

Condemned Tenement

Grif may be in a cab. Al, however, is not. That red hair is distinctive, as is the pale skin and the icy blue eyes. He's back in his usual drab, one step up from homeless gear - worn army parka, t-shirt, jeans, boots, olive drab old duffle slung over one shoulder. Heading, perhaps, for the still-ruined zones where he can find somewhere to squat for a day or two. Former celebrity and amnesty have done nothing to reconcile him to the government or the mass of the unEvolved, apparently - there's still that crazy-feral air to him.

Today was a day of luxury. Griffin took a cab ride home today, to make up for his wounds, and the headache he's had since yesterday after using his ability so…strenuously. The man, wearing a pair of dress slacks and a simple t-shirt, steps out of the cab in front of the Condemned Tenement, which is starting to see construction activity. Sadly, this also means that most of the bum activity in the area has died down, and Griffin is relatively alone in the building that he still chooses to inhabit.

A bag filled with clothing is pulled out, the man rummaging within for a moment, before pushing the clothes back down. The cab driver is paid, and promptly drives off, leaving the tired-looking Griffin standing upon the sidewalk, staring up at the abandoned building quietly. He really has no clue if it's even a good idea for him to be here…so he'll stay in one of the other abandoned structures nearby after gathering his things.

Alexander is relatively ignored for now, though his presence does not go unnoticed by the hook-nosed man.
Al's paid him only the most cursory of glances. Too busy scoping out the building himself, in hopes of a secure, quiet, and warm place to sleep. AT least, at first…..and then, slowly, his attention slips sideways to the other man. Really, staring is rude - in primates, it -is- a threat gesture. But he can't help himself. Trying desperately to remember where he knows that distinctive profile from.

When he feels eyes on him, Griffin turns, glimpsing to Alexander with a faint smile on his face, then back to the building. However, after a moment, green eyes turn back toward Alexander, brows raising as he peers thoughtfully over to the man, with that same expression of recognition. He knows that red hair, and those blue eyes. He's seen it before…

When you frighten or shock Alex, his immediate response is to clamp down on his power. Clamp down so hard he ends up going in the other direction, and thus creating a weird little zone of muted sound around him. Which is precisely what happens now - there's a little puff of dust around his feet, as if he'd just landed from a height. He takes a stumbling step back, as if Griffin might be there to return him to that prison. An utterly irrational response, but he can't entirely help himself.

The man's brows raise as Alex stumbles back away from him, and Griffin shakes his head. "Oh— no! I'm not bad!" His voice is surprisingly gentle as he peers at the other man; thankfully, he's not so much frightened or shocked, as he is mildly surprised. He remember that face from Moab. Judging by the scar, likely from the yard of the prison.

"You— you were at Moab, weren't you? I was, too…" He doesn't make a move to get closer to the redheaded man, instead staying in place and watching the other telekinetic thoughtfully.
It's one of those moments when words are hard. Alex is visibly fighting off what must be a flashback. "Yes," he says, voice very low, surprisingly husky for his size and build. "I was. I remember you." Must be the nose. That's hard to forget.

Griffin's sister pokes fun of his nose by pointing out that it's easy to find with Google Maps; it's quite true. His nose makes him difficult to forget. "I remember you, too." The words really are quite difficult to come up with; eventually, he just jerks his head toward the tenement. "I'm not sure how safe this place is gonna be." He's not sure how wanted he is, either. "Construction is going on right now, and cops are prowling after yesterday's insanity."

Alexander blows out his breath in a frustrated hiss. "Yeah," he agrees. "I figured. Might be Midtown for me, again." He can afford a hotel, even if it's a cheap one. Why is he doing this? His gaze darts, nervously. Like he's looking for somewhere to hide.

Griffin peers thoughtfully at Alexander for a long moment, his jaw working thoughtfully. Then, he begins walking toward the old tenement, using a cake to help with a prominent limp he walks with. "Come with me, if you like. I have to get a few belongings. Then, I know a good building in Midtown to stay in. Quiet, nobody bothers you." He tilts his head toward the man.

He literally trembles with indecision, like a kicked dog. Hesitates, poised, but then yields against better sense, hefting his duffle and trotting over to fall into pace with Griffin.

Griffin leads the way into the building. It's definitely in the process of being cleaned up, with the graffiti scrubbed from the walls (though some of the artwork has been left in tact for now), and the trash having been cleared by now. The man pushes his way into a first story apartment, and promptly tosses the bag into a corner, pulling two guns from it and stuffing them into duffel bag of his own, in which clothing is already packed.

As he does this, he speaks to Alex. "So what are you up to here in New York? Your name was…Al, right?" He squints over at the redheaded man.

The guns don't make him flinch. Al observes them with only cursory interest, a blue glance. A more leisurely inspection takes in the rest of the room. "That's right," He agrees, quietly. It comes out as 'That's raht' - the Southern accent is jarring, especially up here.

Griffin finishes gathering his bag, and slings it over his shoulder, leaning on his cane just a bit more than before. Bad knee, that much hasn't changed from the days of Moab. "Al. I'm Griffin." Just a reminder. "What's got you here in New York City?" He moves towards the door again once the bag is zipped up, a faint smile on his face. Good. No trace of him. Just in case they come looking…Rupert is bound to have something written down about him and this construction effort. He doesn't want to be here, just in case.

"I'm coming back. I was here for a while…." The redhead's expression is distant, distracted. "Guess I can't stay away." He eyes Griffin, and asks, bluntly, "Why were you in Moab?"

The man chuckles faintly at the blumt questioning, leading the way out into the empty halls of the condemned tenement. "Because when my ability manifested ten years ago, it caused me to quite literally rip my wife to pieces." This is said quietly as he moves past Alex, before the man is limping toward the exit of the building, quite obviously not intending to stay here long.
Well, yeah…uh, oh. The changes of expression on Al's face are comical in their transparency. Dismay, sympathy, settling back to that shell-shocked neutrality. "I'm sorry," he says, quietly, as he follows.

"It's not your fault, Al." Griffin's tone is still quite gentle, even as he slips out the front door of the tenement and begins his trek toward Midtown. "And why were you in Moab?" A green-eyed glance is cast back toward Al, the man allowing one eyebrow to arch high on his forehead.

"I'm a terrorist. In that I belonged to Phoenix, back when," Al explains, casually. "So, they grabbed me." For all his apparent relaxation, there's a weird little wave of force travelling with him. Someone's control is slipping.

"A terrorist, hmm?" Griffin tilts his head to one side, making note of that wave of force that seems to trail along with the younger man. "Seems that you and I are not so different, then. I'd avoid staying at the Tenement. I can't be certain, but my fear is that I was on Rupert Carmichael's little 'list' that the police found, and that they know I've been staying there." He tilts his head back toward the tenement.

Alexander glances back, and has grace enough to look embarassed. The ripples of dust vanish, and Al scratches at his scalp, nervously. "I don't know it," he admits, voice low.

Griffin smiles faintly at Al. "Your ability seems mildly familiar. What is it, if I may ask?" He's still limping along with his cane rather quickly, fairly spry for a man with an obviously bad knee.
"Telekinesis." It's a flat explanation. He doesn't demonstrate.

Griffin's brows raise faintly, then he is nodding slowly. "Then you and I have the same ability, I suppose." Though the classification is quite general. "You're only the second telekinetic I've met, and the first I've not been trying to attack." This is said matter-of-factly as the man continues to walk.

"Good," says Al, with that weird lack of affect. Like he can't bring himself to care. "It gets tiring, fighting one of our own kind," For all his weary voice, he's marching along like he could do it all night, despite the weight of the duffle.

Griffin moves a fair deal slower than his impromptu companion, thanks to a limp that's made worse by the bag he has slung over his shoulder. "I must agree. Sad that it never seems to end." This is said in a musing tone. Then, after a moment, he turns to peer thoughtfully at Alexander. Former terrorist like himself, moab escapee, and fellow telekinetic.

Once things get a bit less chaotic, he may need to consider informing his 'employers' about this one.
The redhead meets Griffin's gaze levelly. It's not a staring contest, he's not particularly fierce about it. But nor does he look away. After a moment, coppery brows lift, quizzically. "Yes?" he wonders.

An enigmatic smile meets Alex's quizzical look. "I was pondering the merits of reccomending you to the, ah, group that I work with. From all that I've seen and heard from you, I believe that it may be right up your alley. Assuming you'd be interested, I may speak to my leaders." If they're still around.

Al looks….wary, at that. He cants his head, eyeing the other telekine sharply. "What kind of group?" he wonders.

Griffin tilts his head to the side, peering at Alexander thoughtfully. "A group not unlike Phoenix." He makes a soft humming sound for a moment. "You fit the bill, certainly." He hefts the bag over his shoulder a bit more.
He swallows, once, hard. "I was part of PARIAH, and then Phoenix, for a long time," he says, simply. "That's why I was in Moab. And then I was pardoned." It's all delivered in that offhand way.

Griffin nods quietly. "I may bring you to the attention of my leaders, unless you have any objections. You have, after all, been pardoned." He raises his brows. Not to mention, the going isn't exactly great for Messiah these days.

"You can bring me to their attention, if you want. What is this ….." He trails off. The question isn't worth asking. "I don't promise anything," he adds, jamming his hands into his pockets.

"It's got similar ideals to both PARIAH and Phoenix." The man shrugs quietly. "Look at the news. You'll see us all over the place." He glances to Alexander. "I can't make any promises, either, but…we could certainly use the help, I'm sure."

Alexander purses his lips at that, eyes narrowed to pale blue slits. "I see," he says, softly. "I see. I could….perhaps see myself helping out."

Griffin nods slowly, hefting the bag up a bit more. "It seems like something that would be right up your alley." He glances up as they begin to near Midtown, smiling faintly. At least it's relatively safe there…

"I've done my share of damage," Al notes, casually, as he trails a step behind Griffin. Watching the other man, as if there were something there to figure out.

Griffin seems to be leading the way toward a cluster of abandoned buildings, still using his cane to limp along. "As have I." He chuckles faintly. "I'll speak to them."

Alexander inclines his head to that. "Good. Some of them might remember me, if they were part of one of those organizations." His expression is almost wistful.

Green eyes turn briefly back toward Alexander, before focusing on the building he's leading the way toward; they aren't far now. "It is an extremely good possibility." He smiles faintly.

"You begin to make me uneasy," says the redhead, drily. "WAs this really a chance meeting?"

"I'm quite as uneasy as you are, I'm sure." He chuckles softly, stepping up to the building he has in mind, an old, half-demolished apartment building, and steps inside. "It really was a chance meeting; I lived and worked at that old apartment building."

Alexander's tread is surprisingly soft, despite his size. He follows silently. "I don't mean you any harm," he says. But somehow it fails to convince.

"I'm certain you don't." The tall, thin man leads the way into a shabby apartment that has a few mattresses collected on the floor. Throwing his bag onto the bed, his eyes flash completely white, and a bottle of what appears to be scotch, along with two glasses, promptly float out of an air vent of their own volition. "Do you drink scotch?" One of the cups floats over to Alexander, while the bottle unscrews itself and pours a good two fingers into the cup, which he finally takes from the air.

And that makes the pale blue eyes light up,and he takes the cup from the air….with a purely mundane hand, not his own power. "Do I ever," he says, with clear relish.

The scotch bottle pours Alexander a good two fingers of scotch, as well, before capping itself and coming to rest on the bed. Griffin then raises the cup toward Alex in a small cheers. "Good to meet another scotch drinker. I'm sure we will get along well."

He lifts his own cup in salute, solemn, despite the gleam in his eyes. "Here's to future partnerships," he says, drily.

"To future partnerships." Griffin nods toward Alexander, before taking a long sip of the harsh amber liquid.

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