xp_logs | Times They Are A-Changin': Arrival (Reply)

Police, FBI, and Friends of Humanity: All the makings of a standard fieldtrip for Xavier's.

The crisp February morning was beginning to mellow. While still cold, the frost had melted to the point the protesters' shoes no longer crunched on the church lawn.

Though not famous for their peaceful demonstrations, these particular representatives of the Friends of Humanity were largely well-behaved. They were now going on their fourth hour of disappointing the news crew that had parked itself across the street, denying the cameras footage of anything more threatening than distributing flyers to uninterested passers-by. Some had brought their families; there was even the odd stroller in the crowd. Occasionally one would engage in conversation with a representative from Parents, Friends and Family of Mutants. Neither party was changing the other's mind, but at least the discourse was civil.

Kane took a sip of his coffee, grimaced and stared into the paper cup suspiciously. "Terry, where the hell did you get this coffee? I ordered double-double, but this has enough cream and suger in it to not qualify as coffee any more. It's more like... cake batter." He tossed it into the garbage can beside his car, against which they had set up the impromptu FBI post by simply leaning against it and watching. Occasionally, one of the uniforms would drop by with an update of any incidents, but mostly, their job was to be an obvious presence. The Bureau and local police both thought that the protest would be peaceful; they might be FoH, but they weren't from the bomb-throwing side of the organization. Still, it never hurt to make sure.

Terry had settled herself on the hood of the car, folding her legs up in front of her and cradling her coffee in her lap. She looked at him innocently. "I think it tastes fine," she said, her penchant for fru-fru coffee leaking through. She sipped at her own cup and scanned out at the groups with a distant look on her face, old memories temporarily churned to the surface.

"You're irish. What do the Irish know about coffee? Isn't it all tea and whiskey and interfaith feuds over there?" Terry was learning that Kane's distracted conversation tended to be the big, buff and slightly dim Canadian to play up the humour. Which meant he was concentrating elsewhere. It wasn't just the crowd. He'd read the profiles, and the worst that either group was likely to do on their own was a fist fight or two. But they made nice cover for anyone a little more militant who wanted to make a splash and get away clean. He hated crowd scenes.

"Och, aren't you West Brit. Who do you think was inventing the thing?" Terry tossed back, letting the flow of conversation remain shallow and easy while she picked a few more familiar faces out of the crowds and noted the patterns of their movements.

"My dad is British. I'm Canadian. We invented tolerance and decent coffee that doesn't cost the same as a steak." A car slowed down on the opposite street, and Kane spoke into the mic in his sleeve. "Patrol four, we have a blue sedan idling. You want to get a closer look?" Probably nothing, but cars slowing down without a stop signs usually meant someone was taking a look. They watched one of the uniforms amble over, but before he got close, the car pulled up to the curb, and two high school students got out and started to unload a hand painted sign to join the rally.

"I do not think so. I am sure we invented coffee. You can have the tolerance though. Tis boring enough," she teased, turning her head and lifting a finger to press the receiver in her ear to eavesdrop on reports from the other end. "I hate seeing the young ones," she murmured quietly a moment later with a frown souring her expression.

"Nobody in the British Isles invented coffee. It's entirely too wet to roast coffee beans in. Maybe you created hot coffee soup or something." He said, still watching the crowd. Something wasn't right. He could put his finger on it, but there was something... expectant in the atmosphere. Maybe it was because things were being a little too polite. In this setting, at least one gatecrasher should have started spouting off the crazy and gotten hauled away. A couple had started on in Juanita Espinosa's group but had been quickly hauled back into line. But on the FoH side, nothing. That was too odd to be normal. "Does this seem almost intentionally too quiet to you?"

"Intentionally? ... No," Terry answered a moment later, though she straightened in her seat to give the crowd a longer, more searching look. He was right. The crowd was quiet and peaceable with a veneer of pleasantness quite unnatural to these sorts of clashes. She glanced back over at Kane and asked quietly, "You think something is up?"

"I don't know. It doesn't feel right that we've got a protest and counterprotest made up of the nicest people in the world." Kane was well aware how ridiculous he sounded. This was a police officer's dream protest right here, and he didn't trust it. "Come on, let's take another walk around the yard. Maybe I'm just looking for a reason to be suspicious."

"Like you need one," Terry tossed back, scooting to the edge of the car's hood and dropping off the side. She drained her cup of coffee in an over-sugared rush and tossed it into the trash can on top of Kane's rejected cup.

Things were quieter within the perimeter. PFOM had set up their event in anticipation of a certain degree of attention, and so the booths also served as a discrete blind from the street. Nonetheless, the protesters were still visible from within, particularly from the greeter's booth. One picketer set down a sign bearing the words "RESPONSIBILITY = REGISTRATION" and accepted a paper cup of coffee from one of the volunteers who had taken it upon themselves to distribute food and drink. It was a small gesture of civility, and one which had nothing to do with the police presence.

Juanita smiled at Jean-Phillipepe as he approached her booth, where Angelo was opening another box of leaflets in the back.

"Hello. You're with Xavier's, aren't you?"

"Oui. Ah...soy Jean-Phillipe," he introduced himself, his Spanish accent rather terrible, but the similarities between the neighboring Romance languages enough that he could at least generally make himself understood. And he did have manners, and attempting to use someone's native tongue was good manners. "A pleasure to meet you, Senora Espinosa."

She beamed at him, bad accent or not, and nodded. "You too, Jean-Phillipe. What can I do for you?"

"Oh, nothing in particular," he replied. "I am just attempting to keep an eye on...them," he said, barely concealed contempt dripping from the last word, and the flick of his eyes giving clear indication that he meant the protesters. "Is there anything I might do to help you?" he asked in return, since she was still rather clearly in the setting up process.

"If it won't keep you from your other duties", Juanita said with a pleased smile, "you could set out some of these leaflets. And some of the smaller piles or single sheets might need a rock to hold them down."

"It will help, actually, so that I do not look so obvious in watching," Jean-Phillipe told Angelo's mother with an answering smile. "Besides, I am always glad to help in whatever way I can for an event like this."

Angelo stepped forward with a grin and dropped a bunch of leaflets in Jean-Phillipe's hands. "Always good to have another helper - an' hey, how are you, haven't seen you since India."

Jean-Phillipe nodded easily as he and Angelo began laying the leaflets out. "My classes have been keeping me occupied, and you have your law studies, non?" He put a hand to his forehead melodramatically. "The curse of growing up and becoming a mature adult." He studiously ignored the balled-up leaflet that bounced off of his head, and the suppressed snicker from Angelo's mother that followed it.

Set further back from the street entrance, Victoria Eisen's booth offered a degree of privacy from the protesters. This privacy was increased by a curtained-off section in the back of the booth where prospective customers could try on various articles of clothing, or the shyer of them could be measured for alterations or custom fits. One girl with a colorful tattoo peeking over the collar of her jacket did her best to manage the straps on a backless top fitted over a mannequin torso with stubs positioned where wings were usually found, while her coworker busyed herself near a stand of hats.

Tangerine fiddled with the mirror, aligning it one way, stepping back to survey her handiwork, then readjusting it another little bit. It seemed to be stubborn and wasn't setting up quite the way she wanted it but she finally gave in, admitting that she was somewhat of a perfectionist sometimes and that it was ok to leave it the way it was. With that done, she turned her attention to the hats, resetting some of the ones browsers had tried on and put back askew.

There was a soft giggle behind her and then a familiar accented voice: "Nervous, Tangerine? You adjusted that mirror five times already."

Raising her eyebrows at the sound of someone addressing her, the orange haired girl turned around and smiled as she saw who it was. "Yvette! Hey hon, how are you doing?" Her instinct was to hug her good friend but she knew she had to be careful, what with the other girl's mutation. "I know, it just doesn't look exactly right, you know?" Once again she turned to look at the mirror, hands on her hips and head tilted to one side.

"It is fine," Yvette admonished her friend, laughing. "And the booth is looking very nice. How has business been? Have people been interested in the clothing?" She started looking carefully through a pile of gloves - no good to her since they weren't made of Forge's self-repairing cloth, but she liked to get ideas for styles and patterns.

"We're still prepping for the grand opening, mind you, but it's going to be amazing, I just know it!" She beamed, turning back to the hats. "I mean, just look at these hats, they're so darling, aren't they? Mutant haute couture is where it's at, darling, don't you know?" Tangerine grinned, proud of her contributions to the shop. "How about you, how are you doing, Yvette?"

"Good, good. It is great to see so many people here." Yvette turned her attention to the hats, a little wistful that she couldn't try one on without shredding it. "I really need to see if Forge will let you have access to his self-repairing cloth. It would be so useful for more people than just me." She held up her gloved hand, flexing her fist and showing Tangerine how the material shredded and then repaired itself over her knuckles. "Without this, I would have quite the clothing bill!"

Tangerine watched with rapt attention as Yvette demonstrated how the material of her gloves worked. Her jaw might have dropped a little bit even, and she blinked several times before reply.

"No, yeah, that would be awesome! Not the huge clothing bills, I mean, but to work with fabric like that. All the applications it could be used for, that'd be fantastic!" Tangerine clapped her hands together at the very thought. "If he was cool with that and you don't mind asking, oh my gosh, Victoria would totally be interested I bet!"

"Of course I would not mind - it would be to my benefit, yes?" Yvette laughed, pleased that Tangerine wanted to work with her. "Clarice and Monet have done much for me in the clothing area, but I really would like to have some more options other than the body suit all the time, yes?"

There was a clatter from the other side of the booth. A man had toppled a detached mannequin hand clad in a stylish glove while reaching further into the display. Tangerine's co-worker moved to assist him, but he mumbled an apology and swiftly bent to retrieve the display himself. He was clearly a mutant: his head, the only part of his body uncovered, had a faceted, crystalline look, as if it had been carved from obsidian. The face had a statue's cold symmetry -- with the exception of one spot on the right side of his skull, which was cracked and crazed as if it had suffered some extreme impact.

"It's ok, don't worry about it." Tangerine smiled at the man as she moved over to help set up the display again. She frowned for a second, looking thoughtfully at him before continuing. "Hmm, I know you from somewhere... you're Daryl's brother, right?"

The man stiffened a little at the address, but relaxed a fraction once he saw who it was. "Oh -- uh, yeah." He waved vaguely towards the other booths. "He's around. Somewhere. Just thought I'd get better gloves." As he spoke his eyes lighted for a moment on Yvette before dropping again, as if he didn't want to draw attention to himself with an indication he was paying attention to her.

He had also, very swiftly, backed away from Tangerine to reduce all chance of physical contact.

"Ty, that's it!" Tangerine's eyes lit up as she remembered his name, proud that she hadn't actually forgotten it. Brushing a burnt orange lock of hair back behind her ear, she smiled again, not approaching him any further as he moved away. "I can help you find some gloves if you'd like, we've got a very nice selection if I do say so myself."

"I'm just looking for something thinner," said the man identified as Ty, flexing one hand; his gloves were a standard polyester-nylon blend that were better for warmth than traction. He stole another glance at Yvette and ducked his head again. "I'll come back. Daryl's got the money anyway."

"These are good," Yvette suggested, fishing out a pair she had been looking at earlier. She could see how skittish he was and didn't want a prospective sale to go. Besides, she always enjoyed meeting other obvious mutants. It made her feel less unique. "They are too thin for my skin, but perhaps they would be good for yours?" She smiled shyly. "My name is Yvette, by the way."

The crystalline structure of his face made subtle expression difficult to read, but the man's bodylanguage tensed a fraction as he noticed Yvette's hands were also covered. He opened his mouth, a question clear on his lips, then seemed to catch himself.

"Thanks," Ty said instead, "I'll remember." A touch of wryness leant some emotion to the unreadable expression as he added, "Someone encouraged Daryl to talk up PFOM, so we're going to be here for a while."

With a final awkward half-wave, the young man departed.

Yvette watched him go, curiously. "Do you know him?" she asked Tangerine. "You said something about his brother?"

Tangerine nodded, watching Ty as he walked away. "Uh-huh. Well, kinda. His brother, Daryl, I know better than him, but I've seen Ty with him. Seems like a nice enough guy." She looked at Yvette, back to Ty, then back to Yvette. "Why, do you like him, Evey?" Tangerine smirked a little at her friend.

Yvette's eyes glowed brighter. "No!" she said hastily, then realised what she had said. "I mean, I do not even know him. I am just wondering, that is all. He seemed... interesting." She stuck her tongue out playfully at her friend. "We are not all the boy crazy people like you, Tangerine."

Her smirk growing even wider, Tangerine just nodded her head. "Uh huh, sure, I believe you." She let it drop, however, and nodded back to a section in another part of the store. "I've got something to show you though, oh my gosh, I think you'll love it, you came right to mind when I saw it!" And with that she was off to show Yvette a whole bunch of clothing, as she was usually wont to do.

Other stalls were dominated by legal matters. One in particular was filled with newspaper clippings and magazine articles detailing a variety of topics that ranged from discrimination in the workplace to blatant exploitation. An entire half of the booth was devoted to stories and statistics of mutant trafficking, and a woman with mint-green skin and delicate gold speckling was talking to an attendee about her time as a sex worker. Her husband, a civil rights attorney, was deep in conversation with a woman about the terms of her brother's recent job termination.

Korvus had a break in people asking him about his history in Madripoor as a slave. He leaned over to Meggan to speak softly. "I was unaware of your history in the circus and the abuse you endured. I do not believe you to be a 'freak' warranting a 'freakshow.' I find your asymmetrical dimple to be quite endearing." He said with a hint of playfulness in his otherwise very dry delivery.

It wasn't a topic of discussion that Meggan was good about bringing up, not wanting to inadvertently kill any conversations stone dead or upset anyone. But given the booth’s topic, it had seemed the right place to tell Korvus. She nodded, pausing momentarily to give his hand a small squeeze. “Yeah?” Asymmetrical? She couldn’t help the smile from that last comment. It was sweet, coming from him. “Even if I was very furry, and it couldn't be seen nearly as well back then…I and my asymmetrical dimple thank you very much.”

Pixie slowly scraped bits of gravel around with her foot, admiring her "mutant awareness" themed Vans she had painted just for this day. She didn't want to interrupt the other two, who were sharing a cozy moment. Besides, though he had suffered in the coal mines, her dad was a regular human, unless he wasn't her biological... no, she wouldn't go there. She scuffed her foot a bit harder, as if to scrub the thought away, and continued listening to snatches of the conversations at the booth behind theirs.

Hearing the gravel, Korvus looked back to Megan. He was very concerned with being inclusive. "The crowd appears to be thinning at this booth for the moment. Is there anything particular we ought to take a break to see?"

Megan looked up. "Oh, how about the arts and crafts?"

Meggan nodded in agreement, before looking back to Korvus. “Arts and Crafts could be interesting.” It might be fun, depending on the types of crafts that were being shown.

Nearby, another booth attendant fumbled to bag the oversized keyboard for his customer. The device was still nearly four times the standard cost even with the booth's discount, and the other items offered were similarly pricey. While there were "necessities" for the physically divergent, such as heavily tinted sunglasses for the light-sensitive and quality sound-mufflers, the stock included specially insulated electronics and various adapters for those who lacked the dexterity or necessary digits to manipulate the standard controls. Also in stock was something that resembled a large iPad, presumably for mutants who could make up in cash what they lacked in fine motor control.

"I get that there's not really a high demand for this stuff," Matt commented, running a hand over a specialty mouse as he examined it, "but it doesn't really do a lot of good if the average mutant can't get access to it, you know?" The cost for things here was prohibitive in his opinion.

Artie shrugged. "And half this is stuff you can get at other places, cheaper." He stuffed his synthesizer back into his pocket and glared at the stall holder, making a text bubble appear over the man's head, saying "this dude is ripping people off. srsly, check ebay for some of this stuff."

Molly was too busy looking at the neat stuff to hear what Matt and Artie were saying. Grabbing the tinted sunglasses and slipping them on, she peered over at the two boys and held her hand out all dramatically.

"Come wif mee if you wan to leeeeve!" she said.

She and Wademan had saw the movie last week. She wasn't sure why a robot had a funny accent, though.

"Nah," Matt laughed as he inspected some more stuff, "This crap is too much fun. You go!"

Artie nodded and gave her a thumbs up as he poked a ...thing. It looked like it was a pen with a rattle built into the end and he had no idea why.

"Kay, seeya!" Molly said as she put down her sunglasses (which were super cool) and wandered out. Maybe they had cool food there too?

"Later," Matt replied, unperturbed at the younger girl going off on her own.

Early as it was, someone had already fired up a portable grill and was beginning to barbecue. For now, though, the refreshments were still limited to drinks, baked goods, and a few specially prepared dishes carefully marked as vegan or gluten-free. It was unclear whether the last was for the benefit of any mutants with special dietary needs or simply a general courtesy. The majority of the food was homemade.

"I don't even know what gluten is," Layla commented as she poked at the cling wrap over some sort of gluten-free casserole. "Is that like MSG or a spice or something?" They were the only ones up at the booth now, everyone else having gotten their sugar rushes and wandered off with them. The blonde was peering over Sarah's shoulder pointing at a plate of brownies. "Do you think that's cheesecake or white chocolate swirled in there? White chocolate is like...it's sorta like those white guys who think they're down and ghetto and live on the upper east side."

Sarah thought upon that for a moment before slowly shaking her head. "I don't think I know what it is either. Huh." It was one of those words you heard a lot these days, in advertisements for food that was gluten free and such, but she didn't have the foggiest what that really meant. Shrugging, she looked over her shoulder and smiled at Layla. "Ooh, I hope it's cheesecake!" She chuckled at the white chocolate explanation, shaking her head a little again. "I bet white chocolate would taste good too. Gosh, now I want one."

"Brownies are good," Maddie glanced over at a plate of what looked like cookies with a billion candy bars mixed in. "Cheesecake is meh. Key lime pie is better. But cookies and milk are classic. This cookie is as big as my head, I need to have one. Like, totally need."

Layla flagged down one of the people behind the table and grinned. "She needs a cookie as big as her head," she said, pointing at Maddie. "Because she might die. From, um, hypoglycemic shock or something." The blonde grinned at the guy and the pointed at the brownies with the mystery white thing swirled in. "And two of those. Because, you know, life or death here. Obviously."

Sarah giggled a little as Layla ordered a cookie for Maddie, then raised her eyebrows at the mention of the brownies. "Two brownies?" She broke out the puppy dog eyes and looked over at the blonde girl. Surely she didn't want both of them for herself, did she? She looked over at the cookie while waiting for a reply, it really did look good. "Those do look good too, Maddie."

Maddie rolled her eyes at Sarah as she paid and thanked the woman for the cookie and tore off a huge chunk. "Sharing is caring," she proclaimed, holding out the piece of cookie to Sarah. "Hey Lay-lay, are you eating both of those brownies? 'Cause I think Sarah here is going to die of forsakenness if she doesn't get one. And I need her for my evil plans."

"All your plans are evil," Layla said, pointing at the redhead with an attempt at looking accusatory. Which failed remarkably. Then she paid the lady and passed a brownie back to Sarah. Of course, she was trying to be all stealthy so her hand was down low at her waist and offering the brownie up behind her. Whether or not Sarah would actually see it was an entirely different matter.

"I wonder if they have like real bathrooms around here. Because, dude, too much slurpee but port-a-potties skeeve me out big time."

"Oh, thank you!" She hadn't been looking for a piece of the cookie but she sure as heck wasn't about to turn it down either. Sarah grinned and took the cookie, nomming on it. Mmmm, delicious. She was indeed watching her friend and her face lit up at the sight of the brownie, which she gingerly took from the blonde's hand, trying to be as stealthy as Layla was.

"Oh, yeah, I think they do, over in the church maybe? I thought I saw a sign somewhere." She was with Layla on that front, it was much more preferable to use a real washroom than having to resort to a port-a-potty.

Maddie rolled her eyes and took another bite of her cookie; they weren't fooling anyone with that attempt at a covert exchange. It's not like she didn't already know that the extra brownie was for Sarah, please. And she didn't even have to use her powers to figure it out. They were so hopeless at times. "I vote you just go in the bushes; it's probably cleaner than a bathroom anyways where like everyone and their brother who doesn't want to use the port-o-potty will go and will dirty it up and there probably won't be any toilet paper anyways and you two really need to work on your whole unnoticeable hand-off, because you guys suck at it."

Layla rolled her eyes. "Yeah, dude, 'cause squatting in the bushes so some perv can watch is totally better. Someone has got to give you City Awareness 101 or something. And anyway, don't hate on my faux stealth. My faux stealth is awesome. And no one likes a hater." The blonde turned so she was looking at both girls with her back turned to the table of goodies. "I'm gonna hunt down a real bathroom and, like, break out the massive puppy dog eyes at a priest or something to get them to lemme use it. I'll be back. And find you guys. Don't like hold up the brownie booth while I'm gone." She moved off from the girls, hand trailing past Sarah's as she walked, fingers threading through the brunette's for a moment until they slid away as Layla walked too far to keep the momentary hold. Then she was gone, disappearing into the crowd.

"I really hope she doesn't cause the church to spontaneously burn in flames of fiery demonicness," Maddie said to the brunette, as she watched her roommate disappear into the crowd. "Cause I don't think insurance covers hell fire."

Sarah couldn't help but giggle at Maddie's remarks, her eyes on Layla as she walked away with her hand still slightly held out from where they'd brushed together. Quickly pulling it back into her body she shook her head and turned back to the other girl. "Nah, they'll be ok I think. They've got sprinklers and fire extinguishers and stuff in there these days, I think."

The middle of the parking lot wasn't a perfect vantage point, but it was as close as the remaining chaperones were likely to find now that the students had formed their own pods. Jim stole another glance at the gathered FOHers picketing the perimeter and once again touched the scrambler pinned to his lapel. Hank's design would prevent any of their faces from showing up on the evening news, but it was difficult to relax on a field trip also being attended by the Friends of Humanity.

"Some of the protesters are taking coffee from the volunteers," the counselor remarked. "That's good, right?"

Glancing back at the picketers, Wade evaluated the lot of them and shrugged. "It's not bad," he said, a rueful smile twisting his lips. Besides, even if they tried to start something, he was pretty sure they wouldn't get very far. None of them were giving off any of the signals he'd gotten used to looking for while working protection details.

Scott glanced around the churchyard, checking on the students before turning back to face the other two chaperones. "At least everyone seems to be behaving themselves at the moment," he agreed. He took another look around the event, this time taking a closer look at the stalls, "It is nice to see people coming up with mutant friendly consumer goods."

"Even if a lot of it costs about four times as much as the normal stuff," Jim noted. He could only imagine what kind of dialogue Matt and Artie were having at that particular stall. On the other hand, Scott probably wouldn't have turned down an offer to order ruby quartz glasses in the early days of his manifestation. It was a mixed bag.

With a sigh, the telepath turned to glance at Wade. The broader man's bodylanguage was loose, but his eyes were active and alert. He didn't know the man well, but so far his conduct seemed professional -- and anyway, he'd helped bring in Maddie and looked after Molly when she'd had strep throat, so that earned him a certain degree of credit in Jim's mind.

"Thanks again for helping out," said the telepath. "Volunteering to come, I mean."

"No problem," Wade said, still smiling. "Somebody's gotta make sure Molly doesn't try to buy every single hat she sees." And that Artie didn't get into a fight and Matt didn't accidentally go into sensory overload and that Maddie didn't unconsciously convince someone to give her a car. Not that he really thought any of them would get into too much trouble in this setting, but with the Friends of Humanity around, Wade preferred to keep an eye on things personally.

"I just want us to get through a field trip without anyone going into a coma or being kidna--" Jim abruptly slapped a hand over his mouth. "Oh christ," he cringed, "please don't let that count towards a jinx . . ."

Scott mock-glared at Haller. "You had to say it didn't you, David?" Scott gave a wry smile. "I think after everything, we're due a nice, normal field trip. The law of averages has to come up in our favor sooner or later."

Quirking a brow, Wade looked from Haller to Scott and back again. "Do I even want to know?"

Jim shook his head. "Ever hear actors refer to Macbeth as 'the Scottish Play'? Ask us again when everyone's home."

"Preferably not even then," Scott grinned, "No use tempting fate for next time."

Wade snorted softly, but shrugged off the evasions. He was sure somebody'd tell him eventually.

Jim glanced at the perimeter, dotted with police and the odd FBI agent. "It's weird seeing moderate FOHers. It's one of those things you know have to exist, but . . ."

"At least it's better than the alternative," Scott replied. "As long as they stay quiet, I'm not going to complain."

"Most things are better than the alternative," Wade said, quirking a half-smile.

"Ain't that the truth," Scott agreed. Looking around he noticed Garrison and Terry standing together without any FBI agents conversing with them. "Excuse me for a second guys, I need to go check in with Garrison and Terry, see if anything has popped up on the FBI's radar." As he finished speaking he turned and strode away into the crowd.

Jim watched Scott depart, one eyebrow raised. "You sometimes get the impression he purposefully strides off like a man wearing an invisible cape?" he asked Wade.

Tipping his head to the side a little, Wade had to suppress a laugh. "That't not a bad way to put it."

______

And elsewhere, unnoticed by any of the watchers, a young woman shook one last hand and smiled.