Bahir, Ryan
> (Bahir, Ryan)'>
8/9
=NYC= Central Park North - Manhattan
Like a white dove among crows or a diamond among common rocks, Central Park is a welcome refuge from the otherwise nature-lacking urban jungle of New York...a city that, while still becoming, will never be clean or new again. But here, beauty is to be found amid the plethora of trees and open green space, coalescing with cobbled walkways, dirt paths, and the occasional sudden children's carousel or some such whimsical attribute. A few taverns and cafes line the edges of the park, including the famous Tavern on the Green, and the chance vendor may set up base here during the long summer months. Several rocky protrusions appear to have been purposely placed amid the meadows of Northern Central Park, in lieu of benches.
As August afternoons go, this is a mild one: the sun more veiled than not by the puff off far-away clouds, and low humidity assures that the lack of a breeze does not ruin the day. Looking unreasonably well for one who has pulled a rather late evening that involved high quantities of alcohol, Bahir is stretched upon a lump of rock that has luck enough to rest in shade. Sunglasses pushed up to rest in unbound dark hair, he is writing in a notebook. A lot of scribbling things out is involved.
A four year old really does not understand the excuse of "Daddy went to the bar last night and doesn't feel good," for not wanting to go to the park. A four year old simply understands that it is miraculously nice weather, and he wants to go play. Predictably in this particular father-son relationship, the four year old wins.
Suddenly, Rocket runs up to the rock that Bahir is stretched upon, red-cheeked and breathless like he's been running for some time. "I win!" he declares, triumphantly, back over his shoulder. "/I/ get the candy bar!"
Ryan comes jogging up behind at a nice slow pace -- clearly, his heart wasn't in the competition. The bags beneath his eyes testify that he, at least, is still suffering the afteraffects of last night. "All right, all right, sit down and I'll get your snack out," he says to his son, not yet recognizing the person behind the notebook on the rock.
"F--fft." Bahir's natural response comes in the form of language entirely inappropriate to four-year old ears, New York or not. He lowers his pin, and looks over the paper toward Rocket with mild irritation. "You know," he says, addressing the boy, rather than the father, "/I/ was here before either of you." Yeah, that's right. He'd steal candy from children.
"But you didn't race!" Rocket says, indignant.
"Sorry," Ryan apologizes, reflexively, and only then recognizes Bahir. "Oh -- hi. We can go somewhere else, it's no trouble. Alternatively, I brought enough to share if you want a snack."
"Yeah, I did. I just got a head start." In a swift gesture, Bahir draws a laaarge X across his writing, going over it twice before turning to a blank page. "Whatever." He pays little attention to Ryan, at first, looking up only after a moment. His eyes narrow. "Mmm. Weren't you the guy who passed out at the bar?" he asks bluntly. Cover your ears, Rocket!
Out of the pack Ryan withdraws a juicebox and half a sandwich. "Real food first, then you get the candy bar," he says, gesturing his son over to come eat before he can bug Bahir much more. Rocket makes a face, but dutifully goes to sit on the grass and eat. "That was me," Ryan answers, nodding. "There was a mutant there at the bar. Maybe more than one." He says this like this is the first and most logical explanation for passing out at a bar.
Dark eyebrows draw up with the slight, skeptical curve of Bahir's lip. "What, a mutant knocked you out? Is that the new excuse instead of 'Sorry, honey, I had too much to drink?'"
"I only had one drink," Ryan says, shaking his head. "Besides, it's happened before. Mutant in the room, I start feeling sick. Like an allergy." He shrugs. "You were the one having the bet with your friend, right? Who ended up winning?"
"I did," Bahir maybe lies. "Then she asked someone else so we tied." He points a cheap plastic pen at Ryan, cap slightly chewed. "That's a weird allergy. I suspect you just can't hold your alcohol. Besides, you obviously already had impaired judgment."
Ryan laughs and settles down into a seated position on the grass, hunting in his backpack for a bottle of water for himself. "I don't think it's impaired judgement for a straight guy to think that a girl in a short skirt is hotter than some guy," he comments. "And she really was --" He pauses, noticing his son eavesdropping with wide, interested eyes. "-- a very nice girl," he finishes lamely.
Laughter silent, Bahir's lips part over the flash of a quick grin as he notes the eavesdropper, and then looks back down at the paper. Scribble. Scratch. "Yes, she is," he agrees. "And it was pretty short, wasn't it?" Scribble, scribble. Scraaaaaaatch.
"It was extremely short," Ryan agrees readily. "Very nice. So are you two friends, or --" He pauses, tilts his head to the side, and can't think of what they could be other than friends.
Dark eyes slant up over the page: Bahir takes Ryan in carefully crafted solemnity. "Are you going to ask me for her number? I won't give it to you, I'm afraid. You understand. Strangers who can't hold their liquor and concoct bizarre explanations to cover for it."
"Daaaaad," Rocket begins to complain, looking somewhat upset as he sucks on his juicebox. "Are you gonna have a girlfriend again?"
"No, I just -- " Ryan begins to answer Bahir, and then looks at his son in surprise. "No, Rocket. She was just a nice girl that I met while you were playing with Hannah. That's all."
He pauses briefly, and then adds to Bahir, nettled, "And I /can/ hold my liquor. I know it's wierd, but it's the honest-to-God truth. Mutants make me physically sick."
Scribbling pausing, Bahir regards Ryan blankly. Then he looks to his son. "That's not your /name/, is it?" he asks with a very bland incredulity. "Your dad's not that mean to you, right?" He sits up, setting his pen down. He regards Ryan with a certain dark humor. "Lots of people say that, but they usually don't mean in an allergic sort of way."
"Yes," Rocket answers in the same breath that his father answers, "No." The two stare at each other for a moment before Ryan explains. "He's Ryan, like me. But that was too confusing for his mom, so she -- it was kind of an inside joke. Poor kid's stuck with it now." He smiles and then nods. "Yeah, I know. But most people who say that don't actually throw up or pass out when there are mutants around. I do. Have since I can first remember even running into a mutant."
"You'll change your answer when you enter school," Bahir predicts with a last sidelong glance at Jr. A faint twist to his lips could be called a smile as he regards Ryan. (Sr.) "That's pretty weird." Curiosity, ever the mortal enemy of felines, scratches to be freed. "Can't you like, take Benedryl?" he asks, bland.
"It's not /wierd/," Rocket defends himself. "You're wierd!"
Ryan gives his son a warning look and then shrugs at Bahir. "Haven't really tried. Honestly, I just try to avoid mutants as much as I can. Being sick is unpleasant, but getting my thoughts read or shot with lightning or whatever is worse. Best to just stay away. If I'd noticed that guy at the bar earlier, I'd've just left."
Bahir's gaze slips to Rocket, and he flicks a short gesture in idle clarification. "I didn't say your name was weird. I meant his getting sick was weird. But your name /is/ pretty weird, kid." Curiosity leashes with the return of his attention. He scratches the back of his neck. "Yeah. Hard to avoid them, though, when you never know where one might be." He smiles. SMILE SMILE SMILE. "What guy?"
Ryan tips his head to the side in a moment of thought while Rocket glares fiercely at Bahir and sucks on his juicebox. "He's on the CPAM posters; I should know his name," he says to himself, brow furrowed. "Jackson something, I think. I've run into him before. He's got an attitude problem." Like most mutants seem to have when confronted with Ryan's attitude problem. "There may have been another mutant there, though. I don't usually go out that fast. Although I guess the chick at Grand Central knocked me out pretty quick, too. It might be getting worse."
"Oh. Him." Impervious to pint-sized glares, Bahir glances over in Rocket's direction only long enough to enviously regard his juicebox. He puts on his very best scientist face, sitting up to regard Ryan. "That sounds pretty serious. If it is getting worse--! I mean, they are all /over/. Like /roaches/. You should get that looked at."
The Natalie who appears rather down the path is showing a /touch/ less skin than the evening previous. Clad in dark denim capris and a green tee, fitted and with some quippy saying about math across the front, and with both glasses and ponytail in place, she looks far more the stressed grad student that she is. Her wander is less than hurried, flip-flops slapping against the concrete as she keeps a lazy eye out for Bahir.
"Maybe," Ryan admits, slowly. Noticing Bahir's glance to the juicebox, he reaches into the pack to pull out two more. He is a well-prepared dad, certainly. "I've certainly been running into more of that type lately. I knew New York City was full of them, but not /this/ full." He raises his eyebrows at Bahir, and then glances at the extra juiceboxes. "You want one? Like I said, I've got plenty of snacks. We are stealing your shade, after all." He notices Natalie's approach, but between the glasses and the lack of skin, doesn't recognize her right away, gaze sliding over without a pause.
"Mm. I think that would be a bad message for your son. After all, you're a stranger, and juice boxes aren't that different from candy." And yet, Bahir leans forward with a grabby-hand gesture. "We'll call it a toll, if you like." He strips the plastic from the straw and stabs it into the box like a pro. "New to the city?" he asks, taking a sip. He has claimed prime territory upon a broad rock beneath a heavy fall of shade. He isn't hard to spot, but he's stopped looking with fresh distraction.
Nice to know Bahir's priorities! Natalie rubs a hand across her forehead and sweeps a glance across the place, skipping over Bahir for a moment due to having gained, y'know, man and child, before it moves back and she blinks. There is a faintly tired sigh, and then she pushes forward toward him, hand lifted in a wave.
"Not that new, really," Ryan says. "What has it been, a year?" He looks at Rocket, who shrugs, baffled. Four year olds are not all that good at telling time. "I was a little leary of the city's reputation, but you've got to follow where the work is." As Natalie waves, his gaze pauses on her again, taking a second before he recognizes her. "Hey, there's your friend," he says to Bahir, tipping his head in that direction.
"Ah!" Bahir rises as Natalie nears, leaving behind notebook and pen on the rock. He waves back. As she closes, he calls, "Hey, Natalie." He leaves behind the thread of their conversation to pick on obnoxious possibilities: "Ryan thinks your skirt was very nice."
"Hey," Natalie returns before she turns her gaze toward Ryan and blows out a breath, a sudden huff of embarrasment in the light of day. "Oh. Ryan. Right, yeah. Hey. Hi." She draws to a halt between the pair of them and lifts her brows in silent query. Why is he here?
"Hi," Ryan says, casting a brief, nettled glare at Bahir. "I was going to buy you a drink last night, but I, uh, got distracted. Best I can do right now is a juice box." It has 100 percent real juice! He picks it up, displaying it on an open palm. "It's the last one, if you want it."
Bahir cheats, answering silent query with silent reply: shields thin, the continual, low burn of telepathy waking into more active use. << Some kind of race with his kid. Invaded my shade! I haven't kicked them out, yet, and I strongly suspect that if you gave him your number -- I mean, just saying, not to imply anything -- that he'd call it. >> Not to matchmake or anything. "Good juice," he says aloud, helpful.
Natalie startles almost visibly at the touch of telepathy and her gaze flashes fast to Bahir, despite the fact that it is Ryan who's speaking to her. "Oh," she says, distracted as she looks back to Ryan. "I-- um. Thanks. Man, yeah, you were the guy who fainted, right? -- Juice?" To Bahir, she replies, << His /kid/? My /number/? >> These two thoughts are apparently related somehow.
Oh, look. There's a telepath using his powers. Ryan's own powers make the conversation nice and easy, and his expression pinches and he rubs at his temples, distracted. "Yeah, that was me. Not really my finest hour. If you wanted to just forget about that, I'd really appreciate it." He tosses the juice box over to her in an easy-to-catch arc, and then turns his gaze around the park, searching for the source of his latest pain.
"Dad, you /fainted/," Rocket says around the straw of his own juicebox, and giggles like it's totally hysterical. "In front of a /girl/."
Bahir shams innocence in his silence, returning Natalie's glance with a bland blink. Luckily for Ryan, the brief flex fades with information conveyed, and now Bahir can be a smart-ass in silence. His shields remain somewhat thinned, an ear tipped in Natalie's direction for the mental equivalent of an elbow to his ribs. "Yes," he says to Rocket. "He did. Several girls."
That bland blink receives an annoyed frown - Bahir is /not/ on her good list at the moment to /start with/ - before Natalie turns to snatch the tossed juice from the air with neat ease and fast reflexes. After a moment she glances back toward Ryan and wonders, "You okay? Hung over or something?" There is only sullen, non-elbowed silence from Natalie.
Rocket giggles again at Bahir's confirmation, much to his father's dismay. "No, I'm fine," Ryan says as the feeling passes, looking puzzled for half a moment and then narrowing his eyes somewhat suspiciously at Natalie. Maybe it was /her/. "Just a little headache. Um. We can be on our way soon and leave you two to your rock. Just stopping for a little snack. You almost done, Rocket?"
Rocket answers by slurping on the juicebox, it makes the tell-tale sound of being almost finished with. "You still owe me a candy bar, cause I /won./"
Irritation on Natalie's part causes Bahir to offer information as a bribe for cheer: << Says he's allergic to mutants, and that's why he passed out last night. Weird, huh? >> Attention split easily enough, he glances over at Rocket. "I still say that I was here first."
Natalie blinks rapidly for a moment and then shakes her head at Ryan slowly. "Don't feel like you have to leave on my account," she assures before adding, << Allergic to /mutants/? >>
Ryan looks even more suspiciously at Natalie as the feeling resumes, and then hunts in his backpack for candy bars. Like with juice boxes, he carries extras. "Here," he says, offering one to Rocket and then tossing a second at Bahir.
"He didn't /race/, Dad," Rocket complains, pouting even as he takes his own treat.
"So? He was here first, like he said," Ryan replies in a firm, not-to-be-argued-with Dad tone. "Let's get going. You can eat that on the way." He begins the process of gathering the trash and rezipping up his bag and shakes his head at Natalie. "No, really, it's fine. We've got chores to do at home. Rooms to clean, dishes to do. All that."
"Hah." Catching the flung candy, Bahir waggles it at Rocket obnoxiously. Obviously, they are on the same emotional level. << Allergic to mutants, >> Bahir says with easy clarity. << I can think of at least four who were around when he passed out-- >> Images briefly flash: her face, a bald head, bright hair, and his own. << --so no real surprise, there. >> "Thanks," he calls to Ryan, "but why the rush? You can have the shade, if you want."
<< Yeah, and he seems super eager for my number, too, >> Natalie answers dryly, somewhat more subtly this time as she looks over to Ryan with a slow breath. "Okay," she says, and glances to Bahir without further comment.
"It's okay," Ryan says, hastily, clearly nervous and starting to look visibly ill, a greenish tint to his complexion. "I really got to -- I'm not feeling well." He looks significantly at Bahir when he says that, and then at Natalie. It's a warning gaze. An 'I think your friend's a mutant' gaze. Although without the benefit of actual, say, words, it may not come across very clearly. He zips up his backpack and slides it on. "C'mon, Rocket."
Ryan holds out his hand for his son, but Rocket doesn't take it. Instead, he glares and flops back onto the grass, lying stretched out in the shade. There might be a tantrum coming on. "I don't /wanna/ clean my room," he grumps, beginning the tantrum preliminaries.
"I hate doing the dishes," Bahir commiserates. "I make my brother do them, instead. Maybe you should make your dad clean your room." Happy homewrecker, he watches Ryan with idle fascination. << You know what? I think he's reacting to you. Interesting. I wonder what causes it? If it were an actual allergy, I'd expect different symptoms, and I can't imagine what he might be reacting to. >>
<< /Reacting/ to /me/? >> Natalie's mental tone is clearly baffled as she peers at Rocket. << Why not you? Or last night? >> "Oh, yes, sound plan, Bahir, corrupt the child," she says dryly, peering at the temper tantrum with a hint of fascination. "How old are you?"
"Four," Rocket grumps at Natalie. "And /I/ don't think you're very pretty."
Ryan has the decency to look embarrassed, distracted though he is. "Sorry. He missed his nap today," he explains, quickly. "The meltdown usually comes on around this time when that happens." He casts a somewhat irritated look at Bahir for his comments, and then adds to his son, "You can get up and walk home, or I can pick you up and carry you, like a baby. Those are your options."
"You're a smart kid. You'll go far," Bahir predicts grandly, easily won over by Rocket's dismissal of Natalie. He crimps a slight smirk at Ryan, irritation only fuel to his obnoxiousness. << I don't know, but he was fine until you came over. And he did pass out after he approached you last night. Maybe you just weren't close enough. Think he'd sit for an MRI as we danced mutants past him? >>
<< I don't know whether to be flattered or insulted, >> Natalie responds, and from the faint tired whine of her mental tone, it seems like the latter might be winning. "Thanks, guys," she answers aloud. "My self-confidence now firmly shattered for the day, let the kid go home and take his nap."
"I'm sorry; you're still very pretty," Ryan says, and even through his suspicion, his glance flicks down to her legs. It's rather disappointing, though, in that they are not nearly as nice when covered by capris. "Rocket doesn't have good taste in girls right now. I'm pretty sure he'd only like you if you were the Pink Ranger or something." Obviously, this is not a father who watches much TV with his son, or he'd be more up-to-date on the latest TV shows.
Rocket has still not answered his father's ultimatum, still lying on the grass and pouting. So Ryan simply makes the decision for him and scoops him up, prompting a wail of disagreement. "Have a good afternoon, both of you," Ryan says, pitching his voice over Rocket's and then turning to walk away.
<< Ghost something small, >> Bahir urges Natalie, lacking only a pitchfork and a perch on her shoulder. << Where he can't see. To test. >> "You too!" he calls after the pair.
"Uh huh," Natalie answers, and then draws out a sigh as they move away, turning to look instead at Bahir for a moment of silence, her gaze a somewhat expectant 'now what?' before she startles abruptly and her eyes widen. "/Here/?" she startles aloud.
With the burden of both backpack and four-year old and the mental drain of Bahir's continuing use of telepathy, Ryan's progress away is rather slow. He's only about twenty feet away when he hears Natalie startling, and pauses to look back, puzzled. He quirks an eyebrow, trying to see if that was for some reason directed at him.
<< Something simple! >> Bahir flaps a hand at Natalie. "Yes, I'm here. You're late!" he says aloud, so subtle in his cover. << Easy to ignore. Pull up a squirrel or something, before he gets away. >> And, alas, the opportunity is swiftly slipping off. "Don't forget to make your dad clean your room!" he calls to Jr. to prolong their lingering.
<< /Fuck/, >> Natalie answers with swift irritation for Bahir, but she does it regardless, closing her eyes to focus in her tired state until somewhere near Bahir, a tiny squirrel appears, intent on rummaging through a pile of leaves that doesn't really exist. They're autumnish leaves.
And it is a very /easy/ squirrel to make, just as it has been an easy telepathic conversation for Bahir. Ryan stumbles in his walk away with the extra drain, just about dropping his son in his haste to set him down. Rocket lets out a fresh wail of protest that is suddenly stilled when Ryan upstages his little drama by stumbling to a nearby trashcan and losing his lunch into it. It is not pretty.
<< Wow. >> Bahir is totally impressed. Hypothesis, meet data! He glances over at Natalie, the glint of his eyes suggesting a joke which is clearly hastily strangled as he clears his throat. HA-hem. << Guess you better kill it, huh? >> He stroooolls over in Ryan's direction, all worried concern as he unleashes telepathy just a little more to go poking about at Ryan's head: first, observation from a distance, eavesdropping shameless. "You okay, man?"
Natalie glances after Ryan, watches this happen, and promptly panics. The squirrel skips, fritzes, and becomes a dog bounding after a frisbee (his master can't be far behind), and she sends out a desperate cry of << /Fuck/, Bahir! Help me turn it off! >> as she stares after Ryan with wide eyes. /She/ doesn't bother to go over and see how he is.
Ryan's head is very easy to read. His thoughts practically announce themselves like vaudevillian actors dancing across a stage. Of course, they're hardly coherent at the moment. << Fucking mutants everywhere oh my god she's a mutant he might be too they're friends don't make them mad my stomach hurts what did I have for lunch today where's Rocket? >> His gaze quickly seeks out his son, who's been just startled out of his tantrum and stands quietly on the side of the path, watching his father with wide eyes. "Fine," he says, coughing and wiping his mouth off with the side of his sleeve, lacking anything better at the moment. Gross. "I just -- got to go." As soon as he can organize his thoughts to permit walking, that is.
"Sure," Bahir says to Ryan, watching with distracted concern. A brief, wistful flicker of reluctance in his gaze, he turns telepathic attention from Ryan's thoughts to skim back in Natalie's direction. Empathy presses in first, pushing down at desperation and panic so that fear does not make her situation worse and send control spiralling away from her grasp. << It's okay, Natalie, >> he assures quickly. << First, calm down, then--! >> Not so very long ago, all that practice in exactly this sort of things allows Bahir to easily redirect Natalie's own attentions; that each push and nudge of his /own/ ability comes easier than expected is a bonus. Belatedly, he adds, "You need a cab or something?"
The instant panic is quelled, Natalie finds her way easy enough, even without the guidance of Bahir's telepathic hand. The dog blinks instantly out, ghosts snuffed instantly back to the past where they belong, and Natalie steps forward with a worried glance at Bahir. After a moment's doubtful silence she says his name a touch pointedly. "Bahir..."
"No, I can manage," Ryan says, taking in a deep, ragged breath, still bracing himself on the trashcan. He has been far to involved in being sick to notice any disappearing dogs or squirrels, fortunately. "Just -- leave me alone." This is said to both of them, with equal suspicion coloring his tone and gaze. Still weak, though with at least the worst of the nausea past him, he turns his back on them, mind focused on the path to the road, getting a cab, and getting Rocket safely away from the danger of any potential mutants.
"Sure," Bahir says readily, and takes a step back, and then another before headed for Natalie. He gives her a brief glance, the 'you okay?' non-telepathic. "/That/," he says, quiet tone vaguely smug, but hardly satisfied with so many questions unanswered, "was interesting."
/Natalie/ is okay. Her brow is furrowed with concern for Ryan, however, and she stares after him for a moment before looking back to Bahir. "Yeah, well, now what?" she shoots at him in return, clearly a touch annoyed.
Ryan looks back once on his way to make sure they aren't following him, deeply paranoid, takes Rocket's hand and half-drags him quickly down the path and out of sight.
"I don't know. I mean, even thinking of it in terms of an actual /allergy/, you'd have to be putting off some kind of -- something, I don't know -- that I don't. Possible, I suppose, if unlikely. You could have some sort of weird secondary--." Bahir breaks off a moment, and eyes Natalie sidelong as he takes fresh measure of her annoyance. "--mutation," he finishes, slower, leaning over to pick up his abandoned notebook and pen. "Unless that's not what you meant?"
"You know his name?" Natalie wonders pointedly. "Phone number, address? Or was your entire plan 'scare the shit out of a guy who thinks he's allergic to mutants and see what happens'?" A pause and then she rolls Bahir an irritated look, lips thinning. "I don't have some sort of weird secondary /anything/, and we're in /public/, thanks."
Bahir gestures. Relative privacy! "I'm not an idiot," he sulks at Natalie. "And the /plan/ was to see if you triggered the reaction when I didn't, and apparently you did." His science is bad. SHH. "He'll be okay, though," he assures with unwarranted confidence. "What about you? Everything under control?"
"Yeah, and follow-up? Any thought to /that/? Or maybe to the guy who's just puked his lunch up--" Natalie breaks off in frustration and turns back to Bahir's spot in the shade, dropping down to it. "Nevermind," she finally says. "I'm fine. Just-- tired and surprised." And grouchy.
Bahir eases in next to Natalie, frowning -- but can't a last tease. "If I'd only thought of it then, instead of not giving him your number, I could've asked for his to later pass on. Then follow-up would be easy." He turns his pen in his fingers, absently glancing across the park. "Speaking of follow-up. Talked to Elias?"
"Oh, yes, because he looked so /very/ interested," Natalie retorts before she leans back, wiggling a bit as she sprawls in the grass and lifts an arm to drape it over her eyes. "What, between when I collapsed into my bed last night-- this /morning/-- and now?"
"Okay, are you going to?" Bahir adjusts easily enough.
"Dunno," Natalie answers, and turns her head slightly, lifting her arm just enough to peer over at him. "What happened to /you/ last night?"
Wrinkling his nose, Bahir taps his pen on the rock beneath them. "Nothing, really. Percy was there. You should've seen him. He was in drag." And, oh wait! He's a telepath! Thus, he takes a moment, composing an image and then stripping it of entangling emotions and thoughts so that he can share it with her. Tada. Percy-ette. "It was his birthday. Is. Today."
Natalie startles upward, lifting herself on the brace of an elbow to stare over at Bahir with a quick blink. "Whoa," she says, and then, "Wow. He really pulls that off-- Come on, Bahir. You left me in the middle of Manhattan in the middle of the night, while drunk, after /Elias kissed me/. Something happened." Her press is insistent, her eyes faintly accusitory.
"Yes." Bahir's agreement comes hissed over irritation. Upon registering it, he shrugs, aiming for something milder: "He does. Nothing happened. He asked me to dance with him. He said I owed him a dance. It wasn't a big deal, but I was just mad. Not as exciting as /your/ night."
That hiss earns surprise, overwriting accusation for a moment as Natalie studies Bahir and pushes herself up further, half-sitting. "Did you dance?" she wonders.
Bahir eyes Natalie, annoyance clear. "I am trying to change the subject so that you can start telling me all about Elias. Yes, we danced. We went out there and danced and he avoided my gaze and, when he looked at me, he stopped, so I stopped." One has the sense the sentence would run on and on, but he has to pause for breath before adding, flat, "And then he kissed my hand and I slapped him, and left the dance floor. So. Elias."
"Yes, I know you are," Natalie replies patiently, brows raised to indicate that she does not particularly care much about such an attempt. She falls silent through the explanation, which, all things told, doesn't /sound/ that bad. Despite that, there is a distinct measure of sympathy in Natalie's gaze, kept company by understanding. "Oh," she says, and then, "Crap. Shit. I should have danced with /you/."
At that, Bahir laughs. "Fuck, yes. You should've. Then we both could've avoided some drama. So. Now. What happened with /Elias/?" And on this, he is firm, silent and saying no more until she begins.
"What happened with Elias is that I was exceedingly stupid and he--" Natalie shakes her head, pushing up to lean forward into her knees as she draws in a breath. "I don't know," she admits. "I honestly have no idea what on earth he could have been /thinking/."
"Maybe he wasn't. Primal reaction to the expanse of skin." Tone solemn, Bahir cants his head. "Why stupid?"
"I wasn't /that/ naked," Natalie answers with a defensive flare of her eyes before she draws in a breath and wrinkles her nose. "I should have left earlier. It wasn't-- I mean. There were--" She breaks off, wiggling a hand in the inability to explain.
"Were there /signs/?" asks Bahir. "Was there /tension/?" No comment on nakedness.
"Well," Natalie hedges, and then looks away to admit, "I should have left earlier. Stopped it."
Bahir makes a vague noise, his gaze turning away, as well. "Well," he says, word as vague as the nothing sound preceding it.
"Yeah," Natalie answers, apparently interpreting that favorably.
"Next time, let's a pick a bar where we don't know anyone."
"Fuck yes," Natalie says, her words muffled by the bend of her head into the press of her arm. "I was going for stress /relief/."
Bahir's grin is quick, bright and sudden as lightning. (No thunder follows, however.) "Oops," he says of the failure of stress relief.
Natalie snorts a breath and says again, "Yeah." There's a pause, and then she breathes out and glances over at Bahir. "I guess I need to call him. Something is-- I mean. There's clearly something going on with him, you know?"
"Yeah, you probably should." Bahir reaches to pull his sunglasses from their perch on top of his head, sliding them on again. "You don't -- I don't know. I mean, you aren't -- you and Elias...?"
"What?" Natalie startles, gaze sweeping sideways to stare at Bahir. "What? No! I mean. Okay, I didn't stop it as fast as I should have, but that was-- I mean. /Elias/."
Bahir shrugs. "He's not /bad/ looking. Not as hot as we are," he admits, leaning over to bump Natalie's elbow, "but then, that might be asking too much. Anyway. Yeah. You should call him."
Natalie snorts and points out, "The man used to /model/," before straightening and rolling her shoulders back. "I'm just worried about him, you know?" she admits. "Even-- even /if/. He absolutely knows how I feel about cheating. I don't know why he would /do/ that."
"Yeah." Turning, Bahir rises to his feet and offers his hands back to Natalie, helping her up in turn. "Come on. Let's go get something to eat and then I can convince you to let me hang around as you call so I can eavesdrop on half of the conversation."
Natalie lifts her hands to tug herself up with the leverage of Bahir, drawing herself up to her feet as she wrinkles her nose and then brushes loose grass from the back of denim with quick strokes. "I'm not having that conversation with him over the phone," she tells him. "And /you're/ not listening in."
Bahir sighs. "You suck." Gathering his things, he folds notebook under one arm and offers the other to Natalie. "Can I listen in on the conversation where you call him to meet with you?"
"Why?"
"I was being obnoxious." Bahir sniffs.
"Yes, I know," Natalie points out patiently. "I was wondering whether there was any particular /motivation/ to this obnoxiousness."
"Removing a step from the chain in which you call him and then call me to tell me what you talked about?"
"Uh huh," Natalie says doubtfully. There's a brief pause, and then she glances over at Bahir. "What did /you/ say to him?"
"To who?" he asks, frowning back at her. "Elias? When?"
"Yes, to Elias," Natalie says with a hint of exasperation. "You know. When he kissed /you/?"
"I don't know. It was all kind of a blur." Bahir waves his hands. "Go home?"
"Well, yeah, but after?" Natalie pushes.
"Let's not talk about it?" Bahir clarifies, "I mean, that's what I said, I think. We haven't talked about it, either."
"Oh-- man." Natalie absorbs that for a moment as they walk, turning over the possibility of just /not talking about it/ in her head.
Bahir grunts in manly fashion. See? Not talking about it.
"But now..." Natalie says, trailing off into private thought before she speaks again, abruptly. "It's a little weird, don't you think? The /both/ of us?"
Bahir frowns slightly, looking back over at Natalie. "Not really?"
"Not really?" Natalie looks back to Bahir.
"Why's it weird?"
"Just--" Natalie explains, lifting her hand in perfect, eloquent explanation.
Except Bahir stares at her blankly.
"Things must be really bad with Jackson right now," Natalie surmises (subject changes?).
"Sounded like they were already bad before, then Jackson sees that--." Bahir breaks off, grimacing slightly. "I feel bad for the kid. I wonder if Elias isn't just more into girls. First Alyssa, then you."
"I don't know, maybe," Natalie says doubtfully. "But I have a hard time believing it was about /that/. I just-- I mean. I feel like he must be having a really crappy time of it to go there, you know?"
"Oh, I doubt it /was/ about that. I just wonder if it isn't part of it." Bahir glances over at Natalie, tipping his head. "He's having a tough time with the fashion stuff, it sounds like. Everything's pretty shitty. I /would/ have suggested coming up with something to help him relax, but I don't know." His expression is Serious. "Might be kisses all over again."
Natalie rolls her eyes briefly and shakes her head. "I think I can manage to avoid /that/, thanks," she assures him, and then breathes out swiftly. "Yeah. That's what I mean. I mean, if it was some random girl, maybe, but he's been going off lately about how I'm going to hate him and then he does /that/, and-- it just doesn't scan." A pause and then she says again, if a bit reluctantly, "I'm worried. I'll call him."
"Now?" asks Bahir, mock-hopeful.
"Later," Natalie says firmly.
"Bitch." Bahir sighs, scuffing along. "Maybe I'll call him first."
"Really?" Natalie looks swiftly toward him, curious.
"'Hi, Elias. I guess you need to talk to Natalie but she won't let me eavesdrop on the conversation so instead I'm going to have the conversation for her,'" Bahir supplies in imaginary opening.
"Uh huh. And then what?"
"Then he would say something." Bahir eyes Natalie, tone very much 'duh'. "Do you want to pretend to be Elias?"
"I don't think I /could/ pretend to be Elias."
Bahir rolls his eyes. "So what /are/ you going to say?"
"Um. Well." Natalie pauses, drawing in a breath as they walk. "I thought I might start with 'what the hell?' and work up to 'what is going on with you'." A pause, and then she ventures carefully, "I haven't decided yet if I'll tell him that he needs to get his head on straight or break up with Jackson, because dicking around is just--"
"Oh boy." Bahir is silent for a few paces, and then glances over again. "Good luck."
"What, no thoughts or advice?" Natalie presses.
"Nope."
Silence stretches for a few steps, and then Natalie asks quietly, "Please?"
"I called him and asked how he was at pretending things didn't happen." Bahir shrugs. "Not the best advice, really, although it seemed to have worked at the time since he and Jackson had started really dating. This -- he did it /while/ they were dating. I don't know. Good luck!"
"That's why I'm worried." A pause stretches again and then Natalie admits, "Except--"
"Except?"
"Okay, remember when you told me you thought Elias had been into /me/?" Natalie asks.
Bahir gestures for Natalie to continue.
"Why?"
"Natural assumption when one unattached adult human spends a prolonged amount of time with another unattached adult human and their sexual orientations are mutually compatible," answers Bahir with teasing rapidity. "I don't know, Natalie. Why not? Is that bothering you?"
"Oh come on," Natalie answers with a roll of her eyes. "You'd better watch it or I'll jump your bones. Being into guys as I am." She draws in a breath and shakes her head. "Not bothering-- just. Some things he's said. Recently. I kind of blew them off a little but--" She shrugs. "I just thought maybe you had a reason you thought that."
With an obnoxious sing-song, Bahir repeats, "/Mutually/." He shrugs in echo, shoulders rolling. "I guess it was that. Little things. I don't know. Talk to him!"
"I'm /going/ to," Natalie answers with an annoyed roll of her eyes. "I'm just trying to-- orient myself. Is all."
"Up," Bahir points. "Down."
"I love how helpful and supportive you are."
Bahir loops his arm around Natalie's shoulder. "I'd be much better tempered if I could eavesdrop, but no! Anyway, what do you feel like eating?"
For just a second, Natalie drops her head to Bahir's shoulder, and then she straightens and breathes in. "Chinese," she determines. "Let's go."
Allergies, Percy, and Elias.
8/9
=NYC= Central Park North - Manhattan
Like a white dove among crows or a diamond among common rocks, Central Park is a welcome refuge from the otherwise nature-lacking urban jungle of New York...a city that, while still becoming, will never be clean or new again. But here, beauty is to be found amid the plethora of trees and open green space, coalescing with cobbled walkways, dirt paths, and the occasional sudden children's carousel or some such whimsical attribute. A few taverns and cafes line the edges of the park, including the famous Tavern on the Green, and the chance vendor may set up base here during the long summer months. Several rocky protrusions appear to have been purposely placed amid the meadows of Northern Central Park, in lieu of benches.
As August afternoons go, this is a mild one: the sun more veiled than not by the puff off far-away clouds, and low humidity assures that the lack of a breeze does not ruin the day. Looking unreasonably well for one who has pulled a rather late evening that involved high quantities of alcohol, Bahir is stretched upon a lump of rock that has luck enough to rest in shade. Sunglasses pushed up to rest in unbound dark hair, he is writing in a notebook. A lot of scribbling things out is involved.
A four year old really does not understand the excuse of "Daddy went to the bar last night and doesn't feel good," for not wanting to go to the park. A four year old simply understands that it is miraculously nice weather, and he wants to go play. Predictably in this particular father-son relationship, the four year old wins.
Suddenly, Rocket runs up to the rock that Bahir is stretched upon, red-cheeked and breathless like he's been running for some time. "I win!" he declares, triumphantly, back over his shoulder. "/I/ get the candy bar!"
Ryan comes jogging up behind at a nice slow pace -- clearly, his heart wasn't in the competition. The bags beneath his eyes testify that he, at least, is still suffering the afteraffects of last night. "All right, all right, sit down and I'll get your snack out," he says to his son, not yet recognizing the person behind the notebook on the rock.
"F--fft." Bahir's natural response comes in the form of language entirely inappropriate to four-year old ears, New York or not. He lowers his pin, and looks over the paper toward Rocket with mild irritation. "You know," he says, addressing the boy, rather than the father, "/I/ was here before either of you." Yeah, that's right. He'd steal candy from children.
"But you didn't race!" Rocket says, indignant.
"Sorry," Ryan apologizes, reflexively, and only then recognizes Bahir. "Oh -- hi. We can go somewhere else, it's no trouble. Alternatively, I brought enough to share if you want a snack."
"Yeah, I did. I just got a head start." In a swift gesture, Bahir draws a laaarge X across his writing, going over it twice before turning to a blank page. "Whatever." He pays little attention to Ryan, at first, looking up only after a moment. His eyes narrow. "Mmm. Weren't you the guy who passed out at the bar?" he asks bluntly. Cover your ears, Rocket!
Out of the pack Ryan withdraws a juicebox and half a sandwich. "Real food first, then you get the candy bar," he says, gesturing his son over to come eat before he can bug Bahir much more. Rocket makes a face, but dutifully goes to sit on the grass and eat. "That was me," Ryan answers, nodding. "There was a mutant there at the bar. Maybe more than one." He says this like this is the first and most logical explanation for passing out at a bar.
Dark eyebrows draw up with the slight, skeptical curve of Bahir's lip. "What, a mutant knocked you out? Is that the new excuse instead of 'Sorry, honey, I had too much to drink?'"
"I only had one drink," Ryan says, shaking his head. "Besides, it's happened before. Mutant in the room, I start feeling sick. Like an allergy." He shrugs. "You were the one having the bet with your friend, right? Who ended up winning?"
"I did," Bahir maybe lies. "Then she asked someone else so we tied." He points a cheap plastic pen at Ryan, cap slightly chewed. "That's a weird allergy. I suspect you just can't hold your alcohol. Besides, you obviously already had impaired judgment."
Ryan laughs and settles down into a seated position on the grass, hunting in his backpack for a bottle of water for himself. "I don't think it's impaired judgement for a straight guy to think that a girl in a short skirt is hotter than some guy," he comments. "And she really was --" He pauses, noticing his son eavesdropping with wide, interested eyes. "-- a very nice girl," he finishes lamely.
Laughter silent, Bahir's lips part over the flash of a quick grin as he notes the eavesdropper, and then looks back down at the paper. Scribble. Scratch. "Yes, she is," he agrees. "And it was pretty short, wasn't it?" Scribble, scribble. Scraaaaaaatch.
"It was extremely short," Ryan agrees readily. "Very nice. So are you two friends, or --" He pauses, tilts his head to the side, and can't think of what they could be other than friends.
Dark eyes slant up over the page: Bahir takes Ryan in carefully crafted solemnity. "Are you going to ask me for her number? I won't give it to you, I'm afraid. You understand. Strangers who can't hold their liquor and concoct bizarre explanations to cover for it."
"Daaaaad," Rocket begins to complain, looking somewhat upset as he sucks on his juicebox. "Are you gonna have a girlfriend again?"
"No, I just -- " Ryan begins to answer Bahir, and then looks at his son in surprise. "No, Rocket. She was just a nice girl that I met while you were playing with Hannah. That's all."
He pauses briefly, and then adds to Bahir, nettled, "And I /can/ hold my liquor. I know it's wierd, but it's the honest-to-God truth. Mutants make me physically sick."
Scribbling pausing, Bahir regards Ryan blankly. Then he looks to his son. "That's not your /name/, is it?" he asks with a very bland incredulity. "Your dad's not that mean to you, right?" He sits up, setting his pen down. He regards Ryan with a certain dark humor. "Lots of people say that, but they usually don't mean in an allergic sort of way."
"Yes," Rocket answers in the same breath that his father answers, "No." The two stare at each other for a moment before Ryan explains. "He's Ryan, like me. But that was too confusing for his mom, so she -- it was kind of an inside joke. Poor kid's stuck with it now." He smiles and then nods. "Yeah, I know. But most people who say that don't actually throw up or pass out when there are mutants around. I do. Have since I can first remember even running into a mutant."
"You'll change your answer when you enter school," Bahir predicts with a last sidelong glance at Jr. A faint twist to his lips could be called a smile as he regards Ryan. (Sr.) "That's pretty weird." Curiosity, ever the mortal enemy of felines, scratches to be freed. "Can't you like, take Benedryl?" he asks, bland.
"It's not /wierd/," Rocket defends himself. "You're wierd!"
Ryan gives his son a warning look and then shrugs at Bahir. "Haven't really tried. Honestly, I just try to avoid mutants as much as I can. Being sick is unpleasant, but getting my thoughts read or shot with lightning or whatever is worse. Best to just stay away. If I'd noticed that guy at the bar earlier, I'd've just left."
Bahir's gaze slips to Rocket, and he flicks a short gesture in idle clarification. "I didn't say your name was weird. I meant his getting sick was weird. But your name /is/ pretty weird, kid." Curiosity leashes with the return of his attention. He scratches the back of his neck. "Yeah. Hard to avoid them, though, when you never know where one might be." He smiles. SMILE SMILE SMILE. "What guy?"
Ryan tips his head to the side in a moment of thought while Rocket glares fiercely at Bahir and sucks on his juicebox. "He's on the CPAM posters; I should know his name," he says to himself, brow furrowed. "Jackson something, I think. I've run into him before. He's got an attitude problem." Like most mutants seem to have when confronted with Ryan's attitude problem. "There may have been another mutant there, though. I don't usually go out that fast. Although I guess the chick at Grand Central knocked me out pretty quick, too. It might be getting worse."
"Oh. Him." Impervious to pint-sized glares, Bahir glances over in Rocket's direction only long enough to enviously regard his juicebox. He puts on his very best scientist face, sitting up to regard Ryan. "That sounds pretty serious. If it is getting worse--! I mean, they are all /over/. Like /roaches/. You should get that looked at."
The Natalie who appears rather down the path is showing a /touch/ less skin than the evening previous. Clad in dark denim capris and a green tee, fitted and with some quippy saying about math across the front, and with both glasses and ponytail in place, she looks far more the stressed grad student that she is. Her wander is less than hurried, flip-flops slapping against the concrete as she keeps a lazy eye out for Bahir.
"Maybe," Ryan admits, slowly. Noticing Bahir's glance to the juicebox, he reaches into the pack to pull out two more. He is a well-prepared dad, certainly. "I've certainly been running into more of that type lately. I knew New York City was full of them, but not /this/ full." He raises his eyebrows at Bahir, and then glances at the extra juiceboxes. "You want one? Like I said, I've got plenty of snacks. We are stealing your shade, after all." He notices Natalie's approach, but between the glasses and the lack of skin, doesn't recognize her right away, gaze sliding over without a pause.
"Mm. I think that would be a bad message for your son. After all, you're a stranger, and juice boxes aren't that different from candy." And yet, Bahir leans forward with a grabby-hand gesture. "We'll call it a toll, if you like." He strips the plastic from the straw and stabs it into the box like a pro. "New to the city?" he asks, taking a sip. He has claimed prime territory upon a broad rock beneath a heavy fall of shade. He isn't hard to spot, but he's stopped looking with fresh distraction.
Nice to know Bahir's priorities! Natalie rubs a hand across her forehead and sweeps a glance across the place, skipping over Bahir for a moment due to having gained, y'know, man and child, before it moves back and she blinks. There is a faintly tired sigh, and then she pushes forward toward him, hand lifted in a wave.
"Not that new, really," Ryan says. "What has it been, a year?" He looks at Rocket, who shrugs, baffled. Four year olds are not all that good at telling time. "I was a little leary of the city's reputation, but you've got to follow where the work is." As Natalie waves, his gaze pauses on her again, taking a second before he recognizes her. "Hey, there's your friend," he says to Bahir, tipping his head in that direction.
"Ah!" Bahir rises as Natalie nears, leaving behind notebook and pen on the rock. He waves back. As she closes, he calls, "Hey, Natalie." He leaves behind the thread of their conversation to pick on obnoxious possibilities: "Ryan thinks your skirt was very nice."
"Hey," Natalie returns before she turns her gaze toward Ryan and blows out a breath, a sudden huff of embarrasment in the light of day. "Oh. Ryan. Right, yeah. Hey. Hi." She draws to a halt between the pair of them and lifts her brows in silent query. Why is he here?
"Hi," Ryan says, casting a brief, nettled glare at Bahir. "I was going to buy you a drink last night, but I, uh, got distracted. Best I can do right now is a juice box." It has 100 percent real juice! He picks it up, displaying it on an open palm. "It's the last one, if you want it."
Bahir cheats, answering silent query with silent reply: shields thin, the continual, low burn of telepathy waking into more active use. << Some kind of race with his kid. Invaded my shade! I haven't kicked them out, yet, and I strongly suspect that if you gave him your number -- I mean, just saying, not to imply anything -- that he'd call it. >> Not to matchmake or anything. "Good juice," he says aloud, helpful.
Natalie startles almost visibly at the touch of telepathy and her gaze flashes fast to Bahir, despite the fact that it is Ryan who's speaking to her. "Oh," she says, distracted as she looks back to Ryan. "I-- um. Thanks. Man, yeah, you were the guy who fainted, right? -- Juice?" To Bahir, she replies, << His /kid/? My /number/? >> These two thoughts are apparently related somehow.
Oh, look. There's a telepath using his powers. Ryan's own powers make the conversation nice and easy, and his expression pinches and he rubs at his temples, distracted. "Yeah, that was me. Not really my finest hour. If you wanted to just forget about that, I'd really appreciate it." He tosses the juice box over to her in an easy-to-catch arc, and then turns his gaze around the park, searching for the source of his latest pain.
"Dad, you /fainted/," Rocket says around the straw of his own juicebox, and giggles like it's totally hysterical. "In front of a /girl/."
Bahir shams innocence in his silence, returning Natalie's glance with a bland blink. Luckily for Ryan, the brief flex fades with information conveyed, and now Bahir can be a smart-ass in silence. His shields remain somewhat thinned, an ear tipped in Natalie's direction for the mental equivalent of an elbow to his ribs. "Yes," he says to Rocket. "He did. Several girls."
That bland blink receives an annoyed frown - Bahir is /not/ on her good list at the moment to /start with/ - before Natalie turns to snatch the tossed juice from the air with neat ease and fast reflexes. After a moment she glances back toward Ryan and wonders, "You okay? Hung over or something?" There is only sullen, non-elbowed silence from Natalie.
Rocket giggles again at Bahir's confirmation, much to his father's dismay. "No, I'm fine," Ryan says as the feeling passes, looking puzzled for half a moment and then narrowing his eyes somewhat suspiciously at Natalie. Maybe it was /her/. "Just a little headache. Um. We can be on our way soon and leave you two to your rock. Just stopping for a little snack. You almost done, Rocket?"
Rocket answers by slurping on the juicebox, it makes the tell-tale sound of being almost finished with. "You still owe me a candy bar, cause I /won./"
Irritation on Natalie's part causes Bahir to offer information as a bribe for cheer: << Says he's allergic to mutants, and that's why he passed out last night. Weird, huh? >> Attention split easily enough, he glances over at Rocket. "I still say that I was here first."
Natalie blinks rapidly for a moment and then shakes her head at Ryan slowly. "Don't feel like you have to leave on my account," she assures before adding, << Allergic to /mutants/? >>
Ryan looks even more suspiciously at Natalie as the feeling resumes, and then hunts in his backpack for candy bars. Like with juice boxes, he carries extras. "Here," he says, offering one to Rocket and then tossing a second at Bahir.
"He didn't /race/, Dad," Rocket complains, pouting even as he takes his own treat.
"So? He was here first, like he said," Ryan replies in a firm, not-to-be-argued-with Dad tone. "Let's get going. You can eat that on the way." He begins the process of gathering the trash and rezipping up his bag and shakes his head at Natalie. "No, really, it's fine. We've got chores to do at home. Rooms to clean, dishes to do. All that."
"Hah." Catching the flung candy, Bahir waggles it at Rocket obnoxiously. Obviously, they are on the same emotional level. << Allergic to mutants, >> Bahir says with easy clarity. << I can think of at least four who were around when he passed out-- >> Images briefly flash: her face, a bald head, bright hair, and his own. << --so no real surprise, there. >> "Thanks," he calls to Ryan, "but why the rush? You can have the shade, if you want."
<< Yeah, and he seems super eager for my number, too, >> Natalie answers dryly, somewhat more subtly this time as she looks over to Ryan with a slow breath. "Okay," she says, and glances to Bahir without further comment.
"It's okay," Ryan says, hastily, clearly nervous and starting to look visibly ill, a greenish tint to his complexion. "I really got to -- I'm not feeling well." He looks significantly at Bahir when he says that, and then at Natalie. It's a warning gaze. An 'I think your friend's a mutant' gaze. Although without the benefit of actual, say, words, it may not come across very clearly. He zips up his backpack and slides it on. "C'mon, Rocket."
Ryan holds out his hand for his son, but Rocket doesn't take it. Instead, he glares and flops back onto the grass, lying stretched out in the shade. There might be a tantrum coming on. "I don't /wanna/ clean my room," he grumps, beginning the tantrum preliminaries.
"I hate doing the dishes," Bahir commiserates. "I make my brother do them, instead. Maybe you should make your dad clean your room." Happy homewrecker, he watches Ryan with idle fascination. << You know what? I think he's reacting to you. Interesting. I wonder what causes it? If it were an actual allergy, I'd expect different symptoms, and I can't imagine what he might be reacting to. >>
<< /Reacting/ to /me/? >> Natalie's mental tone is clearly baffled as she peers at Rocket. << Why not you? Or last night? >> "Oh, yes, sound plan, Bahir, corrupt the child," she says dryly, peering at the temper tantrum with a hint of fascination. "How old are you?"
"Four," Rocket grumps at Natalie. "And /I/ don't think you're very pretty."
Ryan has the decency to look embarrassed, distracted though he is. "Sorry. He missed his nap today," he explains, quickly. "The meltdown usually comes on around this time when that happens." He casts a somewhat irritated look at Bahir for his comments, and then adds to his son, "You can get up and walk home, or I can pick you up and carry you, like a baby. Those are your options."
"You're a smart kid. You'll go far," Bahir predicts grandly, easily won over by Rocket's dismissal of Natalie. He crimps a slight smirk at Ryan, irritation only fuel to his obnoxiousness. << I don't know, but he was fine until you came over. And he did pass out after he approached you last night. Maybe you just weren't close enough. Think he'd sit for an MRI as we danced mutants past him? >>
<< I don't know whether to be flattered or insulted, >> Natalie responds, and from the faint tired whine of her mental tone, it seems like the latter might be winning. "Thanks, guys," she answers aloud. "My self-confidence now firmly shattered for the day, let the kid go home and take his nap."
"I'm sorry; you're still very pretty," Ryan says, and even through his suspicion, his glance flicks down to her legs. It's rather disappointing, though, in that they are not nearly as nice when covered by capris. "Rocket doesn't have good taste in girls right now. I'm pretty sure he'd only like you if you were the Pink Ranger or something." Obviously, this is not a father who watches much TV with his son, or he'd be more up-to-date on the latest TV shows.
Rocket has still not answered his father's ultimatum, still lying on the grass and pouting. So Ryan simply makes the decision for him and scoops him up, prompting a wail of disagreement. "Have a good afternoon, both of you," Ryan says, pitching his voice over Rocket's and then turning to walk away.
<< Ghost something small, >> Bahir urges Natalie, lacking only a pitchfork and a perch on her shoulder. << Where he can't see. To test. >> "You too!" he calls after the pair.
"Uh huh," Natalie answers, and then draws out a sigh as they move away, turning to look instead at Bahir for a moment of silence, her gaze a somewhat expectant 'now what?' before she startles abruptly and her eyes widen. "/Here/?" she startles aloud.
With the burden of both backpack and four-year old and the mental drain of Bahir's continuing use of telepathy, Ryan's progress away is rather slow. He's only about twenty feet away when he hears Natalie startling, and pauses to look back, puzzled. He quirks an eyebrow, trying to see if that was for some reason directed at him.
<< Something simple! >> Bahir flaps a hand at Natalie. "Yes, I'm here. You're late!" he says aloud, so subtle in his cover. << Easy to ignore. Pull up a squirrel or something, before he gets away. >> And, alas, the opportunity is swiftly slipping off. "Don't forget to make your dad clean your room!" he calls to Jr. to prolong their lingering.
<< /Fuck/, >> Natalie answers with swift irritation for Bahir, but she does it regardless, closing her eyes to focus in her tired state until somewhere near Bahir, a tiny squirrel appears, intent on rummaging through a pile of leaves that doesn't really exist. They're autumnish leaves.
And it is a very /easy/ squirrel to make, just as it has been an easy telepathic conversation for Bahir. Ryan stumbles in his walk away with the extra drain, just about dropping his son in his haste to set him down. Rocket lets out a fresh wail of protest that is suddenly stilled when Ryan upstages his little drama by stumbling to a nearby trashcan and losing his lunch into it. It is not pretty.
<< Wow. >> Bahir is totally impressed. Hypothesis, meet data! He glances over at Natalie, the glint of his eyes suggesting a joke which is clearly hastily strangled as he clears his throat. HA-hem. << Guess you better kill it, huh? >> He stroooolls over in Ryan's direction, all worried concern as he unleashes telepathy just a little more to go poking about at Ryan's head: first, observation from a distance, eavesdropping shameless. "You okay, man?"
Natalie glances after Ryan, watches this happen, and promptly panics. The squirrel skips, fritzes, and becomes a dog bounding after a frisbee (his master can't be far behind), and she sends out a desperate cry of << /Fuck/, Bahir! Help me turn it off! >> as she stares after Ryan with wide eyes. /She/ doesn't bother to go over and see how he is.
Ryan's head is very easy to read. His thoughts practically announce themselves like vaudevillian actors dancing across a stage. Of course, they're hardly coherent at the moment. << Fucking mutants everywhere oh my god she's a mutant he might be too they're friends don't make them mad my stomach hurts what did I have for lunch today where's Rocket? >> His gaze quickly seeks out his son, who's been just startled out of his tantrum and stands quietly on the side of the path, watching his father with wide eyes. "Fine," he says, coughing and wiping his mouth off with the side of his sleeve, lacking anything better at the moment. Gross. "I just -- got to go." As soon as he can organize his thoughts to permit walking, that is.
"Sure," Bahir says to Ryan, watching with distracted concern. A brief, wistful flicker of reluctance in his gaze, he turns telepathic attention from Ryan's thoughts to skim back in Natalie's direction. Empathy presses in first, pushing down at desperation and panic so that fear does not make her situation worse and send control spiralling away from her grasp. << It's okay, Natalie, >> he assures quickly. << First, calm down, then--! >> Not so very long ago, all that practice in exactly this sort of things allows Bahir to easily redirect Natalie's own attentions; that each push and nudge of his /own/ ability comes easier than expected is a bonus. Belatedly, he adds, "You need a cab or something?"
The instant panic is quelled, Natalie finds her way easy enough, even without the guidance of Bahir's telepathic hand. The dog blinks instantly out, ghosts snuffed instantly back to the past where they belong, and Natalie steps forward with a worried glance at Bahir. After a moment's doubtful silence she says his name a touch pointedly. "Bahir..."
"No, I can manage," Ryan says, taking in a deep, ragged breath, still bracing himself on the trashcan. He has been far to involved in being sick to notice any disappearing dogs or squirrels, fortunately. "Just -- leave me alone." This is said to both of them, with equal suspicion coloring his tone and gaze. Still weak, though with at least the worst of the nausea past him, he turns his back on them, mind focused on the path to the road, getting a cab, and getting Rocket safely away from the danger of any potential mutants.
"Sure," Bahir says readily, and takes a step back, and then another before headed for Natalie. He gives her a brief glance, the 'you okay?' non-telepathic. "/That/," he says, quiet tone vaguely smug, but hardly satisfied with so many questions unanswered, "was interesting."
/Natalie/ is okay. Her brow is furrowed with concern for Ryan, however, and she stares after him for a moment before looking back to Bahir. "Yeah, well, now what?" she shoots at him in return, clearly a touch annoyed.
Ryan looks back once on his way to make sure they aren't following him, deeply paranoid, takes Rocket's hand and half-drags him quickly down the path and out of sight.
"I don't know. I mean, even thinking of it in terms of an actual /allergy/, you'd have to be putting off some kind of -- something, I don't know -- that I don't. Possible, I suppose, if unlikely. You could have some sort of weird secondary--." Bahir breaks off a moment, and eyes Natalie sidelong as he takes fresh measure of her annoyance. "--mutation," he finishes, slower, leaning over to pick up his abandoned notebook and pen. "Unless that's not what you meant?"
"You know his name?" Natalie wonders pointedly. "Phone number, address? Or was your entire plan 'scare the shit out of a guy who thinks he's allergic to mutants and see what happens'?" A pause and then she rolls Bahir an irritated look, lips thinning. "I don't have some sort of weird secondary /anything/, and we're in /public/, thanks."
Bahir gestures. Relative privacy! "I'm not an idiot," he sulks at Natalie. "And the /plan/ was to see if you triggered the reaction when I didn't, and apparently you did." His science is bad. SHH. "He'll be okay, though," he assures with unwarranted confidence. "What about you? Everything under control?"
"Yeah, and follow-up? Any thought to /that/? Or maybe to the guy who's just puked his lunch up--" Natalie breaks off in frustration and turns back to Bahir's spot in the shade, dropping down to it. "Nevermind," she finally says. "I'm fine. Just-- tired and surprised." And grouchy.
Bahir eases in next to Natalie, frowning -- but can't a last tease. "If I'd only thought of it then, instead of not giving him your number, I could've asked for his to later pass on. Then follow-up would be easy." He turns his pen in his fingers, absently glancing across the park. "Speaking of follow-up. Talked to Elias?"
"Oh, yes, because he looked so /very/ interested," Natalie retorts before she leans back, wiggling a bit as she sprawls in the grass and lifts an arm to drape it over her eyes. "What, between when I collapsed into my bed last night-- this /morning/-- and now?"
"Okay, are you going to?" Bahir adjusts easily enough.
"Dunno," Natalie answers, and turns her head slightly, lifting her arm just enough to peer over at him. "What happened to /you/ last night?"
Wrinkling his nose, Bahir taps his pen on the rock beneath them. "Nothing, really. Percy was there. You should've seen him. He was in drag." And, oh wait! He's a telepath! Thus, he takes a moment, composing an image and then stripping it of entangling emotions and thoughts so that he can share it with her. Tada. Percy-ette. "It was his birthday. Is. Today."
Natalie startles upward, lifting herself on the brace of an elbow to stare over at Bahir with a quick blink. "Whoa," she says, and then, "Wow. He really pulls that off-- Come on, Bahir. You left me in the middle of Manhattan in the middle of the night, while drunk, after /Elias kissed me/. Something happened." Her press is insistent, her eyes faintly accusitory.
"Yes." Bahir's agreement comes hissed over irritation. Upon registering it, he shrugs, aiming for something milder: "He does. Nothing happened. He asked me to dance with him. He said I owed him a dance. It wasn't a big deal, but I was just mad. Not as exciting as /your/ night."
That hiss earns surprise, overwriting accusation for a moment as Natalie studies Bahir and pushes herself up further, half-sitting. "Did you dance?" she wonders.
Bahir eyes Natalie, annoyance clear. "I am trying to change the subject so that you can start telling me all about Elias. Yes, we danced. We went out there and danced and he avoided my gaze and, when he looked at me, he stopped, so I stopped." One has the sense the sentence would run on and on, but he has to pause for breath before adding, flat, "And then he kissed my hand and I slapped him, and left the dance floor. So. Elias."
"Yes, I know you are," Natalie replies patiently, brows raised to indicate that she does not particularly care much about such an attempt. She falls silent through the explanation, which, all things told, doesn't /sound/ that bad. Despite that, there is a distinct measure of sympathy in Natalie's gaze, kept company by understanding. "Oh," she says, and then, "Crap. Shit. I should have danced with /you/."
At that, Bahir laughs. "Fuck, yes. You should've. Then we both could've avoided some drama. So. Now. What happened with /Elias/?" And on this, he is firm, silent and saying no more until she begins.
"What happened with Elias is that I was exceedingly stupid and he--" Natalie shakes her head, pushing up to lean forward into her knees as she draws in a breath. "I don't know," she admits. "I honestly have no idea what on earth he could have been /thinking/."
"Maybe he wasn't. Primal reaction to the expanse of skin." Tone solemn, Bahir cants his head. "Why stupid?"
"I wasn't /that/ naked," Natalie answers with a defensive flare of her eyes before she draws in a breath and wrinkles her nose. "I should have left earlier. It wasn't-- I mean. There were--" She breaks off, wiggling a hand in the inability to explain.
"Were there /signs/?" asks Bahir. "Was there /tension/?" No comment on nakedness.
"Well," Natalie hedges, and then looks away to admit, "I should have left earlier. Stopped it."
Bahir makes a vague noise, his gaze turning away, as well. "Well," he says, word as vague as the nothing sound preceding it.
"Yeah," Natalie answers, apparently interpreting that favorably.
"Next time, let's a pick a bar where we don't know anyone."
"Fuck yes," Natalie says, her words muffled by the bend of her head into the press of her arm. "I was going for stress /relief/."
Bahir's grin is quick, bright and sudden as lightning. (No thunder follows, however.) "Oops," he says of the failure of stress relief.
Natalie snorts a breath and says again, "Yeah." There's a pause, and then she breathes out and glances over at Bahir. "I guess I need to call him. Something is-- I mean. There's clearly something going on with him, you know?"
"Yeah, you probably should." Bahir reaches to pull his sunglasses from their perch on top of his head, sliding them on again. "You don't -- I don't know. I mean, you aren't -- you and Elias...?"
"What?" Natalie startles, gaze sweeping sideways to stare at Bahir. "What? No! I mean. Okay, I didn't stop it as fast as I should have, but that was-- I mean. /Elias/."
Bahir shrugs. "He's not /bad/ looking. Not as hot as we are," he admits, leaning over to bump Natalie's elbow, "but then, that might be asking too much. Anyway. Yeah. You should call him."
Natalie snorts and points out, "The man used to /model/," before straightening and rolling her shoulders back. "I'm just worried about him, you know?" she admits. "Even-- even /if/. He absolutely knows how I feel about cheating. I don't know why he would /do/ that."
"Yeah." Turning, Bahir rises to his feet and offers his hands back to Natalie, helping her up in turn. "Come on. Let's go get something to eat and then I can convince you to let me hang around as you call so I can eavesdrop on half of the conversation."
Natalie lifts her hands to tug herself up with the leverage of Bahir, drawing herself up to her feet as she wrinkles her nose and then brushes loose grass from the back of denim with quick strokes. "I'm not having that conversation with him over the phone," she tells him. "And /you're/ not listening in."
Bahir sighs. "You suck." Gathering his things, he folds notebook under one arm and offers the other to Natalie. "Can I listen in on the conversation where you call him to meet with you?"
"Why?"
"I was being obnoxious." Bahir sniffs.
"Yes, I know," Natalie points out patiently. "I was wondering whether there was any particular /motivation/ to this obnoxiousness."
"Removing a step from the chain in which you call him and then call me to tell me what you talked about?"
"Uh huh," Natalie says doubtfully. There's a brief pause, and then she glances over at Bahir. "What did /you/ say to him?"
"To who?" he asks, frowning back at her. "Elias? When?"
"Yes, to Elias," Natalie says with a hint of exasperation. "You know. When he kissed /you/?"
"I don't know. It was all kind of a blur." Bahir waves his hands. "Go home?"
"Well, yeah, but after?" Natalie pushes.
"Let's not talk about it?" Bahir clarifies, "I mean, that's what I said, I think. We haven't talked about it, either."
"Oh-- man." Natalie absorbs that for a moment as they walk, turning over the possibility of just /not talking about it/ in her head.
Bahir grunts in manly fashion. See? Not talking about it.
"But now..." Natalie says, trailing off into private thought before she speaks again, abruptly. "It's a little weird, don't you think? The /both/ of us?"
Bahir frowns slightly, looking back over at Natalie. "Not really?"
"Not really?" Natalie looks back to Bahir.
"Why's it weird?"
"Just--" Natalie explains, lifting her hand in perfect, eloquent explanation.
Except Bahir stares at her blankly.
"Things must be really bad with Jackson right now," Natalie surmises (subject changes?).
"Sounded like they were already bad before, then Jackson sees that--." Bahir breaks off, grimacing slightly. "I feel bad for the kid. I wonder if Elias isn't just more into girls. First Alyssa, then you."
"I don't know, maybe," Natalie says doubtfully. "But I have a hard time believing it was about /that/. I just-- I mean. I feel like he must be having a really crappy time of it to go there, you know?"
"Oh, I doubt it /was/ about that. I just wonder if it isn't part of it." Bahir glances over at Natalie, tipping his head. "He's having a tough time with the fashion stuff, it sounds like. Everything's pretty shitty. I /would/ have suggested coming up with something to help him relax, but I don't know." His expression is Serious. "Might be kisses all over again."
Natalie rolls her eyes briefly and shakes her head. "I think I can manage to avoid /that/, thanks," she assures him, and then breathes out swiftly. "Yeah. That's what I mean. I mean, if it was some random girl, maybe, but he's been going off lately about how I'm going to hate him and then he does /that/, and-- it just doesn't scan." A pause and then she says again, if a bit reluctantly, "I'm worried. I'll call him."
"Now?" asks Bahir, mock-hopeful.
"Later," Natalie says firmly.
"Bitch." Bahir sighs, scuffing along. "Maybe I'll call him first."
"Really?" Natalie looks swiftly toward him, curious.
"'Hi, Elias. I guess you need to talk to Natalie but she won't let me eavesdrop on the conversation so instead I'm going to have the conversation for her,'" Bahir supplies in imaginary opening.
"Uh huh. And then what?"
"Then he would say something." Bahir eyes Natalie, tone very much 'duh'. "Do you want to pretend to be Elias?"
"I don't think I /could/ pretend to be Elias."
Bahir rolls his eyes. "So what /are/ you going to say?"
"Um. Well." Natalie pauses, drawing in a breath as they walk. "I thought I might start with 'what the hell?' and work up to 'what is going on with you'." A pause, and then she ventures carefully, "I haven't decided yet if I'll tell him that he needs to get his head on straight or break up with Jackson, because dicking around is just--"
"Oh boy." Bahir is silent for a few paces, and then glances over again. "Good luck."
"What, no thoughts or advice?" Natalie presses.
"Nope."
Silence stretches for a few steps, and then Natalie asks quietly, "Please?"
"I called him and asked how he was at pretending things didn't happen." Bahir shrugs. "Not the best advice, really, although it seemed to have worked at the time since he and Jackson had started really dating. This -- he did it /while/ they were dating. I don't know. Good luck!"
"That's why I'm worried." A pause stretches again and then Natalie admits, "Except--"
"Except?"
"Okay, remember when you told me you thought Elias had been into /me/?" Natalie asks.
Bahir gestures for Natalie to continue.
"Why?"
"Natural assumption when one unattached adult human spends a prolonged amount of time with another unattached adult human and their sexual orientations are mutually compatible," answers Bahir with teasing rapidity. "I don't know, Natalie. Why not? Is that bothering you?"
"Oh come on," Natalie answers with a roll of her eyes. "You'd better watch it or I'll jump your bones. Being into guys as I am." She draws in a breath and shakes her head. "Not bothering-- just. Some things he's said. Recently. I kind of blew them off a little but--" She shrugs. "I just thought maybe you had a reason you thought that."
With an obnoxious sing-song, Bahir repeats, "/Mutually/." He shrugs in echo, shoulders rolling. "I guess it was that. Little things. I don't know. Talk to him!"
"I'm /going/ to," Natalie answers with an annoyed roll of her eyes. "I'm just trying to-- orient myself. Is all."
"Up," Bahir points. "Down."
"I love how helpful and supportive you are."
Bahir loops his arm around Natalie's shoulder. "I'd be much better tempered if I could eavesdrop, but no! Anyway, what do you feel like eating?"
For just a second, Natalie drops her head to Bahir's shoulder, and then she straightens and breathes in. "Chinese," she determines. "Let's go."
Allergies, Percy, and Elias.