2012 02 04 City Monet And Country Mouse

Log Title:
City Monet and Country Mouse

Characters:
Monet, Dajan

IC Date:
2/4/2012

Location:
Herald Center Mall & Bobby Flay's Restaurant

Brief log summary::
Monet catches up with Dajan and does the "kill her with kindness" thing to win her over.

Rating:
pg

There is no TS in this log::
Yes

Post your log::
Dajan is in Herald Center mall being appalled at the prices. Just appalled. Her tip money is something she's been trying to save up, but now she needs interview clothes. And other clothes. So she's peering into windows, grimacing, and moving along, trying to find something in her size that will look appropriate and not eat everything in her pocket. "Sac au lait," she murmurs to herself, before finally deciding she needs to reassess. To the food court!
Monet taps Dajan's shoulder from behind. "At least you have some good fashion sense." she says, looking at the expensive outfit in the window. "Dajan right?"
Dajan turns around, at the tap. She's getting used to people coming up on her. When she sees who it is, the curious expression is replaced by a wary one. "Yeah, that's the name," she confirms, neither slowing nor quickening her pace. "Don't think I ever caught yours."
Monet says, "Actually I did mention it last time. You probably got distracted when Sandman attacked you and I psi-blasted him. Monet. Monet St. Croix."
"Yeah, well, that was a rather crowded few minutes. Guess I missed it," Dajan replies, continuing toward the elevator. She's learned a trick from an acquaintance, standing as straight as she's able, so people go around her rather than trying to push past her — though that might also be Monet's presence since the woman is taller, and several men are gawking openly.
Dajan's instincts tell her to blow the woman off, but the echoed memory of her mother's voice reminds her of her manners. She therefore swallows whatever unfriendly thing she'd been intending to say and says, instead, "Yeah, thanks for that. I hear he's doing better now. Looks like he is, anyways."
Monet nods. "So I'm taking it you forgive his attacking you like that because of the … " in your head, though, you hear her say 'mutant' "thing." She pretty much ignores the gawkers. "Your mom's right, by the way, that would be rude. You do know I didnt intend for something like that to happen. Very atypical. Besides, there's nothing wrong with." Again, in your head you hear "being a mutant." She follow you towards the elevator. "Some people are big fans of it, in fact. I mean what's the difference between that and people like the Fantastic Four? Or the Avengers?"
Dajan starts, slightly, at the voice in her head, and cuts Monet a sidelong glance. «Really wish you wouldn't do that without warnin'» she thinks back at the other woman, smoothly. "An' yes, I'm told he was messed up some kinda way, so he's forgiven." She frowns at the other woman getting into her thoughts. «Yes, well, it's also rude to be mindscannin' people without permission, ain'it?»
"You may not have intended it, Miz St. Croix," Dajan points out mildly, "But you still caused it, regardless of your opinions." She thinks for a moment, then heads for the escalator as a quick glance across the mall tells her the elevators are full and some distance away. "To you'n me, prolly nothin' special, no. But to everybody else? You can't be seriously askin' me this question. I mean, you're a princess. They had to have had been tutorin' you in history." She looks incredulously up at the taller woman before stepping onto the escalator.
Monet walks alongside Dajan. "That's curious, you're not angry at the person who actually attacked you and tried to arrest you. You're still mad at the person who didn't say anything that bad actually. Oh yeah, and also saved you from said first person." She looks over at her. "And it's not like it's difficult to do. You arent particularly good at hiding your thoughts. They're right there on the surface, it's like someone keeps saying them anyway." She pauses, then mentally mentions "«Besides, you get bent out of sorts from my saying the word mutant when people might overhear»". "And technically I'm not a princess. I'm just royalty. But yeah I've been tutored in a lot of facets of history. Especially about how, when a majority comes down on a minority, it's not the people in the minority who are the cause of the problem by standing out for themselves, so long as they don't do so in an aggressive and belligerent way." She holds up her fingers. "Gandhi, Martin Luther, Rosa Parks, Jesus Christ, Charles Xavier, Martin Luther King Jr…" She shrugs. "And yes, I find it odd that you think there's a difference between one of those groups and another. They have powers. They use them for a purpose which helps others. Pray tell do tell me the difference aside from one group is born with the abilities and another gets them in some way after birth?"
"Well, lookin' at it from where I stand, Miz Saint Croix, the person who attacked me wouldn't'a if you hadn't'a said anyhthin'," Dajan points out. "An' while you may not think you said anythin' much, you called me out on somethin' that has been a /very/ tightly kept secret for the majority of my life."
Monet peers at Dajan as they head into the elevator. Strangely enough, the two others who were about to enter decide to wait until the next elevator. The doors close. "Oh please… I'm a muslim mutant after 9/11 who doesn't fake being nice to people just so they'll like me. I'm pretty sure I have a good idea of what it means to have mobs against you. And you still didnt explain what's the actual difference between a mutant and a mutate. And your knowledge of biology is… cute… but not really on point. If you studied about the mutant gene, you'd have found everyone has it - just some have it turned off. Others have it turned on. Both are human. It's as if you had a gene which let you be taller than others to make you better at basketball. The switch in your genes are turned on for that, while someone else's is turned off so their pituitary doesn't let them grow as much. I really need to get you in touch wiht Dr. McCoy about that sort of stuff. What you're saying is basically like someone saying they're fine with people who are 'brown' but not 'black.' In any case, being ashamed of you you are because others might not like you is no way to live. What are your abilities anyway?"
"Do you just only hear every other word I say?" Dajan folds her arms and stops as the elevator pulls up and empties out. "You asked me what the difference is. I said that there isn't one, but people /believe/ there is."
"I'm not /ashamed/. I'm just circumspect about it. You were raised not to care. I was raised that people are gonna try to kill me." She frowns up at Monet. "They ain't nothin' special. Lil changes. One big one." She waits for the door to close. "Lets me grow an extra pair of arms if I need to."
Monet nods. "Why not just tell people you got your powers by getting… I don't know… bitten by a radioactive walrus. You're at least a little ashamed." She shrugs. "But if you want to just hide who you are, fine. Look how about I make it up to you for not knowing in advance that someone else was going to go psycho and attack you. I'll buy you that dress you were wanting and lunch is on me." She pushes the 3rd floor.
"I'm /not/ ashamed," Dajan repeats, in the tone one uses to a kid who isn't listening. She does end up smiling in spite of herself at the radioactive walrus remark. "If I was ashamed, I wouldn't'a ended up in the paper as 'Clawed Ninja Girl'." The mental image of Dajan, at the winter wedding in Central Park, wearing a red scarf tied around her lower face and head, and claws sticking out the fingers of her matching gloves accompanies the remark.
"You take that back," Dajan says, voice growing a bit warmer and eyes narrowing. "You bein' rude an' nosy is not the same thing as me shoutin' what I'm thinkin'. And I have /had to do that/ from time to time." «You try growin' up where I did an' not bein' a little worried about the word bein' spoken out loud. Maybe people throw you parties an' bring you flowers for bein' a mutant, but where I grew up, it's the kinda thing that'd get a mob after my neck.» There are mental images that follow that remark, about signs cheerfully making statements against people not Christian, people not white, people not "human" — i.e. the muties.
"What I was getin' at is Neanderthal didn't take lyin' down that Cro-Magnon was ready to take over as the most evolved. People do awful things, hostile things when they're scared."
"The difference in the eyes of most people," she says, jamming her hands into her pockets and hunching her shoulders, "is that most people think of the ones who got 'em by accident as still human. An' the others —" «Us» " — Not."
At the generous offer, Dajan is completely taken aback. "Wasn't the dress, actually," she says, too surprised to be dubious. "It was the suit next to it." Dajan does have /some/ experience guarding her thoughts, because while maybe a bit of relief at the idea of accepting the offer is in her surface thoguhts, what she needs the dress for is not immediately obvious. And Dajan has enough experience guarding her thoughts that these surface thoughts are not covered up with her mentally singing nursery rhymes or YouTube earworm songs.
Monet pauses. "Oh okay. Shame - the dress would have looked better on you. Why a suit?" she says, going along with her 'claims.' She doesn't bother delving deeper past the 2 cent covering of surface thoughts. "What if I told you I'm like this because of some traumatic point in my history? Does that give me automatic forgiveness?" She hums to herself idly as they wait for the elevator.
"It would," Dajan agrees ruefully, "But honestly, not a whole lotta places I could wear the dress, for sure. I'd get more practical use out the suit."
"If you told me you're … like this … because of traumatic history, I guess I would still be a touch confused why you givin' me a hard time for my cope methods if you got your own." She pauses speaking for a moment or two, mulling over what could possibly traumatize someone who comes off as so perfect that even her mistakes aren't mistakes in her eyes. "But I suppose I might be more willin' to forgive it."
Monet nods a bit. "There was nothing traumatic in my history. I'm just insufferably and justifiably smug." She doesn't mention anything about her brother or mother being murdered or sisters disappearing. "Though if there was some reason, I don't think it should make you excuse me any more than if there wasn't. Frankly I think you should forgive me just in general because I obviously didnt mean anything wrong by it." The door opens. "Okay, Food court, you wanted this stuff right? I was hoping you'd want food instead but I guess this would do." She takes your hand and leads you out.
"Okay, point taken," Dajan allows. "You're forgiven, already." She looks out at the food court. "An' this's what I could /afford/," she points out. "Not so much what I wanted. If you had somethin' else in mind, I'm not objectin'. An… an' thanks. Nice of you to offer, really." She's still a little guarded regarding Monet because of the unrepentant smugness, but the woman is obviously trying, so Dajan does her best to meet her halfway despite her lingering reservations.
Monet looks over at Dajan. "Do you like southwestern cuisine? Oh, and are you going to tell me what you were wanting to buy from that store and why since you don't want me doing the …" She taps her head.
Dajan grins at the mention of southwestern. "I like just about anythin' you put on a plate unless you're talkin' about pancreas or Rocky Mountain oysters or such." She tends to talk with her hands, so her hand is slipped away from Monet as she makes a grand gesture at the first, and a mild handflappy 'ew' gesture at the latter. "An' the suit, if they had my size. Though I should prolly think about somethin' a bit in between." She looks down at her rather careworn jeans and new peacoat and boots, with the hoodscarf from her mental image being the fanciest part of her outfit. "This ain't exactly fit for a date, is it?"
Monet shakes her head. "No, I know a friend of mine who's a chef at this restaurant in the city. He's actually rather good." She looks at your object. "I never really was a fan of the grunge look, no. We'll get you something nice after we eat though." She heads down the escalator with you, then to the mall entrance. "It's about 15 blocks, walk, fly, or take a cab?"
Dajan is tempted. Seriously tempted. To ask to fly. Because flying is a cool power. She's always regretted that didn't end up as something she could do. "I think I'm okay with walkin' it. Despite the freeze rays the other day, the weather don't seem too bad outside just now." And despite Monet's generosity, the parental programming is still strong enough with her that she just doesn't feel right taking Monet up on /too/ much of her generosity, no matter how kindly offered.
Monet nods a bit as she holds her hand out for a cab. "Sorry, freeze rays?" Again, one arrives pretty quickly and actually stops for her. Maybe because she did some mental hoodoo, or maybe just because she looks gorgeous. She gets in the cab and waits for you to get in as well.

"Weh, freeze rays," Dajan confirms as she settles in the cab beside Monet and closes the door. "Mole Man, I think he was called. /Real/ offended about it bein' Groundhog Day. All the li'l fuzzy rodents tryin'a attack people. An' freeze rays … I guess he was thinkin' we was gonna get six more weeks o' winter whether we liked it or not." The cab passes the yellow caution markers and orange road cones that cordon off where he broke through the sidewalk. "Right there, ac'shally."
Monet nods, peering out at the cones, then she gets back in the cab. "So, anyone other than mole man to blame for that one?" she asks as you get in the cab. She looks over at the driver. "Mesa Grill, 102 Fifth…" she says to the driver, then relaxes.
"The Thing, I suppose," Dajan muses. "When the quake started, he jumped outta the sky. Landed hard, so maybe part of the broken sidewalk is his doin'." Not like the Fantastic Four have to deal with that at least once a week, in her estimation. "Got attacked by a few honey badgers. Just as I got away from them — zap. Nailed by a freeze ray. Not fun."
Monet nods a bit as the cab starts off. "Ben's sweet. So are you angry at him?" She pauses. "Honey badgers. O-kay." She takes out her iphone and dials a number. "Hi… Bobby? Yeah it's Monet." She laughs a bit. "I know, you're off from the show just a while and it's like I'm trying to eat at your places every day. Sorry - my palette does like the best. Are you going to be in today?" She waits a bit. "Mesa…. yeah… oh good. Could you make sure with the maitre'd that …. you're sublime. Thanks, yes last time was not exactly what I'm hoping for this time, I don't think my friend likes when I'm pushy about underlings blocking my way to the better things in life." She waits a bit. "I totally will, Bobby. Love you." She hangs up the phone. "So are you angry at him?"
"Ben? Why would I be mad at Ben?" Dajan looks bewildered. "He let me ride in the Fantasticar the night I met him." Different night, though the woo-hoo excitement of the memory flits through her mind. "An' he gave me a blanket after I got out of the stupid block of ice. An' I don't think he called the Mole Man up." She sighs, and adds, "An' okay, I get it you din' know the Sandman's chee wees were all crush up. I /forgive/ you already." Though there's a faint smile as she repeats it.
Monet smiles. "Well at least that time you mean it. Good." She pauses. "Did he let you drive it too? That's pretty fun as well."
"Naw," Dajan shakes her head. "Lil cher bebe fell asleep in my lap so we din' wanna disturb him until we got him home. Maybe next time I'll get lucky. He's nice, though, Ben." She watches out the window as the city goes by. She usually takes the subway and only gets to ride in a car when she's getting a ride from a friend. "Wait a minute, why you ride in the Fantasticar," she asks, bewildered, "If you can fly your own self?"
Monet looks over at her. "Why not? Why do I live in a penthouse apartment if I can survive in some of the most hostile environments on earth? Why do I bother to work at all when my family is wealthy? Hon, sometimes you just do things because it's fun. Or at least not boring."
Dajan considers that answer. "I guess that makes sense," she admits. "I'm on my own for the first time, so all this is new to me. An' I mean /all/ this." She flings a hand toward the window, kind of intending to encompass the city and everything that's happened to her in it, including the kerfuffle with Monet, now forgiven if not forgotten.
Monet looks around. "I guess so. Continuing on what I was saying about why I do things, it's also why I don't mince words to just be fake nice. I guess it might have something to do with telepathy and honesty. I'm actually quite honest. And I know most people aren't. A lot of telepaths are less than honest, so they're perfectly content with being 'fake nice.' Very disingenuous, insulting even. Just makes the other person feel good that you're not telling them the truth. In any case, just thought you'd be interested to know why I am like I am. Seems like reasons are big with you. I have friends, they just realize I'm not going to mince words with them. I act like I'm better than others because, for a very large portion of the planet, I am. Plus I'm happy and content with myself and that fact, which tends to iritate people. I think it's actually because people don't like people like me to not get some sort of comeuppance for being better, like life is some Saturday After school special." She shrugs. "Oh good we're here!" She opens the door and gets out. "Come on Dajan. You're going to have actual cuisine for a change."
Dajan listens. "I guess you do have to look at the world different if you're a telepath," she allows. "Andre — my brother — he was kinda blunt too, sometimes. I guess it's harder to do the social niceties when you know what's behind other people's." She nods. "Yeah. Reasons are, I guess, kinda big with me. " Her folks raised her not to trust anyone but family, the stray thought passes through, unguarded now that she's a bit less aggravated by Monet's presence. And now, with her family gone, she's trying figure out who to trust as she goes — and it hasn't exactly been easy.

Monet nods. "I think the people you should trust are the ones who tell you the truth all the time. Sounds pretty obvious, doesnt it? As opposed to the people who tell you kind lies. There are two types of people who tell the truth all the time. The dumb and lovable ones who don't know any better, and the incredibly smart ones who find lying to be a waste of time." She heads with you into Mesa Grill. The standoffish waiter is about to say something when Monet says "Monet St. Croix. I'm sure you were told I'm coming with a friend, where's our table?"

The maitre'd doesn't even say anything when he hears the name, considering the last time Monet came in with a friend, without a reservation, asking to be seated, it turned out she was a friend of the chef, gave the maitre'd a thoroughly humiliating verbal lambasting, and last he heard that matire'd was a greeter at Bobby's Burger Hut in Atlantic City. Instead, he just leads them both to a very nice table. Monet sits down, adding, "Could you tell Bobby I'd love to introduce him to a friend?" before looking back at Dajan. "And actually it's easier to do the social niceties when you can read the other person's mind. I know exactly what would make people like me if I just say the right lies. I find it distasteful though - I'd much prefer telling them what I think. If they don't like it, there's obviously something wrong with them not being able to handle the truth, or at least that someone else has a different opinion."

"That sounds easy," Dajan muses thoughtfully, "But I don't got your advantage to know when I'm bein' lied to. An' my own advantage doesn't come with a natural lie detector. But I guess I'll muddle through best I can."

She settles into the opposite chair. "I can understand findin' it distasteful, though, yeah. Wasn't real popular at school 'cause I had no time at all for all that popularity politics foolishness."

Monet shrugs, looking at the menu. "I'm just letting you know this so you don't think that I need to be changed to be nicer to people. I'm nice to people when they deserve it. It's like a compliment. It means they aren't totally moronic and I think they're worthy of having me as a friend. I'm actually a great friend to have for more reasons than most people can count. I wasn't particularly popular when I went to school either. Jealousy. Ugly thing. Even uglier when they claim it's not jealousy. Even worse when they've tried to convince themselves of their own lies. And I mean jealousy not of that I'm stronger or smarter or hotter. Jealous that I'm happy with how I think of myself. I'm sort of like the popular cheerleader who makes fun of the nerdy losers, but instead of her growing up to be married to some loser in a trailer park while the nerd makes a billion dollars, she grows up to be President and the nerdy loser still lives in his mother's basement. It irks people - makes them question their sense of actions and consequences. Life doesn't work like that - karma isnt a real thing."
Monet change subjects. "Anyway, enough of that - and I'm not being dismissive of your past lack of popularity. You're actually interesting in a lost puppy dog way, and so I'd like to let you be my friend." And that's when Bobby Flay walks over, "Monet, so are you going to come with a friend to every restaurant I'm at - how do you even know when I'm at one in New York?" which gets a smile from Monet. "Bobby." No real answer from her. And she gets up to give him a kiss on the cheek. "This is Dajan."
Dajan listens. She's not entirely sure she agrees or grasps Monet's philosophy, but she's paying attention and trying to absorb the concepts from the other woman's point of view. She doesn't have near the perspective that Monet does, so can't really answer the suggestions with anything like a frame of reference. "Um, thanks," she murmurs at the lost puppy remark. She kind of knows it's strue, and it kind of stings.
She looks up and smiles quietly. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Flay," she says politely, smile widening to a full grin as the man expresses amazement and exasperation that Monet seems always to know when he's in New York. "Monet's just got your number, sir," she suggests, with a shrug of sympathy.
Monet shrugs. "A man as adorable of this, who can also cook? Bobby's lucky I don't have 24/7 surveillance on him." She smiles. "I stopped Dajan from almost having food court food - she really needs something which can introduce her to how normal people are supposed to eat." She sits down. "Of course, have to go to the best for that. And please, choose something for her or she'll ask for a taco or something."

Bobby can't help but chuckle a bit - people like Monet are like Chef Zakarian or Chef Conant. When -they- pay you gushing compliments, it means something because they don't do it often. He looks over at Dajan, knowing that Monet's way of talking -can- be quite exxasperating. "I do have this new dish I haven't put on the menu yet. It's a Grilled Jerk chicken with a mango cilantro salsa. How does that sound?"

Dajan smiles politely as Monet gushes at Bobby. She cuts Monet a look, but there's no real heat to it. Big family outings for her were visits to Sizzler or Golden Corral, so the other woman is right that Dajan's culinary tastes aren't as refined as hers.
"That sounds heavenly, Mr. Flay," Dajan says simply. She at least doesn't do anything completely bumpkinesque like tucking the napkin in her collar or slurping her water.
Bobby looks at Monet. "And here's some mind reading for you, 'Red Snapper in Parchment with provencal butter with sweet garlic rice,' right?" She leans over to Dajan. "And he's not even a mutant, how about that?" Bobby heads back to the back - most of the time he doesn't bother to cook in back at his restaurants, but a few times he does. After he's gone, she mentions, "He's not, you know."

"I believe you," Dajan says, solemnly. "I expect he just knows you an' what you like because you're such a good patron of his restaurant." She looks around unabashedly. "Nice place," she says admiringly.

"So — what do you do for work, anyhow? Me, I'm kinda in between gigs, an' the whole point of comin' to New York was to try new things, so I could see what I like."

Monet sips some water. "Well, I -was- doing some experimental work at the Baxter Building, but Ms. Richards seemed to think I was being too mean to a sub-par researcher who worked there and was making mistakes and was cheating on his wife. But I'm actually a private investigator."
"Hm," Dajan says, listening. "Wow. Both of those are a little outside my league. Think I'd need more schoolin' to be up to those. Maybe need a secretary? Then I could pay you back for the outfit." Maybe a little of her pride is tweaked slightly at the idea of accepting such a gift from someone she doesn't know well. "An' it's not 'cause it's you," she adds, eyes on Monet's face. "I wouldn't let Dane buy me a formal either." She shrugs. "I'm tryin' to get over bein' raised all paranoid an' super strict. Really."
Monet nods. "Well I was fired from the researcher thing by Mrs. Richards, plus it didnt pay anything anyway. But with the private investigation thing, ever since I got back from that alternate universe I have been meaning to start up the agency regularly again, and I havent been able to get in touch with Jamie or Guido or Rahne lately so …. okay. Sure, why not?" She shrugs, then write down something on a slip of paper. "I live here, after we're done today feel free to visit tomorrow and we can discuss what you'd do. You don't actually have to pay me back though. And should I ask who Dane is?"
"Okay," Dajan says, honestly trying to get past her twitchiness at people offering to buy her things. "Thank you." Again, sincere. Monet is being genuinely nice to her, and Dajan knows it's the echoing memory of her mother getting in her way of just sitting back and enjoying it.
"Dane's this guy I met the day of that whole Central Park Wedding mishap thing." This Monet is likelier to have heard of; the video of Spider-Man dancing to Chris Brown's 'Eternity' at the wedding has gone viral. It may even have hit the Times Square jumbotron by this time. "I didn't want him to think I got tazered or hostaged…wow, such verbs I'm learnin'…so I stuck around afterwards. He got us invites to the weddin' but I wasn't dressed for it." Something about Dane is something she's keeping secret. Her shields may not be up to X-Men levels but when she's really concentrating, they're like translucent shower doors to someone of Monet's powers. The one thing that's obvious though, is that she's been /asked/ to keep this secret about Dane, hence the reinforced concentration.
"I can type 110 words a minute if that helps," she offers. "And you bet I'll be by to visit. " Finding a new job that has regular hours, rather than regular hours and called-in-when-somebody-calls-in-sick will be a huge improvement from her old job.
Monet makes a mental note to probe about Dane later, in the event Dajan doesn't just tell her. "I guess 110 words a minute's rather good. I don't see me asking you to type much but if the need arises…" She shrugs, then smiles as the food arrives. "So where are you staying since you've moved to New York?" she asks as she looks over the meal.
Dajan's eyes light up when the meal arrives. "Wow. This is almost — an' allow me to emphasize /almost/ — too pretty to eat." It's not going to stop her. She picks up the correct fork and digs in. "Lil boarding house in Alphabet City," she answers after tasting and savoring and getting bliss face over her first bite. "Oh. You gon' spoil me for the kinda food I can afford at this rate." She has another bite and is able to react to it a little bit less overtly. "Was savin' up for a better place, but first I lost my shoes." That would explain her new boots. "And I had to buy a new coat. An' then I lost my job, which was mostly tips anyway."
Monet smirks as she takes a bite of her dish as well. Things would be so much easier if she just bothered to read her mind deeper than she's doing. "You were saving for a better place…. but lost your shoes. Okay…" She shakes her head. "no, sorry some little shack in the East Village just won't do if you do wind up working for me. It's sort of like hiring a homeless person. Maybe one step up." She takes a sip of wine. "Okay, you're going to stay at my place. There are 8 bedrooms, you can have one."
"I didn't /lose/ my shoes, precisely," Dajan explains. "Spider-Man webbed me out of them and then knocked me upside the head." She says this completely conversationally, without guile, as if Spider-Man knocks her unconscious on the regular or something.
As for her mind, Dajan is only being careful about the history of her family and about who Dane is. The memories of her time as a not-quite-ninja are not accessible to Dajan, but perhaps Monet can see them. "I picked up a sword that was gris-gris'd or somethin'. Woke up without my shoes with Mr. Grimm — I mean, Ben — lookin' all concerned at me. It wore off, but I don't remember any of it, an' I'm sure Spider-Man has no idea which rooftop it was by now, what with swingin' over so many."
"…what, really?" Dajan blinks, astonished. Lunch and an outfit is one thing. A job is even another. But a room in an /eight/ /bedroom/ /apartment/? Dajan nearly chokes on her most recent bite of food and has to take a couple deep breaths. "Seriously, Monet? Wow. I … I don't know what to say. I mean, besides /thank/ you."

Monet makes a mental note to probe about Dane later, in the event Dajan doesn't just tell her. "I guess 110 words a minute's rather good. I don't see me asking you to type much but if the need arises…" She shrugs, then smiles as the food arrives. "So where are you staying since you've moved to New York?" she asks as she looks over the meal.

Dajan's eyes light up when the meal arrives. "Wow. This is almost — an' allow me to emphasize /almost/ — too pretty to eat." It's not going to stop her. She picks up the correct fork and digs in. "Lil boarding house in Alphabet City," she answers after tasting and savoring and getting bliss face over her first bite. "Oh. You gon' spoil me for the kinda food I can afford at this rate." She has another bite and is able to react to it a little bit less overtly. "Was savin' up for a better place, but first I lost my shoes." That would explain her new boots. "And I had to buy a new coat. An' then I lost my job, which was mostly tips anyway."

Monet smirks as she takes a bite of her dish as well. Things would be so much easier if she just bothered to read her mind deeper than she's doing. "You were saving for a better place…. but lost your shoes. Okay…" She shakes her head. "no, sorry some little shack in the East Village just won't do if you do wind up working for me. It's sort of like hiring a homeless person. Maybe one step up." She takes a sip of wine. "Okay, you're going to stay at my place. There are 8 bedrooms, you can have one."
"I didn't /lose/ my shoes, precisely," Dajan explains. "Spider-Man webbed me out of them and then knocked me upside the head." She says this completely conversationally, without guile, as if Spider-Man knocks her unconscious on the regular or something.
As for her mind, Dajan is only being careful about the history of her family and about who Dane is. The memories of her time as a not-quite-ninjas are not accessible to Dajan, but perhaps Monet can see them. "I picked up a sword that was gris-gris'd or somethin'. Woke up without my shoes with Mr. Grimm — I mean, Ben — lookin' all concerned at me. It wore off, but I don't remember any of it, an' I'm sure Spider-Man has no idea which rooftop it was by now, what with swingin' over so many."
"…what, really?" Dajan blinks, astonished. Lunch and an outfit is one thing. A job is even another. But a room in an /eight/ /bedroom/ /apartment/? Dajan nearly chokes on her most recent bite of food and has to take a couple deep breaths. "Seriously, Monet? Wow. I … I don't know what to say. I mean, besides /thank/ you."
Monet shrugs. "Penthouse. It's an apartment in the same way the food court serves food, I suppose." She takes another bite. "Oh and by the way, a hint about trying to hide thoughts? When you're actively thinking about what you want to hide, it actually makes it harder for you to hide it. It's sort of like… lets say I tell you to not think about unicorns. What are you then thinking about? Just letting you know since you're doing such an adorable job of trying to bury your thoughts."
"Cut me a break, willya, I have only had one telepath constantly tryin' to mess around in my head for eighteen years. It's not like I had anybody trainin' me." Dajan admits this readily, even if it brings a flicker of pain to flit through her eyes. "All this … this random thugs an' mole man attack stuff is new to me. And up until you, I hadn't met anybody else who was tryin'a get in my head, y'know?" She shrugs. "You could try askin', y'know, an' lettin' me actually answer your questions?"
Monet peers at you. "Seems a bit of the slow way to do things. Fine, tell me more about this Dale fellow? And look on the bright side. With me as your friend you definitely have some better protection against mole men attack and sandman craziness and…. I don't know, people shooting at you. Have you had anyone shoot at you yet? I'm quite good at catching bullets."
"Sorry the rest of us can't quite keep up with you yet," Dajan says, but gently. "I know it's the slow way for you, but honestly, I appreciate you doin' it for me."
"About Dane, he's a little bit over six foot, good shoulders, big puppy dog eyes like Dr. Brown from Back to the Future. He's kinda old fashioned. It's cute. He still hasn't even got the hang of texting yet, can ya believe it? We're supposed to go ice skating at the park in a few days."
"Have I got shot at yet?" Dajan has to actually stop and think about it. "No. Had a sword at my throat once. An' the webbing thing. The moleman thing with the freeze ray. No. No guns so far. Which's good. I don't do bulletproof either."
Monet enjoys her food while you talk to her about it. "I have to say I've never heard anyone described with any attraction with the words 'like Doc Brown from Back to the Future.' Trouble texting. So… cute looking but not particularly bright." She nods a bit. "Do you know how to skate?" she asks curiously as you mention the webbing and freeze ray and sword. "Maybe you can learn some martial arts also."
Monet shrugs. "Penthouse. It's an apartment in the same way the food court serves food, I suppose." She takes another bite. "Oh and by the way, a hint about trying to hide thoughts? When you're actively thinking about what you want to hide, it actually makes it harder for you to hide it. It's sort of like… lets say I tell you to not think about unicorns. What are you then thinking about? Just letting you know since you're doing such an adorable job of trying to bury your thoughts."
"Cut me a break, willya, I have only had one telepath constantly tryin' to mess around in my head for eighteen years. It's not like I had anybody trainin' me." Dajan admits this readily, even if it brings a flicker of pain to flit through her eyes. "All this … this random thugs an' mole man attack stuff is new to me. And up until you, I hadn't met anybody else who was tryin'a get in my head, y'know?" She shrugs. "You could try askin', y'know, an' lettin' me actually answer your questions?"
Monet peers at you. "Seems a bit of the slow way to do things. Fine, tell me more about this Dale fellow? And look on the bright side. With me as your friend you definitely have some better protection against mole men attack and sandman craziness and…. I don't know, people shooting at you. Have you had anyone shoot at you yet? I'm quite good at catching bullets."
"Sorry the rest of us can't quite keep up with you yet," Dajan says, but gently. "I know it's the slow way for you, but honestly, I appreciate you doin' it for me."
"About Dane, he's a little bit over six foot, good shoulders, big puppy dog eyes like Dr. Brown from Back to the Future. He's kinda old fashioned. It's cute. He still hasn't even got the hang of texting yet, can ya believe it? We're supposed to go ice skating at the park in a few days."
"Have I got shot at yet?" Dajan has to actually stop and think about it. "No. Had a sword at my throat once. An' the webbing thing. The moleman thing with the freeze ray. No. No guns so far. Which's good. I don't do bulletproof either."
Monet enjoys her food while you talk to her about it. "I have to say I've never heard anyone described with any attraction with the words 'like Doc Brown from Back to the Future.' Trouble texting. So… cute looking but not particularly bright." She nods a bit. "Do you know how to skate?" she asks curiously as you mention the webbing and freeze ray and sword. "Maybe you can learn some martial arts also."
"Oh, no, he's a scientist. A …" she thinks about it for a second. "A physicist. And he's an animal lover!" Not a bad trait; you can tell a lot about a guy from how he treats animals. "I do know how to skate, yeah," she confirms. "I mean, I'm not good for Disney on Ice or anythin', but I'm not gonna embarrass m'self. There were skatin' rinks in Thibodeaux. An' yeah. I'm thinkin' I need to find somewhere I can get lessons. But I gotta settle the job situation first before I think about that…" She pauses, grins, pops the last bite of her meal in her mouth. She chews, swallows, and adds, "But I guess your kindness just took that obstacle outta the way." She is showing her upbringing in more ways than one by completely cleaning the plate with a piece of bread.
Monet nods. "One of my friends is an animal." she says, referring to Rahne. "So is he a mutant or amything? Just curious." She watches you use the bread to clean the plate. "Well if you don't want to be my secretary, you always could have a fallback position as a dishwasher."
Dajan shakes her head. "No, he's not a mutant, at least, not far as I know, and he didn't say. Had the chance, because I kinda accidentally dropped my own secret the day of the Central Park thing. Overheard the bad guys talkin' about a bomb." She wears a self-recriminating expression. "In the middle of a huge crowded hubbub."
"Nothin' wrong with washin' dishes. Hadda do it my whole life growin' up." No dishwasher for her family, it would appear. "Still honest work, right?"
Monet watches Dajan as she finishes her food a bit more neatly. "I'm pretty sure the health department would have a problem with doing dishes using your tongue and bread though." She then takes another sip of the wine. "Want to find out if he is or isnt?"

Dajan grins. "I'd wash 'em the proper way," she assures Monet. "And no, he was real up front with me, so I don't think he's a mutant as such. And even if he was, not somethin' to worry about." She isn't quite at the point of licking the plate, thankfully. "That. Was. Amazing," she says, when she's certain she can't get even another tiny drop of sauce off the plate. "No wonder Mr. Flay's so famous."
Monet nods smiling. "My father is on one of the Boards that he's on and he showed me how to cook some dishes. He's actually very big on mutant rights for a non-mutant celebrity. So, got a lot to move?" She thinks. "You probably should see my place shouldnt you?"
"Oh, that's how you and him know each other so well. Real neat that some non-mutant folk are cool and realize we /are/ all just … y'know, people." The meal seems to sit even better with her now knowing that Bobby Flay is apparently non-racist.
"A lot to move? Me? Oh, no," Dajan says, with a shake of her head that sets her hair moving just a little. "I got a duffle bag, a lil cheapo microwave I can give back to Goodwill, and that pretty much covers it."

Monet nods. "Want to stop by there and pick up your stuff or first see the place. "I mean maybe you won't even want to stay at a park row penthouse two floor apartment." She shrugs a bit. The waiter comes with the bill, but first asks if either of you would like dessert. "No thanks for me - Dajan?"
"We can do that for sure," Dajan says, still a little dazzled by how fast things have happened. "My rent for next week is just about due so the timin' couldn't possibly be better. "Won't take me five minutes to pack."

"Dessert? I could maybe have room for dessert." She flushes faintly and adds, sheepishly. "My metabolism is — way high. Hungry most of the time. Which was why I was okay workin' at a diner. D'you mind terribly, Monet?"
Monet shrugs. "No I don't mind. Got that high metabolism too. Just not much of a sweet tooth today. Knock yourself out. I recommend the pumpkin bread pudding with spicy caramel apple sauce and vanilla bean creme anglaise." she says before the waiter has a chance to make a recommendation.

Dajan nods. "That, please," she agrees with Monet's recommendation. "We didn't get a lot of sweets growin' up. Seven kids, and Mom'n'Dad doin' the best they could for us. Poor but happy, stereotypical, but yeah, that was us."

Monet shrugs a bit. "I've found a lot of people who grow up poor are actually pretty resentful of people who didn't." she notes, remembering Susan's thoughts and words on the subject a few days ago. "Nice to see you're above that. You'd think that with little money, they wouldn't have had so many children. Then again I guess if you're poor, it's an activity. What did they do for a living?"
"Mom was a nurse, Daddy worked in construction," Dajan shrugs. "And I think they planned for only three, but the third kid was twins, and things began lookin' up as I got older. We didn't have, y'know, one X-box per kid like some families, or even the expensive cable with all the channels, but our parents /loved/ us and we knew it. A lot of the rich kids I knew were rich in money, but their parents barely paid attention. So I guess we never were money rich, but we did okay in the ways that /count/, y'know? Besides, resentin' the rich is kinda silly. I mean, I know there's this notion that you can always get rich if you work hard enough, an' that's just bull. But my mom was around for all the stuff a girl wants her mom around for. She always had time for me. Or made time. Her time wasn't so important like that couldn't take five minutes if any of us needed her."

Monet nods a bit. "Noticing you're using the past tense a lot. Are they still alive? Do you keep in touch with your siblings?" Well at least she's not just delving into your thoughts and letting you know what you're thinking.
That Monet is not digging around and answering her own questions means a /lot/ to Dajan. It's done a lot to endear the woman to the southerner. "Whole family killed in an accident right before Christmas," Dajan explains briefly, going from enthusiastically eating her dessert to picking at it and pushing it around. As the waiter checks on them, she asks, "D'you think I maybe could have a to-go box?" Growing up poor means not wasting restaurant food. "It was a gas main," she finishes, having avoided an answering the question as much as she could. "At least, that's what they said. Coulda been a few other things, bein' that I wasn't the only 'gifted' one in the family'."
The waiter comes back to put the dessert in a to-go box, then leaves the check, which comes to about $104. Monet hands over a platinum card. "Yeah, my brother and sisters were also mutants. Sort of odd that neither of my parents were."
"Mine ether," Dajan says. "Though I always suspected Daddy had some kinda real low-key gift, he never showed it to any of us." She tries not to visibly boggle at the size of the check for lunch and dessert, and mostly succeeds. "Guess some people are carriers for the dominant gene." She smiles at Monet. "See, my biology's not totally hopeless."
Monet smiles. "Technically, the mutant gene being turned on is a recessive trait. Accounts for its relative rarity." she corrects Dajan. "It really sometimes feels like there's little rhyme or reason. I mean… my sisters had some telepathic abilities and a few other abilities, my brother - he had some odd abilities too, and me. Then again, even without the mutant gene I hit the jackpot, so to speak." She doesnt go into detail about all the powers she has, particularly since it would take quite some time to list. When she gets the credit card back, she adds a nice sized tip of $25 and puts her card away. "Tell Bobby the food was wonderful for us. We really have to go now."
Dajan gets up, not even a little bit slowed down by the large and rich meal. "Okay — back to the mall, or should I go get my stuff and meet you somewhere?" She shifts her weight from foot to foot, still trying to get used to the generosity not coming with strings.

Monet shakes her head. "That's what professional buyers are for. Let's go pick up your 'duffel bag'…" she says, using HER hands as she says the words 'duffel bag' "Then go to my place."

Monet says, "orrrr. just meet me at my place. You have the address. The doorman can let you up."

Dajan bobs her head in a quick nod. "Okay, Monet. And thanks. A lot. I know I keep sayin' it. It's just — I've had a few friends, but none who looked out for me like you're doin'." She blushes a little under her freckles as she admits this.
Monet hands Dajan $100 as the two of you leave the restaurant. "You go get your bag, I'm going to head back - I'll let the doorman know to expect you and let you up. Here's some money for a cab." Then once out of the restaurant, she flies up into the air a bit, not particularly caring that people know she's a mutant. She doesnt care that they know when she's in front of mutant haters - let alone when she's in front of a friend's restaurant who is a pro-mutant civil rights advocate. "And I'll have a professional buyer get you some stuff which will look good on you, you can choose when its delivered." Then she flies off.
Dajan blinks, and nods, stunned again. "…dis gon' take a minute to get used to, yeah," she says to herself, before actually breaking into that run again and disappearing into the subway.

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