LOG: Warren and Jennifer Walters, Callisto and Townshend

[x-highflying.livejournal.com]

Backdated. Warren calls an old friend from college for some help.

It bugged Warren that he couldn't practice just yet - he'd sat the test, but his license was yet to come through as yet. Everything just took so long. But it was because of this that Warren was on the phone, calling an old friend of his. He'd gotten in touch with Jennifer when he'd decided to go back into law, and they'd been keeping in vague touch. Which had faded when he'd become preoccupied with Vanessa's disappearance and working at XFI. But now he needed her help, and so he was on the phone, waiting for Jennifer to pick up.

"Well, look who's back on the face of the earth",  said a warmly amused voice on the other end.  "I was starting to wonder where you'd got to."

"How did you know I was going to start out with an apology?" Warren replied, a grin appearing on his face. "If I didn't know better, I'd accuse you of being psychic."

"Oh, honey, I don't need to be psychic.  I just know you."  A chair creaked as she settled back into it.  "So what did I miss?"

"I think I managed not to fail my bar exam, so there's that." The smile faded just a little. "But my girlfriend went missing a few weeks back, so I've been alternating between worrying about her and trying to find her, and helping to keep her PI firm going. So things have been pretty crazy."

"...oh, Warren, I'm sorry", she said, suddenly more serious in turn.  "Anything I can do to help?"

"Actually, there is. One of the cases I'm working on involves a runway, one who has gotten himself into a little trouble involving robbing a liquor store, as it turns out. I promised I'd help get him out of trouble, but I'm not quite yet able to represent him myself. But I was hoping you'd be up for it. I know it's not usually the sort of case you'd handle, but there may be some court time..."

And considering he knew that Jennifer's bosses kept her out of sight as much as possible, Warren was pretty sure he'd be able to count on her for help. Or at least that was what he was hoping.

Jennifer made a considering noise, but it was definitely on the approving side.  "You always make the best offers.  Your boy actually did it and we're just looking to avoid jail time?"

"That's it exactly. First time offender, from what I'm aware, he's fallen in with a bad crowd. He'll be returning to live with his parents, and I think he'll find them taking far more interest in his activities from here on out." Or at least that's what Warren would do in their place.

"That should make it easier, if he's a juvenile."  She pulled a notebook towards her and started scribbling notes.  "What made him run away, and has the situation been resolved?"

"From what I understand, he'd been acting out for awhile before he ran away, and his parents didn't know what to do about it. So they fought, and he ran. Encouraged by his new friends, of course. I think if he stays away from them, he has a chance of getting back on track."

Of course, Warren had a tendency to see the best in a situation.
 
"We'll certainly argue that he does", Jennifer agreed.  "And that juvenile detention would likely only make things worse.  Maybe throw in a requirement for some family counselling."
 
"Which I think the parents would certainly be up for. And the juvenile system doesn't have the same ability to take mutant prisoners that the adult system does." Warren smiled. "Thanks for this, Jen. I'll definitely owe you one after this."
 
"I'm sure I'll find some way to call in the favour", she said cheerfully.  "Email me over all the details and I'll get right on it."

Callisto finds Townshend, and they have a little chat.

There was no-one in the hide-out as he returned, but that wasn't unusual - it was early still and the rest of the gang would be out in Mutie Town. But Townshend wasn't in the mood for fun tonight; something was off. The hair on the back of his neck was twitching, something telling him there were eyes on him. Better to lay low in the abandoned store they had commandeered as a place to stay.

He scrambled effortlessly up the back fence, walking along the top until he reached a half-open window, hoisting himself easily up and pulling himself inside. Being a mutant was, he had to admit, sometimes pretty damn awesome.

"Having fun?"

The voice came from behind him - a skinny young woman was leaning against the wall next to the window, hands stuffed into the pockets of her scruffy jeans. A leather biker jacket that was slightly too big for her hung off her angular frame, the dark mop of hair on her head obscuring part of her face. His keen eyes quickly and easily adjusting to the dim light, Townshend could make out a long scar snaking up one side of her face, and a thoughtful pout which, as he took in her appearance, twisted slightly into something like a smirk.

"Y'know, a real street kid'd be at me with a blade by now."

A noise much like a hiss escaped him and his hands came up, claws extended. "Who the fuck are you?" he demanded. "This is our place. Fuck off."

Pushing away from the wall with a shrug of her shoulders, the stranger seemed unperturbed by his claws as she took a couple of steps toward him. The sound of her boots on the floorboards, buckles clinking slightly with each step, was strangely at-odds with her slight figure - if he couldn't see her in front of him he would have assumed they were caused by a much larger, heavier individual.

"I'm Callisto," she said simply.

Townshend's eyes widened fractionally. He'd been on the streets long enough to have heard the stories. "But, aren't you... you're dead!" he exclaimed, voice squeaking a little before he realised what he sounded like and coughed. "So what if you are? Why are you here?"

Callisto raised her eyebrows, cocking her head slightly to the side. "You first."

He blinked, confused. "What do you mean? I live here. It's our place. You're the one trespassing."

"Come on, kid. You know you don't belong out here."

"How the fuck would you know?" he retorted. "You don't know me. You don't know a damn thing about me." His claws, which had begun to retract, flicked out again. "What the fuck makes you think you can just walk in here and tell me what to do?"

"I know that your parents are worried about you, and want you to come home - and not so they can beat you up, either. Which is a damn sight better'n most of the kids out here can say."

"My parents?" Townshend's voice was angry and bitter. "They don't know anything about what it's like. They never noticed a fucking thing. My brothers picking on me. The kids at school. 'Why don't you make friends, Townshend? You spend too much time alone, Townshend.'" He mimicked his parents' voices mockingly. "Well, I've got friends now. Ones that look out for me, better than anyone at home ever did. So fuck them and fuck you."

"Oh, cry me a fucking river," Callisto said scathingly, "Nobody's parents understand them, kid, that's just life. Start a blog or some shit."

"You know what? Get the fuck out of here. I didn't ask you to come here and I don't give a fuck who you are." Townshend raised his hands, claws extended. "Or I'll make you go."

Callisto smiled.

Well, she pulled her lips back, and it was a split second too late that the kid realised that this was not a smile but a bareing of teeth, because she'd already sprung forward toward him. Had he been prepared, he could've beaten her. He was sure of it. But in that moment, he hadn't been expecting this skinny woman, hands in pockets, to move so quickly with such momentum, or to be so strong, and it was almost before he had the chance to register her actions that he found himself backed against the wall, hands pinned either side of him, claws still extended but completely useless in her vice-like grip.

"Now listen to me because I don't like repeating myself: you need to grow the fuck up. Your parents love you, and miss you. They miss you so much they hired PIs to find you and bring you home. They clothed and fed you all your life, and however they fucked up, whatever things they said that hurt your poor little feelings, all they want now is for you to come home so they can make it right. Do you have any idea how lucky that makes you? The other kids out here on the streets with you, or in the shelters, they're not out there for fun, or because they think their parents don't understand them, or because they're bullied at school. These kids have nowhere else to be. They have nothing - no parents, no friends, no money or home. I spoke to a kid the other day who was just sitting at home on his computer when scales burst through his skin, all over his body. They even closed up over his ears - for all we know he'll never hear again. You know what his dad did when he saw him? He beat ten shades of shit out of him, and kicked him out of the house. He's sleeping on a camp bed in a room with six other kids because he has nowhere else to go. And you? You have two parents who love you, but you don't want to go home because, what, they're finding it hard to cope?"

Callisto leaned closer now, her face inches from his. He could see the slight puckering of the skin around the scar that crossed her eye, the slight twist to her mouth from another scar through her lip. It twisted further now, in apparent disgust, and she pushed back from him, releasing his wrists with a force that hurt more than her grip had. "These kids you're playing Lost Boys with? They would kill to have what you have," she said matter-of-factly. "You don't know you're born."

Townshend stared at her, mouth agape, rubbing his wrists without even noticing. What could he say to that? A smart answer would likely get him killed, and to be honest, she'd hit a nerve. "I-I'm sorry," he muttered, looking down at the floor. "I didn't mean..." He scuffed his toe on the dusty floor. "Um, there's a problem. I'm kinda wanted. By the cops. I don't want my folks to have to deal with that, not on top of everything else."

Stepping back a little, Callisto stuffed her hands back into her pockets, though Townshend now knew better than to assume this meant she was at ease, and now that he observed her with this new knowledge his sharp eye could see her for the coiled spring she actually was - muscles tensed, eyes missing nothing, always ready for action, always on guard - not so unlike how he felt himself, really.

"Let us worry about that," she said now, in a tone that suggested she knew all about the police's interest in him. "You just worry about what the hell you're going to say to your mom and dad when you see them again."