xp_logs | Second Thoughts: Introducing Gabriel Cohuelo

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Jean is out on the town, when she meets a mysterious (and handsome, let's be real) stranger who tries to rob her.

Gabriel hated this bar. His head was already throbbing from the sound system's over-cranked bass, and he knew his drinks would be so watered down he'd never get a healthy buzz going. Plus, the people here were bridge and tunnel types, which meant a lot of awkward dancing, boring fashion and, most importantly, a dearth of cute boys.

All in all, the perfect spot to nab some cash, because no worthwhile distractions.

The bearded young man flashed a grin at the adorably twiggy lady bartender who plopped down his mojito. He withdrew a crumpled $20 bill from the pocket of his gray skinny jeans and passed it to her. "Keep it," Gabriel said. After tonight, there'd be plenty more where that came from. All he had to do was find the right mark. He took a sip and scanned the crowd.

Jean didn't had never come to this bar before. It was newer, and she had some time to kill that Adrienne and her regular company were not available for. She was used to somewhere a little quieter, but it was near the areas she frequented so she thought she'd give it a try to see if it' make the list for future visits. So far she wasn't much of a fan but she liked to give it at least a half an hour before she made judgment.

"I'd like a Blood and Sand please," Jean said, taking a seat at the bar. She was feeling like something fruity with a bit of a kick to it.

Gabriel's eyes landed on the older redhead at the bar. "Bingo," he muttered, scratching his light beard. A scotch cocktail at a bar like this was a sure tell that there was money to be found.

He took another sip of his drink and winced. Mediocre. When he'd finished his evening activities, he'd call Amber and they'd go somewhere with a mixologist that they could later mock for his cocktail pretension. He'd have some money and feel normal.

Gabriel did another quick look. Other than the redhead, it seemed like slim pickings. He rubbed his palms together and wiggled his fingers. The bartender dropped her drink in front of her, and Gabriel tried to figure out where the woman kept her wallet and how much cash she'd be carrying.

As Jean took a sip, she glanced around the bar, idly debating whether or not to break her rule about leaving early. The cocktail was not the best and she felt a little old around the throngs of college students. Reaching into her purse, she fished out her wallet and paid the bartender, along with a few extra dollars for a pity tip.

The beat was starting to give her a headache anyway. And something was bothering her, but she couldn't quite figure out what.

Gabriel smirked, watching her place her wallet back into her purse. This would be easy. A quick jaunt up to the bag, and he'd fish it out of there. And, like the rest, she'd never know what hit her.

He closed his eyes for a second, then placed his now-empty glass on the bar. This was his favorite part, better then the buzz he might have gotten from the booze or the thrill he'd have gotten from catching some guy's eyes. He concentrated, taking a tentative step to see if he'd succeeded. The bar seemed to slow down ever so slightly around him, and he grinned in spite of himself as he raced to liberate his slush fund from the striking redhead.

Fast. Like the buzzing of a fly moving past, that was his thoughts. Jean didn't hear them, rather, felt them, along with his presence as he came up beside her, like a blip. It was quick, familiar, like another mind she'd heard before, Jean Paul Beaubier. Which meant this one was probably a speedster, and their goal was greed. A thief. It made sense, but it didn't make it right.

His hand stopped inches before he grabbed her wallet, frozen there, like catching a fly in midair. It was enough to feel like he'd punched someone, but not enough to have broken anything.

Jean was staring at him while she waited for him to catch up, her elbow propped up on the side of the bar. She took a sip of her drink.

"That's a bad idea."

Gabriel was stupefied by how abruptly time sped back up. It was instantaneous in a way he'd never felt before - never experienced. He'd come out of his jaunts before, but never like this. His head was throbbing, and his pulse was racing. His hand hurt. In all the time he'd been doing this, he'd never been caught, and he'd certainly never stopped in his tracks like this. Clearly he wasn't in as much control of his abilities as he thought.

And then, suddenly, he felt like a deer in headlights as he turned his head to meet the woman. He stared back at her for a second before finally breaking the silence. "Apparently so," he said hesitantly. Whatever was going on here, it had to end eventually. If he played his cards right, he could bide his time until his powers started working again. And then he could dart out of the bar before she called the police.

It didn't, stop that is. Jean could hold onto him for up to half an hour if she wanted. Not that she wanted to. No, she was more concerned about the man himself. He seemed unsure of himself, younger than he let on.

"What's your name?" she said, seeming entirely too casual for someone who just almost got robbed.

He hadn't scouted well, clearly, because he'd made the mistake of trying to rob a crazy person. Why was she so calm? And why hadn't he started moving again? Gabriel concentrated, trying to will himself into high velocity. It didn't work.

"Andrew," he told her, eyeing her as warily as he could given that he'd just tried to steal her money. "Andrew Jimenez." So much for that fake ID. Once he'd vanished and she'd given his name to the police, he'd have to get another one. Something like Diego Cabrera or Steven Garcia.

"Mmm." Jean studied him for a moment or two, watching the sweat bead across his forehead. Had it been a smaller crowd this could've made a bit of a scene.

"Try again, and be truthful," she said, her impassivity still unbroken. It didn't take a telepath to know he wasn't going to give her his real name.

"I could do this all night. But I don't think you can."

"But I'm not even really sure what we're doing," Gabriel objected in a near whine that was better suited for someone younger than his appearance suggested. He had no idea what was going on, but he was getting worried. This is why he never trusted gingers. He should have learned that lesson after Paul. Boy, that had been a mistake.

Not as big as this one, though. And so, after a few seconds, he finally relented. "Gabriel." Unable to stop himself, he let another few seconds go by before chiming back in. "Do I really not look like an Andrew? Too Anglo, right?" He clicked his tongue. "Should have known better."

"Well, that and I just asked you your name after you tried to steal from me. I wasn't expecting honesty," Jean said, shrugging. She finally smiled, but she didn't let go, not yet. Just because the ice was broken didn't mean there wasn't still an entire frozen lake ahead.

"I'm Jean. And no, I'm not going to call the cops so you can relax. They're a little anti-mutant in this part of town anyway."

Aha. Well, that made sense. If Gabriel hadn't been so dumbfounded by this whole experience, he might have been able to put all that together. Instead he was frozen in space, trapped by a woman who was apparently immovable.

Point being, this was not the carefree night he'd been expecting.

"I guess now I get the... whatever this is." Gabriel didn't return her smile, choosing instead to stare at her like he wasn't a little terrified of her.

"Telekinesis," Jean said, ignoring the rest of her cocktail. She didn't want to have a buzz right now, not that there was enough alcohol in there to even make a dent.

"It means I can move things with my mind. And from what I can tell, you move very quickly. I have a friend who can do that." She plucked the cherry garnish out of the glass, popping it in her mouth. It was her favorite part of any drink.

"It also makes it easy to not have to explain your powers when you can just run. I take it you don't stay in one place for very long."

"Well, that's just not true," Gabriel objected, because he felt like he'd been in New York long enough to prove the woman wrong. Though he had moved around a lot in the last few years, but it wasn't entirely by choice. "I mean, I've been at this bar for what feels like forever, so..." God, he should have ordered a second drink before attempting petty theft. Dumb, dumb, dumb. At least he had the foresight not to make particularly cringeworthy cherry jokes to the woman who had him in a mental vise grip.

"A person doesn't just decide one day that they will start stealing for a living," Jean said. He was quick to defend, stumbling over himself to argue with her about it.

"Something drives them to committing that first act. Greed, desperation, maybe both....If a person has everything they need, or the means to work toward it, they don't need to take it from another, even if they have the power to do so. Too much risk, like right now."

She brushed a strand of red hair behind her ear, then pulled her wallet out of her purse and fished out a $100 bill, tucking it in his frozen hand.

"But I don't think you're the greedy type. Take it, if you need it. But if you're going to use your powers you need to be more careful, especially around the people you steal from," she said.

"There are other mutants out there, and the next one might not be as understanding."

Gabriel hated how much she seemed to be judging him. Just because they were both genetic exceptions didn't mean she knew the first thing about him. But because he was generally conflict-averse (he figured being able to run away from problems generally fostered that in a guy), he just held his tongue and glanced down at the bill. $100 was a nice chunk of change. It was a lot of things he wouldn't have to do moving forward.

"Thanks," he said after a second, frustrated at his inability to close his hand stuff the bill in his pocket. "And y'know," he mumbled a little sheepishly, "sorry I tried to rob you." It seemed like he probably ought to have said that before now, actually. And, because he felt like he owed her an explanation: "I didn't—I don't have a lot of options." He wanted to add a "right now" to the end of that sentence, but he wasn't sure that was fair.

Jean finally released him, knowing he might run away, along with her stuff. But stuff was stuff. She wasn't going to be terribly worked up about it if it did.

"What if you did?"

"I don't," Gabriel shrugged. Hypothetical possibilities didn't interest him. Since he'd left his house, or at least since he'd moved out of Texas, he hadn't seen the point. And with everything going on with his skills - the rapid aging, the ability to get wherever whenever - living in the moment always made the most sense.

He stuck the bill in his pocket, trying to think of a way to explain things to her that would placate her. "I mean, I do other things. This isn't - I'm not just stealing to live. I'm a bartender in Chelsea. Sometimes I dance there too." And then there was the other thing, but there was no need to go into that. God, he hated that she was making him take stock of things. Talk about your karmic guilt. "It's hard to make ends meet in this city."

"I can imagine," Jean said. She could tell he'd had a rough life by the way he kept his walls up emotionally, careful not to let anyone in, to appear strong. Opening up her wallet again, she grabbed a business card and slid it across the bar.

"But what I meant was....I can help. I teach at a place that helps mutants. You could stay there until you get on your feet, maybe learn a bit more about your powers. Free of charge. The only catch is...you can't steal."

"You've given this schpiel before," Gabriel noted, taking her card off the bar and inspecting it. So that's what this was. A kind of mutant social worker for troubled kids with extra genes. He almost laughed at the absurdity, but with the redhead looking at him so earnestly, he thought it might be a little rude.

"Mmm," Jean smiled. She wasn't going to lie about that.

"I'm a little old for mutant boarding school, Miss..." He looked at her card, his mouth quirking at her hyphenated surname. "Jean." And then, because he could never resist this game, he crossed his arms and asked her, "How old do you think I am?"

"Old enough to have graduated from high school, I know," Jean said. "But I didn't mean that kind of learning. There are still things I'm figuring out about my own abilities. And figured you might want to learn a little more about your own, if possible. Not to mention having a roof over your head."

"It's the beard," Gabriel quipped, scratching his chin. "Throws everyone off. Makes it hard to guess." That was part of the reason he grew it. (The other was his general disdain for shaving.)

He lifted his arm to flag down the bartender. "I appreciate the offer," he finally said, maybe lying a little bit. "But I've got a roof, and honestly," he eyed her, "Westchester? Don't know that I'd fit that suburban existence."

Jean grinned. "You'd be surprised how many others have said the same thing," she said. Downing the rest of her drink with barely two gulps, she set it down on the bar like a pro, then slipped from her chair. Her casual smile had melted into a warmer one, considering him.

"If you change your mind, give me a call. I'm not trying to force you. If you even just want lunch some time, it's on me." There was something about him, underneath the layers, that she saw, a lost young man. Something that told her he wasn't as bad as he seemed. Charles liked to say she had a sense for bringing in strays.

Gabriel flipped her business card before pocketing it. He nodded at the bartender as she plopped a second drink in front of him. "Well," Gabriel said cheerily, "I don't say no to a free lunch. Although, you know, they say there's no such thing." He took a sip of his drink and winced. Too much mint. After this botched job, there was no way he'd come back here.

"I don't understand why you want to help me," he said after a minute, regarding her. Gabriel hadn't found well-meaning adults to be nearly as well-meaning as they'd liked to think.

Jean considered his statement for a moment. "Because someone helped me, and others like me, when we needed it," she said, simply and honestly.

"And I'm hoping to return the favor." She picked up the drink, nodding to him in thanks.

"You're right, the lunch isn't free...you'll probably hear a lot sentiment about hope and change."

"Ugh." Gabriel scrunched up his nose. Hope and change weren't things Gabriel could rally behind these days. There was a time he'd subscribed, at least in part, to the idealism promised by his religion, or the upwardly mobile spirit of the American Dream. That all seemed pointless now. Being lectured on the potential better mutant tomorrow sounded like a peculiar form of torture, but torture nonetheless. "Sí se puede, mutantes del mundo? Come on, doc. Isn't that a little hokey?"

Jean grinned. "Absolutely. But, it's true. You have to start somewhere," she said, taking one lingering sip of her new drink. It was a little better.

"I'm sorry about your hand."

"What? No. Don't be." Gabriel waved her off, perhaps a little too casually considering the circumstances. "I tried to, you know. Steal from you. Probably a good lesson." Though the lesson she'd likely intended had been transformed into something a little more practical. If he ever did this again, he'd need to spend more time observing.

"I'm not such a bad guy," he informed her, because he felt it was important she know that.

Jean just looked at him. "I believe that. But I think it's something you probably tell yourself as well," she said. She turned to leave, slipping past him.

"Have a good evening, Gabriel. Hope to see you soon."

"Adios, roja." He watched her go, still bewildered by the whole encounter. Gabriel had never actually been caught before, though he'd certainly come close. To have his streak broken by a fellow mutant who froze his hand, then offered him a home was beyond bizarre.

There'd be time to sort out his feelings later. In the meantime, the $100 she'd given him would at least make for a fun few nights.