2012 01 20 Chance Encounter With An Urban Angel

Log Title:
Chance Encounter With An Urban Angel

Nightcrawler, Dajan

IC Date:
January 20, 2012


The Unnamed Diner in the Bowery where Dajan works

Brief log summary::
Nightcrawler gets mildly injured trying to shake down a shady type for information. Dajan, not realizing at first who he is, comes to his aid.


There is no TS in this log::

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A routine day in NYC, business as usual. The only thing out of the ordinary is, perhaps, the customer that seems more like a toad than a man. He is human for certain, but his rotund body with chicken thin small legs gives him that appearance. Using crutches to walk, its a wonder how he might go about supporting his body with those arms, but they're obviously used to carrying him around. He seems jovial enough, kind to the girls, jokes with the boys, seems to be in good spirits during his meal. Leaving enough money on the table to cover his bill and a decent tip, he also comments that he'll be back, just outside from some air.

He steps around back of the restuarant, taking out a pack of smokes and lighting one up. In his idleness, he steps into the back alley, not far from the Kitchen door. No sooner does this happen, then a bamf is heard deeper in the alleyway, a flash of purple smoke from the shadows. Then instantly infront of the man steps Nightcrawler, whisps of purple smoke pulled through with him as his body teleports itself to be there. Interestingly, the toad man doesn't seem surprised, other than to look the other up and down. Kurt announces himself, "Just the man I'm looking for, if rumors are true."

Dajan was, as the new girl, the one who ended up having to put up with the customer who, due to his appearance, was declared a 'mutie' unofficially by staff and customers alike before he even said a word. She doesn't mind waiting on him, though; he's friendly and he's polite to her. She brings his orders, using her gift in a small, subtle way to make sure no one has spit in his meal or his drink. She promises to keep the man's booth for him once he goes out for his smoke break, and brings the dirty dishes back to the kitchen.
She hears a voice from the alley that — far as she knows — was empty a moment ago.

Curious and concerned that someone is going to mess up her nice customer, she moves closer to the door to make sure he's okay.

With a chuckle that almost moves his belly like a bowl full of jelly, the customer lets out a bellow of smoke from his lungs. "Could be, depends what you're after." He isn't phased or moved in the least it would seem.

"Well, rumor has it you know a thing or two about junk," questions Kurt.

The large man wobbles his head, a 'so-so' sort of gesture to suggest he invariable may know something, "What junk is this?"

Taking a step closer, yellow eyes focused on the toad-like man, Nightcrawler informs him, "Old tech Sentinel - resurfaced recently, I need to how someone might get their hands on something like that."

"Oh," ponders the toad-like man, "That'll cost you, I don't know if you can afford it. You can go look for Vanisher for me."

"No deal," says Kurt, "The information or I'll take you in," he says.

Dajan listens, dismayed that her naivete has gotten the better of her once again. The jovial guy seems to be yet another shady type. She sighs to herself, and decides now would be a good time to take out the trash, the better to make sure she's hearing what she thinks she is. "Bobby," she calls to the bus boy, "I'mma take some of this trash out. It's startin' to pile up." She ties off a couple of the bags and carries them out into the alley, humming to herself, as if she has no idea of the scene unfolding beyond the cracked side kitchen door.

"Looks like a stand-off, freund," intones the rotund fellow, throwing in the german because of Kurt's accent most likely.

"Something like that," retorts Nightcrawler, then reaching out a hand rather quickly. It strikes against an invisible barrier around the rotund man.

At about that time, she comes into the alley, humming nonchalantly. Kurt turns to the noise for a moment and in his distraction the man uses a force field arm to knock him aside. He collides with the dumpster as the rotund man sprints off. The force of the impact seems to knock out Kurt at first, he seems to collapse where he hit the dumpster.

To get out of the alley, he has to get past Dajan. She's torn for a second at giving chase, but decides the other man needs the first aid more than her customer needs chasing. He at least paid his check already. She tosses the bags aside and immediately drops to one knee beside the fallen man. Now that she's close enough to see him in a spilled bar of light from the open door, she recognizes him for who he is — one of the X-Men. "Oh, no," she says, quietly. If there was an X-Man after the customer, he must've really been bad news. She swallows the urge to panic, though, and checks for a pulse, and to see if the man she now sees is Nightcrawler is breathing okay. She looks to make sure there's no blood from hurting himself on the way down.

There is a pulse, a steady breath, some movement. The force knocked him out, but he's wakable, a good shake could do the trick. There is no blood, broken bones, anything that needs serious medical attention.

Dajan's not the rough sort. Not with six siblings. She'll gentle him awake. "Hey… you all right, there?" she asks, speaking firmly and clearly. She takes a breath, and then pulls one of his arms around her shoulder, and starts to try levering herself and him to a standing position. "Let's get you some water and a couple aspirin, huh? C'mon. Wakey-wakey, Mr. Hero X-Man guy?"

Yellow eyes blink, taking in his surroundings, moaning, "Mein Kopf," one three-fingered hand coming to his head. Looking up at his own savior, the other hand comes up as if to reach for her cheek, "Ein Engel … bin ich tot?" Then realization comes back too and to the words she said. "Water would be good, ja, … but," he pauses pondering the difference between X-Man guy and X-Factor and considers not going in that direction, plus head still hurts. "I am fine," he says, turning the hand that went for her towards the ground to begin lifting himself up, his other hand still holding his head.

Well, he can talk. In two languages, no less. That's an encouraging sign. Dajan smiles, pleased to know the damage is not serious. She doesn't know enough German to grasp what it was he was saying to her, but she still knows enough to recognize a man being stubborn and perhaps a teensie bit macho. She doesn't leave his side, though she steps away just enough to let him get his bearings and still be close enough to assist him if he turns out to be a little more shaken up than he thinks he is. "Sorry. Didn't mean to mess up your … uh … conversation?" Sting? Bust? Whatever it was.

Nightcrawler is certainly more shakey than he realizes. Down right wobbly himself, and if an arm comes up to steady, or take his arm, or lead him around, he won't be opposed. Digesting her words, he shakes his head, closing his eyes off against the fuzziness there. "Nein," he responds, "No, it wasn't a bust, I just wanted information from him. He's hard to track and aside from minor crimes, he's not really dangerous." There is more, but Kurt is a gentlemen and leaves it at that. Instead he focuses on the girl more "And you, you're a random street hero, looking for blue men to save?" Curious, as she somehow classifies him with X-Men.

Yup. Men. Dajan sees he's not quite as steady on his feet as he wants to believe he is. With that, she's back putting her shoulder to use so he can lean on her. What with the attitude they took toward her customer, she's not really keen on the notion of taking an even more obvious mutant inside, but she figures just for a minute won't hurt. It's slow and she can tuck him in a booth. "Bobby," she announces, gently guiding Kurt through the kitchen and into the diner proper, "I'm takin' my break."

Once she's managed to get Kurt seated in the booth, she gives him the universal one-finger gesture for "just a minute," and goes to fetch him that water and aspirin she promised. Then she settles down across from him and chuckles. "Who, who me?" A shake of the head sets her curls to bobbing. "No. I just thought he was gettin' mugged and went to see if he was okay… and then he bashed you and took off, and you needed help, that's all." She blushes under the freckles. "Was raised to look out for folks who need lookin' out for." She has a Louisiana accent, not quite New Orleansian, but similar. She must be from a nearby region.

Somewhere between entering the establishment and taking a seat, Kurt fidgets at his belt and before anyone is scared off, or merely turned off, his image is that of Errol Flynn, petty coat for the winter, white polo shirt, sleek slacks, and wing-tipped shoes. As if he just walked off a winter set, in the 1950s maybe. If she catches him before he does this, he doesn't seem happy about using it, but doesn't have a choice perhaps.

"Humble, an admirable trait, Engelchen," offers Kurt, trying for a smile, "And brave, even if you deny that." Taking the water, he drinks deeply from it, 1/4 to 1/2 the glass in a couple of swallows. Then he dabs at his lip to catch the excess. "Does he come here often? That man?" As if, despite his recovery, he could still use some leads.

Dajan startled slightly at seeing him go from obviously a mutant to looking like a 1950s movie heartthrob, but she doesn't even comment on it. Mutant has to do what keeps him safe is her summation of the movie magic he seems to have at his fingertips.

"I'd say yeah, he prolly is a regular," Dajan answers, after a moment to think about it. "I usually work a later shift, but Brenda called in sick, and I came in early to fill in. But everybody acted like his order was 'the usual'." She raises both shoulders in a shrug. "I could prolly ask around and try and find out when he usually does show up, if this is off-time for him? Least I could do."

"It was fortunate Brenda called in," grins Nightcrawler under a pencil thin mustachio not his own, "For my sake, ja?" Though he ponders he rasking around about the fellow. "You know, I would appreciate, you are mein Engelchen in more ways then one it would seem. God works in mysterious ways." Its offered as a personal belief, not some conversion pamphlet - he wouldn't be opposed to someone correcting it as blind fate or dumb luck, he'll call it as he sees it.

Dajan and the Almighty are not on the best of terms these days, it's true; but she doesn't begrudge anybody else to believe as they will. "Sure, I could do that. They won't even bat an eye, as I'm the newest one. They'll figure I'm just tryin' to learn the customers an' their preferences." A pattern she has, in fact, already displayed. "But if I do find out when he shows up most likely, how do I get ahold of you again? I don't exactly have a blue guy signal or anything." She gives him a sheepish smile. "An' far as I know, the police don't have one either." She stops with the playful japes, though, going a little serious. "Was that story on the up and up? About the Sentinels?" She /heard/ that? "Is somebody really tryin' to start them up again?" Big brown eyes widen in earnest curiosity — but there's no shortage of genuine worry in her expression as well.

Kurt smiles warmly at the joking, maybe getting a sparkle in his eyes at blue guy signal. He also affirms her asking around with a quick nod. But he shakes his head at the Sentinels, "What I'm searching for was surplus. Someone had brought an old Sentinel on-line. That someone is who I'm really tracking, he might be holding a freind of mine." That is his stance on it, but then a slight shrug, "As for a Sentinel program - I'm sure there is always someone out there considering it, but nothing that I know of."

A surplus. That's a relief to hear, and it shows on Dajan's face, except, "Oh, no, that's rough. I'll definitely be glad to keep an ear out, then." Dajan offers him her hand across the table. "I'm Dajan, by the way. Everybody here, though… they call me Dee Dee." Like it says on the nametag on her chest; apparently she's canny enough to go by an easier to pronounce nickname and protect her real name. Kurt has been showed some trust with the real pronunciation, it seems. "I hope this guy knows enough to help you find your friend." Her parents did warn her the world was dangerous. She's seeing now, first hand. "Anybody else who comes down this way I should be watchin' out for?"

"Dajan," says Kurt, putting the name in his memory, "I'm Nightcrawler," by way of greating, some pride in the name perhaps. "If you have a pen, I could … leave a number." A hint of a smile, its fast for him, sure and its not her number, but still, she's the one looking for information. "Just him, he's the only one I can think of with enough information to maybe track Aracade down," possibly one of the few people on earth with that sort of skill even, too bad he doesn't use it for good purposes always. Then going back to a smile, "I like Dajan, is that good, or do you prefer Dee Dee?"

"Nice to meet you," Dajan says, taking the name given with a nod. "I thought so," she adds. "My folks were big fans. Of…of all the X-Men, I mean." she lowers her voice to say this, though. Just in case. At thr request for a pen, she produces one from her apron without even a thought. "An' thanks. My /friends/ call me Dajan," she clarifies, implying much: she hopes her new acquaintance will be a friend, and that those she works around — are probably not people she thinks of as friends. "Around here, though, Dee Dee would probably be best."

Not everyday he meets someone who knows about X-Men or even him as well, but as she mentions her family knows about them, he simply makes the jump that they are most likely mutant and somehow affiliated (or she has siblings that have already been to the school and know about Xaviers). "Dee Dee it is, around here, and the pleasure is mine, Engelchen," a charming smile, perhaps more charming as Errol Flynn, at least Nightcrawler might think so for others - despite him thinking blue and fuzzy is best. "More better than I can call you," some implications there as well, his smile mimicking the thoughts.
Dajan's family was really restrictive about what sort of mutant news she got. But they wanted her to know who the good guys were in this world if she ever ran into trouble for her own situation. And then there's the fact that she is still not so terribly far removed ffrom high school and remembers the kids talking about the X-Men. Even though Nightcrawler would be the first she's ever met. She endures another swift blush under the freckles at his remark. "Glad to help, honestly," she demurs, lashes dropping lower to shield her eyes. She's not being coy or coquettish; she's naturally sort of bashful.

Shaking his head slowly, confidence in Nightcrawler's own demeanor. "It is I who am glad. Discovered by someone so beautiful, if not for that chance, I could still be out cold," double literal, out cold in the cold of winter in a back alley. "I want to say, you do not have to inquire about Sledge if you do not. Even though his crimes are not serious, there is no telling who may learn of your interest in him. Do not mention the Sentinel outside of our conversation. Where Sledge will not harm you," much implied in his voice, "Arcade is a killer. I don't think he would come after you, but I do not trust him."

Dajan nods, solemnly, listening attentively to Nightcrawler's words, and taking them seriously. "I got six brothers an' sisters," she begins, pausing to grimace slightly. "I know how to make interrogation sound like just plain ol' conversation. " She nods again, soildly, as he warns not to mention the Sentinel. "I won't. I already had one experience with somebody drawin' me into troublesome matters once. That kinda thing wouldn't be wise to just toss around in mixed company." She simply shrugs at the warning about Arcade, "You got it. Not plannin' to be gettin' that kind of attention, promise. Comin' close to be arrested just for somebody even /askin'/ me if I'm a mutant was plenty enough for me to keep my eyes open and my mouth /shut/, for sure."

Listening as she affirms her self as not getting into more trouble over helping him, Kurt gives an intrigued incline of his head at the mentino of being a mutant. Up until that point, she was just a girl on the street that was kind enough to help him out. His brows raise with that curiousity even. "You are one of us," he ponders, "But you work here as a waitress." Its stated plainly, but implied that he is curious why she is here. He knows of some that choose to just live normal lives, and she could be such a case. "And who would draw you into trouble Engelchen?"

Dajan watches his concerned face as she mentions her experience. "Yeah," she adds, voice still pitched to the intimate booth conversation. "And well, yeah," she repeats as he describes her job as a waitress. "Gotta pay the rent somehow." It's a plain statement of fact, not a defensive snap. "As for who — she said she didn't expect me to freak out when she asked me if I was…but my folks, they liked us keepin' to ourselves. They raised me to be careful on accounta how many people out there are less welcomin' than y'all are." The plural 'y'all' apparently applying to the ones who wear the X. "But I'm on my own now, makin' my own decisions. Learnin' my own lessons along the way. An' well, if you're trustin' me to help you, least I can do is offer you my trust in return, yeah?" She ponders his last question. "Y'know, I don't know if I got her name, or if I just forgot it in the heat of the moment. I was pretty steamed she did it. But you'd know her, I guess. Not…" she blushes, and hurriedly amends, "Not to say all mutants know each other, but this one, she said she's royalty, an' she turned down the cover of Cosmopolitan magazine. So I'm guessin' she's famous as mutants go?" She shakes her head, uncertain her guess is right.

Taking more of his water, Kurt listens to all the girl offers. Though there is some head shaking at knowing royalty and someone who turned down Cosmopolitan. The name would be more helpul perhaps, but the other two things could be any number of mutants. Well, maybe a small handful, but he's not necessarily up on latest trends, especially in the states, having spent some years of recent in England. "No, alas, we do not all know each other. Someday perhaps," he grins, "But as for work. I might be interested to know what it is you might do," mutant wise. A hand comes out to rast comfortable in the middle of the table. "X-Factor has been reinstated and Alex, our team leader, is currently trying to assemble more of a team." He places full faith in her, perhaps, as a self-taught mutant, like himself, so she could well be team-worthy. "It could also mean, I would get to see more of that face of yours," he throws in, jovial and serious all the same.

Dajan's eyes widen. "A … a team? Me? For real?" She shakes her head, in stunned amazement more than disbelief. "It's nothin' really. I can do lil things that helped me take care of my sibs. Stuff like—"

"Dee!" The aforementioned Bobby is leaning out of the order window. "Get a wiggle on, sweetness." He gestures with his beefy chin, indicating that business is starting to pick up. People are coming in off the street. As such, Dajan completely misses the flirtatious remark from the disguised hero. "Oh, gee. I'm sorry. Work calls. Leave me the contact info, and I'll be back for it, okay? It was … really great to meet you." She doesn't use his hero name aloud, though, not now that the diner is starting to fill up. She moves to stand, lest Bobby have to shout for her again.

"A conversation for another time then," grins Kurt as she gets up, "Call me … I know where you work," a mock threat. He reaches for Napkin and pen, leaving his cell number for her to call if ever she is off work. If she offers parting good-byes, he returns, otherwise, he finishes his water and leaves the napkin on the table before getting up himself. He goes out the way he came in, if anyone questions him using staff area, there will be the smell of brimstone and trace of purple smoke.

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