(no subject)
As Ana wanders away, Natalie turns her attention back to the fascinating task of peering through glass and murky water at lobsters. Her basket is balanced over her elbow, already half-filled with pieces of produce and a half-dozen eggs.
Nearby, sunglasses are scattered on the floor where Ana left them.
Pyro's basket is not nearly so healthy. There's a frozen pizza, hot pockets, token bunch of apples, and a 6-pack of Foster's. He wanders up to the counter, flagging down the deli attendant. "I'll take a half pound of your store turkey."
Natalie straightens again, sweeping the long tail of a braid over her shoulder as her gaze sweeps sideways and her hand falls away from the tank. She pauses for a moment, blinking at Pyro as her memory strains.
Pyro taps his fingers on the glass, as he waits for his meat to be cut, catching sight of the live seafood out of the corner of his eye. "Ace," he says, sliding down to the other end of deli counter to take a better look. "Oh, hey," he says, blinking as he recognizes Natalie. "The girl from the library. Math student, right?"
"Oh! From the library," Natalie recognizes now that Pyro has conveniently supplied it. Her fingers lift and tap against the glass. "Right. With the-- what? Sartre or Camus or-- uh. Was that someone else?"
Pyro squints at her, his own mind running back to whatever he'd been reading. "Dickens," he finally recalls, supplying that as well. He bends over, staring into the tank. "You know how to cook one of these babies?"
"Oh. Huh?" Natalie's gaze sweeps back to the lobsters with swift startlement. "What? Oh, no. I'm not buying one."
"Yeah, me either," Pyro shrugs, straightening. "Cool to look at, though. Not many animals you gotta kill yourself in the City."
"I kill mice," Natalie shares absently as she taps at a lobster in the tank, which waves a claw at her.
"Doesn't count if they already live in your apartment."
"Huh?" Natalie is good with the attention span tonight. She glances quickly toward Pyro and then breaks into a laughing smile. "Oh-- no! I buy them. At the pet store."
"You buy them to kill them?" Pyro stares at her. "What, like have a pet snake?"
"Nah," Natalie answers deadpan. "They're for the rituals."
"Oh," Pyro replies, with a single nod. "That's almost as cool as a snake, then."
"That's because you don't know what I do with them." Natalie blinks quite evenly.
"Well, with as long as this guy's taking to shred my turkey," Pyro indicates, with a head jerk at the deli attendant, "You could probably give me a run down."
"I don't share my secrets."
"The strong, silent type." Pyro leans against the counter, watching the last slices of meat being wrapped up. "I like that."
"Yeah?" Natalie's smile flickers into place, warm with amusement as she eyes Pyro. "I'm strong, huh?"
"Well, one out of two ain't bad," Pyro answers. "These days, though, you never know. You could...be able to lift that whole shelf, for all I know."
Natalie glances over toward the shelf and then back to Pyro. Her brows raise doubtfully, and she lifts a arm in silence to flex. The muscles she shows off are not impressive.
"Eh, could use a spot of work," Pyro comments, taking the meat with a nod, and tucking it into his basket. "Just need someone to show you the ropes."
Natalie lifts her brows, although her smile edges toward a grin. "What, first I'm strong, now I'm puny? Way to go with the judgemental, man."
"Hey now," Pyro protests, throwing up his free hand. "Don't be puttin' words into my mouth. Not bad, not bad, just nothing compared to /this/ beast," he grins, flexing his own arm--decently-defined but nothing to write home about.
"/Beast/?" Try as she might (and she doesn't actually try), Natalie cannot help the sputter into laughter at /that/ answer.
Pyro only grins in response. He can take a ribbing--at least when he initiates it. "Eh, workin' on it. Though that's not /quite/ the response I'm aiming for."
"Maybe you should refrain grom referring to yourself as 'Beast', then," Natalie suggests seriously.
"Suggestions, I need suggestions," Pyro waves a hand. "You can't just cut a mate to the core like that and leave 'im floundering."
"What, for a nickname?"
"Sure."
Natalie has reconnected.
Natalie lifts her brows and settles her free hand into her jeans pocket. "I don't know your real name," she points out.
"Jo--onathan," Pyro says, sliding out the rest of the name, before plunging forward. "And yours? S'only fair."
"Joooonathan?" Natalie mimics with lifted brows. "Don't go by John huh, mate?"
"Oh, please," Pyro replies, distainfully.
"Please?" Natalie wonders innocently. "Sorry, I think you have to ask the guys behind the counter to get the lobsters out."
"You really /are/ a brat, arentcha?" Pyro says, one finger tapping at the tank of lobsters, sending them swimming about. "I don't have a clue what to do with one of these either."
"A brat? Man. You /really/ know how to flatter a girl."
"Yeah, likewise," Pyro flashes a grin back at her. "And you /still/ haven't told me your name."
"I know how to flatter a girl," Natalie answers with a wicked grin that lingers for a moment on Pyro before she offers, "Natalie."
"Ahhhhhh," Pyro teases. "/That/ explains so much. Well, /Natalie/, it was good bumping into you again. Maybe it'll happen again sometime."
"And then I can call you John. Or Beast," Natalie answers cheerfully.
Pyro snorts as he passes her "You can sure try."
"Later, Johnny boy!" Natalie calls as he passes, and then she settles into a grin and starts off in the opposite direction.
Pyro bumps into Natalie again. The discuss lobsters and other monstrous creatures. Sorta.
=NYC= Destroyed Lot - Clinton - Manhattan
Dirt and ash clod together into noxious patches of black mud - plant life only just beginning to struggle up through the uneven earth around whatever cement and metal structures remain of what was once Worthington House. A support here, a few planks of scorched wood there, razor wire...a few pieces of construction equipment are placed further out into the lot, but they look as though they haven't seen any real use in several days. Nobody really cares about this place anymore.
It's dark. It's also 65 degrees outside, and no longer raining, so there's no particular /need/ for a trashcan drum to be brimming with flames. And yet, there it is, off in one corner of the lot. Pyro's hankered down beside it, staring at the light and shadow, tossing little rocks across the rubble of the yard.
Out of the darkened street, a shadow approaches. Deliberate and dignified in his advance, a black knit cap pulled down firmly over his silver crown, Erik narrows his eyes against the bright lick of the fire as he draws closer to it. His clothing is casual. Loose-fitting jeans, and a brown leather coat that his hands tuck into as he angles his attention over onto Pyro.
The fire flares, not entirely unnaturally, casting more light about the surrounding area, and giving Pyro a chance to get a better look at the newcomer. He relaxes, giving a single nod of recognition, not moving though from his position.
Leonine features bleakly defined by that flare of light and cast shadow, Erik thins the line of his mouth into the faint beginning of a smile within the borders of the bristle that surrounds it. "In a few days time, I intend to move a majority of our people out of the city. Back to camp."
"Oh," is Pyro's disappointed response. He continues to stare at the fire a moment, before asking the next question. "Why's that?"
"A variety of reasons, really. First and foremost, I believe it is time for us to settle back and observe the intentions of the new regime in order to prepare ourselves for potential trouble where there is currently none. None deserving of a war effort, anyway." Posture a little more at ease than usual, perhaps as a side effect of his wardrobe, Magneto tilts his attention away from the fire and back to John after a few seconds of quiet observation. "I would like to keep you here, for the time being, to continue what you have begun. A few of us will remain behind to function beneath you. Some may stay, some may be cycled back and forth, as they are needed."
Pyro blinks, head slowly swiveling to look at Magneto, checking to see if he's indeed serious. "No complaints here," he says, after a moment. "Wasn't looking forward to going back to that bloody place."
Magneto is, indeed, serious if the direct line of his gaze is any indication, although there is some forced patience evident in the lines around his eyes at Pyro's opinion of base camp. "I should warn you that matters may well escalate in the days to come. Sabretooth has returned to us, and will likely wish to make himself of use."
"Only as far as they make us," Pyro claims. And at least if his reports are accurate, he seems to be trying very hard to follow that tarnished rule. "Has he now? Think he'll stick around long nuff to /be/ of use?"
"He seems to be sincere in his desire to resume raping and pillaging under the title of Brother." Tone only mildly condescending to the potential for benefit to be gained there, Erik looks sidelong to John, and then back to the fire. "He can be difficult to control. I would even go so far as to say that he is best...pointed in a given direction, and then released to do as he will."
"So yer leaving him here too, I take it?"
"I imagine he will venture back and forth as he sees fit." At the fire, Erik lifts a brow. "You too are welcome to return at any time, should you desire the company."
"Bloody long drive to the middle of nowhere," Pyro sniffs. "But guess it's nice to use my real name, at least."
"I'm hardly leaving you the helicopter, if that's what you're after." Earnest amusement gruffs low in the older mutant's voice, and he keeps that one brow lifted. "I will make the official announcement once I have had an opportunity to speak with one or two others - hopefully within a matter of days. Otherwise, if you have any questions or concerns, now is the time."
"Rough enough? Too rough?"
"You have shown fair restraint thus far. If you should find that further violence is necessary..." The scruff of his chin lifts, and he leaves the suggestion open ended.
Pyro lifts an eyebrow. He glances about, before extending one arm toward the fire. One of the flames leaps toward him, forming a small ball in his hand. It rotates a moment until he clenches his hand, extinguishing the light and fire. "You got it."
At the extinguishment of fire and light, Erik nods once, in approval or in farewell, and takes a slow, muddy step back in the direction of the street. "Keep me apprised of your actions. I will be in contact, about the meeting."
Pyro nods, his head turning back to watch the fire and the slight traces of his handiwork.
Blue eyes flicker down after the whole of Pyro's form and posture, and Erik turns silently to crunch off along his casual way.
Pyro/Magneto. It's clean. Honest.