2011 05 07 Waiting At The Pharmacy

Log Title:
Waiting at the Pharmacy

Beast, Phantasm

IC Date:
7 May 2011

A Pharmacy

Brief log summary::
While waiting for a prescription, Mike spots a tux wearing, twinkee seeking Beast. Chatter commences.


There is no TS in this log::

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It is perhaps a bit further from Mike's apartment than the corner drugstore would have been but sometimes with certain medications, you don't get to pick the location. Sometimes, if you need to get something filled outright, you have to go to the medicine. And this is how Mike finds himself in this particular drug store, practically on the outer portion of the city. The sound of generic, lyric-less music plays in the background as he sits, slumped in one of the chairs of the so called waiting area. Hair tucked away in his cap, the musician rests his chin on an open palm as he glances tiredly to the shelves. Watching what few people come into the store, make their purchases and leave. He guesses he could look around the store once more, but he somehow doubts any of the merchandise has changed since the last two look arounds.

If there's one universal constant to the world, everyone winds up in a pharmacy at some point. Ofthen for one of the three P's. Prescriptions, Prophylactics, or Pampers. While the somewhat well known member of the X-Men and former Avenger Hank McCoy isn't in the market for any of the top three… he still finds himself in the same drugstore. Given he's not sporting his typical Speedo costume, it must be a night off. The Beast is actually dressed quite handsomely at the moment, in a tuxedo… though without the matching shoes of course. One can tell so much about someone from not only their style of dress, but also their casual purches. It's clear it's after whatever function that the blue-furred apelike mutant was attending, given his tie is undone. As Mike takes note of Hank picking up several boxes of Hostess Twinkies from the shelves. Uneventful or unsatisfying date, no doubt.

With the appearance of something obviously new and different. Pale eyes shift in their glance to the other public figure, causing for the memory of another who has had the misfortune to be dressed up at some point to surface. A half smile forms as he straightens up in his seat a little. Legs stretch out as he gives a slight groan of discomfort. He stretches his arms a bit as well, causing for a popping sound to come from one of his joints. From half assed slump to reasonably good posture so quickly. It must be the presence of the tux in the store. "Dollar store tends to carry those for about 19 cents less per box."

Beast glances up from his planned purchase, a brow perked in amusement. People don't tend to be chatty in the drugstore, at least not this time of night. Not unless they're drunk or looking for a date. Hank takes note of you, looking you over as he makes his way back to where you're sitting. "Unfortunatly they tend to be quite stale. And unfortunatly, with my senses it's not a pleasing taste on the palette." Hank smiles warmly as he glances to the pharmacy counter and then back to you. "How long have you been waiting? I assume a while, as you're breaking the usual 'Don't talk to strange people at the drugstore this late at night' rule."

"You're also not exactly an unknown." Mike points out, head tilting to match the glance of the other mutant, "I think I can risk it. And you have more of a problem hiding who you are more than I would." With McCoy's glance towards the counter, Mike finds his own glance traveling that way as well for a few moments, finding nothing of interest over there. So the blue furball gets it again. "Right on both counts." Mike admits, "Don't think they get many requests for what I need so they're probably having to dig it out from the back. Or I came right before a dinner break."

"Well, you can't believe everything you've seen in the newspaper or on TV." Hank notes, in regard to him being a familiar face. "I wouldn't say it's a problem. I just choose not to most of the time." Hank picks up a magazine from the seat next to you an takes a seat. Hank offers a light hrm in reply in regard to what you are waiting for, though doesn't want to inquire about personal matters. "Or they're keeping you waiting, hoping you'll buy something." Hank grins, offering his oversized hand… being careful of the claws. "You seem to know me, but I'm certainly at a disadvantage there. Henry McCoy, though my friends call me Hank." His real name is already on file thanks to his stint with the Avengers, so no sense hiding behind codenames.

"I'm already going to be buying the medicine." Mike murmurs, giving a shake of the head, apparently not looking forward to that financial exchange. To the offered hand and names to go with it, Mike's smile strengthens as his expression seems to coming out of some form of sleep mode. "Michael Hannigan." Mike offers in return, placing his hand into Hanks for the proportionally awkward handshake that comes with mismatched sized hands, "Friends call me Mike, although one seems to be holding out on 'Mikey'. Coworkers tend to just go off on their own and make their own variations."

Beast's hand seems to almost envelop yours, though the actual shake is firm yet gentle. Has to be the fur, at least somewhat. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hannigan. I'm lucky to prefer my more casual nickname of 'Hank'. I'm sure you get endlessly teased about loving 'Life Cereal' though." Hank grins wryly, shooting you a fanged smirk for a moment. "Twinkie?" Hank asks, gesturing to the box in his hand.

Fuzzy fuzzy! "Not really." Mike replies, glancing down to the box, "I've graduated on to other things that can be teased about and the coworkers tend to fixate on the stage name more." Looking to the box, there is the expression of momentary temptation before he shakes his head, "Nah. As tempting as it is I'm good for now. But thanks."

"Stage name?" Hank asks, cocking his head to the side. He's not really in the know about modern music. His prefrences being classical, and classic rock for the most part. "Got to watch the figure for the stage, I gather?" Hank asks with a warm grin. "What you need is a mutant metabolism, it helps to maintain my girlish figure." Hank offers with a waggle of his brows.

"Mick Drago." Mike provides, voice a bit lower as he admits to that, glancing back towards the pharmacy counter. "It's more I probably shouldn't go hop up on the sugar if I'm going to be trying to go to sleep later," Mike adds in, "As for the metabolism, I didn't quite get that in that genetic roulette."

Beast hrm softly, finding the name somewhat familiar. "Ahh, totally understandable on the sugar thing then." Hank doesn't sleep all that much himself anymore, so doesn't worry all that much about getting a sugar rush. "Trust me, it's not always a boon. You should see my required caloric intake. That's why I like the Twinkies. Plus well, to be honest they're a nice comfort food. Reminds me of simpler times."

Mike gives a bit of a chuckle to that follow up. "Must be a pain on the food budget to need to eat so much," he muses, "Other than this I'm pretty much ok on things." The box is studied for a bit, "Twinkees, Zebra Cakes, Hohos. Those were like, THE big treat my mom would get me. Probably because they were so inexpensive." A wistful look fades as he glances towards the snack aisle, "They're really not that stale once they get to the dollar store if you go to the right one. The one near Chelsea's got a decent selection. Probably a very short turn around time for the customers there."

"At times it can be. Which is why I tend to get by with constant snacking. I'm sure those who arn't in the know, must think I'm on the wacky tobacky." Hank slips a hand into his tuxedo jacket and pulls out a pair of glasses, sliding them on. They're simple reading glasses, nothing more. But they seem to almost make Beast look more intellectual, and less beastly. "My Mom got me hooked at a young age myself. I guess why they're my fallback snackage." Hank hrms just a bit at the info you give him, making a mental note to check it out.

Behold the power of glasses! "When in doubt to the age of a low-priced product brand, try the lower income areas first." Mike adds in, "They buy them more often so they don't rest on the shelves as long as if in one of the higher income areas." Is Mike right? Who knows, but he thinks he's right. So that's sufficient enough for sharing such SOUND advice. He gives a bit of a sigh, smile lessening in size but not so much in sincerity. "They are nice reminders."

Beast chuckles just a bit at Mike's advice. "My luck, I'll empty out the store of snack cakes… and wind up on the cover of some tabloid. Besides, I really don't mind paying full price. And I wouldn't want to take snack cages out of the mouth of some adorable child who's parents are on a fixed income." Hank notes, as usual overthinking things far too much. It's a bad habit, but a part of his life. Hank notices the sigh and hrms. "Sorry for the unexpected trip down memory lane. This is why people don't have casual conversations with me." Hank smirked, obviously joking.

"Just leave some for me that's all I ask." Mike murmurs, smiling, "And again, I'll take my chances with the conversation." He gives a shrug, "Besides, if I'm going to remember something. There are worse things than mom buying snack cakes."

"I'll consider it." Hank offers, grinning warmly as he glances to the counter and back to Mike. He certainly does wonder what this young man is waiting for. And Mike can certainly tell it's certainly on his mind. "Point. We all have our unhappy memories. Best to focus on the good ones."

Although Mike's ability does allow him to project, it does not allow him the ability to read one's mind. Expressions are a different matter however. There is a bit of a pause as Mike's head tilts curiously to Hank before glancing towards the counter. "I don't sleep like most do." he offers in obscure explanation.

The answer leaves Hank with more questions than anything. "I'm not one to pry. But I'm guessing you need some sort of sleeping pill or something? Unless you mean you physically don't sleep like most do. Cause I can imagine some interesting and/or humorous situations." Hank's just teasing of course. He's the sort of guy who likes to face things with a sense of humor.

"More that I rarely have deep sleep cycles without help." Mike provides, glancing back towards the counter, "So, every so often when I have nothing to do and nowhere to be that's when I get to play catch up. So, yes. that's what I'm waiting for."

"Sorry to hear. At least you've found a solution to cope with your problem." Hank grinned warmly, trying to be supportive. "Sleep disorders don't happen to be my area of expertise, or I would offer to help. Have you consulted with any experts in the field?"

"Genetics?" Mike asks in regards to Hank's expertise, "Uh, I have a regular doctor I've seen since it started." Mike supplies, giving a nod, "Every so often he switches it around a bit. Not a perfect set up but I'm doing a lot better than before." He leans back in his seat, arching a brow in the general direction of the pharmacy. "I think they did go on break."

"Got it in one." Hank notes, though Hank has a number of areas of expertise. But he doesn't like to brag. Besides, he did turn himself blue and furry… so he's certainly not perfect. "Have you tried any herbal or relaxation techniques? I'm told they can help with sleep disorders." Hank glances at his watch with a hrm.

"It's not stress related." Mike replies, quickly and definitively, giving a shake of the head, "We've had a long, LONG time to pretty much go down the list of things to try." He cracks a slight smile, "My problem might be a bit closer to your field a bit more than you think."

Hank considers what Mike has to say, hrmming softly. "Ahh… I see. So you have a furry blue monster living under your bed or in your closet?" Hank asks, grinning just a bit. "Sully, I would guess." Though he naturally has a good guess what you're talking about. "Though to be serious for a moment…. care to elaborate?"

Mike's eyes flick about, checking for any people who may be eavesdropping. Which, is pretty much no one considering the lack of other customers, the lack of staff near the back and the cashier looking very boredly to a magazine at the other end of the store. "Well," Mike replies, the volume of his voice dropping a bit more, but not enough to hinder Beast's likely excellent hearing, "I guess the best way to explain it is that if we imagine where we are as the waking world and where we go when we sleep as a dream world. My waking and dream worlds are the same damn thing."

Beast listens intently, his entire focus on digesting the curious information that you deliver. A soft rumble of consideration echos from Hank's throat as he turns the info over and over in his head. "Intriguing. Though it opens up a whole host of questions and possibilities. When in this state, do you have control over your environment? And what happens if you have a nightmare rather than a dream? Do you have influence over other beings in your 'Dreamscape'?" Hank leans closer, curious about this particular ability.

"Well, I can move things." Mike offers, "My appearances vary and I can change where I go." He frowns a bit, "Uh I'm still kind of figuring out just how far I can get with it. The Richards family have been very helpful in that though." He pauses, shaking his head, "But uh pretty much when I go to sleep I'm still moving around all night so if I was betting I'd say that's why I'm almost entirely REM cycles."

Beast offers a soft hrmmm. "Are you solid in the dreamscape? Or are you more like a ghost? It sounds somewhat like astral projection. I know a few telepaths that employee it, but it's usually on the astral plane. I believe Dr. Strange also utilizes it, but I'm not nearly as familiar. And please, stop me if I began rambling." Hank grins, and hrms. "How wild can you alter your appearance?" Hank wonders, leaning back in his chair just a bit as he runs things through his head.

"Astral plane?" Mike repeats, his tone arching a little in inquiry as his head gives yet another tilt, "Um, sometimes solid, sometimes not. Sometimes visible, sometimes not. Kind of depends I guess. If you run into a talking raven, there's a good chance it's me. I seem to default to that one or just looking like me a lot."

"The short short version, it's a realm accessible chiefly to psychics." He doesn't want to go into too much detail, since it doesn't appear to be an accessible avenue for Mike. "Talking Raven? Guess we should codename you Poe." Hank chucles lightly and pats you on the back. "It certainly sounds like an interesting ability."

"Phantasm." Mike corrects, smiling as he shifts away from the pat, one arm resting on his leg while the elbow of the other perches on it, allowing for him to hold an upturned palm up for his chin to rest upon, "I do read a lot of his works though. The Raven's just one of my favorites."


Mike glances over to counter, "Hot damn they got my meds." He gives a glance towards Beast, smiling as he starts getting up, "Sorry for distracting you from your twinkee run."

Beast glances up as your last name is called. "Well, looks like that's you." Hank reaches into his jacket, and pulls out a business card for you. "Not a problem. Here, take this… if you need a second opinion. Or if you just need someone to talk to." Hank pushes up with a soft rumble. "You were the nicest company I've had all evening. So no complaints here."

Mike glances to the card before taking it, giving a nod. "Not every night you get to talk to a geneticist in a tux while sitting on an ugly orange plastic chair in a 24 hour pharmacy." Tucking the card into his pocket he gives a nod towards Hank, "I don't have a business card but um, if you're ever in Chelsea or go to the Daily Grind you might run into me there. Nice chatting with you, Hank."

"I'm just glad I was dressed somewhat professionally. I'm much harder to take seriously running around in a Speedo." Beast offers a light wave before heading back towards the snack aisle. "Hope to see you soon then." After grabbing a second box of the snack cakes off the shelf, Hank heads for the front of the store to pay.

With the departure of his conversational companion, Mike turns towards the counter to go get his meds. And possibly an answer to the ever burning question, 'what took so long?'

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