xp_logs | Miles & Warren, Wednesday evening

Miles and Warren talk over dinner about their own experiences as mutants.

It'd been a busy time in the Mansion. His business had been keeping him working overtime, but a lot of his work could be accomplished through telecommuting. Since deciding to really be dedicated to this whole notion of peace and unity, Warren had found it relatively easy to use whatever spare time he had to be at the Mansion. There was a nice calm to the place that he appreciated, and it seemed every time he went there, he'd find himself in pleasant conversation with others who understood.

That was probably his favourite part of it all -- the unifying thread that all their genes brought to the atmosphere.

That being said, he'd had a special curiosity in seeing Miles. Matt he saw on a regular basis, but Miles had only been through the occasional text message. Due to the end of Q3, he'd been swamped with reports and figures and hadn't had any chance to do patrols. He had to admit, he missed it.

So when he finally found himself with a surprisingly free day, he spent it working out in the morning at the Mansion, and then he realized he had the rest of the day free with nothing to do. This had to be fixed.

Sitting outside in his Jaguar, he texted his friend.

Want to go for a drive? If you have a license, I'll even let you try. Brought the Jag.

The younger spider had settled into the relatively mundane world of boarding house/charter school pretty quickly. He was alone in his dorm, clinging upside-down to the corner wall by his bed while he read his history textbook. He looked up (down?) when his phone buzzed, dropped his book onto his bed, and crawled along the wall until he reached the phone on his desk.

can i drive even if I dont have a license? he texted back. That would probably be the least illegal thing he'd have done in the last year. He didn't wait for a response before flipping off the wall to grab his shoes and a thick hoodie.

Warren chuckled reading the message, and responded with: Can you even drive? Or is this how you're learning? Because then you're not touching this car.

There was no sense in getting out of the car when he was positive Miles was on his way. Instead, he decided to check emails until his friend showed up.

Friend. Strange that a month prior, he would have hard-pressed to list names but now, he had a few that he could count on. Miles. Matt. Sue. Scott. It was a foreign feeling, but a nice one at that.

Miles came bounding out of the mansion a couple of minutes later and gleefully hopped into the waiting car. "I'll have you know that I beat the Rainbow Road in Mario Kart in record time," he said by way of greeting. "I'm sure I can handle this."

Warren shook his head with a laugh, as he shifted to reverse, and got onto the road. "And I'll have you know that Mario Kart has nothing on this finely tuned machine. I'd tell you more about it, but unfortunately, I know nothing else. My mechanic deals with it for me." He motioned to the radio. "Pick something if you'd like. I have no real opinion, nor do I even know where we are going, exactly. Any suggestions? Not tacos," he quickly added. "Too messy."

Salem Center wasn't the city, but Miles couldn't believe it to be completely devoid of culture. He pulled up Google Maps on his phone to look up what was around. "Dominican?" he suggested. "Google says it's not that far away. Think you have handle some spice, blanco?"

Probably not, Warren thought, but damn if he would say that to the boy. "Whatever you want. I have free time, and I have no desire to be in an office at the moment. And please," he added, "I prefer 'chele'. 'Blanco' makes me sound more gringo than I feel. I was essentially raised by an hispanic lady, so don't try to make fun of me in Spanish. I'll know."

That earned an amused snort. "Being 'raised' by a Hispanic lady just makes you even whiter. Peak whiteness. Your wings are less white than you are. Where are they, anyway?" Miles leaned over to get a good look at the apparently normal man. "Do they only sprout out when you want them?"

"They're wings, not weeds," Warren retorted. "They are always there; however I find them to be very flexible so they fold easily enough." He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of the song on the radio. "I also wear a leather harness to keep them down. Makes for a slightly noticeable mound on my back. With a suit jacket, you'd never see it."

"Well, I don't know. You could be a shapeshifter that grows wings. That's a thing that exists probably. My roommate turns things into ice and I can lift a car over my head because a spider bit me so anything could happen." And it was really weird to be saying that sentence out loud and being sincere about it.

Those were good points, and not one Warren had thought about. "To be honest, you and Matt were the first mutants I'd ever met who were open. I'm sure I've met some before, statistics say I probably have, but I wasn't aware of it." He hesitated slightly before continuing, realizing that his next question bordered on personal.

"You seem so open about your powers. And doing what you do with Peter....". Warren lightly shook his head. "I wouldn't have had the courage to do it. At your age, I was desperately trying to hide it."

Warren pulled into the restaurant's parking lot, which gave Miles a minute to consider his response as he stepped out of the car. "It really depends what you mean by 'open.' I wear a mask that covers my whole face. Only Peter and a couple of friends know what I am. And even less people know who I am. It's not safe, you feel me?"

"Hence why prior to all this, no one knew a thing." Warren stretched a little getting out of the car. It felt like he'd been sitting all day. "So this is the place, huh?" It didn't look like much, a little nondescript restaurant with faded lettering on the window. That being said, the parking lot was filled, and it seemed fairly popular.

And it did smell amazing. His stomach obviously agreed as it rumbled slightly. "I think this might be the first time I've had a chance to eat today," he commented idly. "I hope they're treating you better at that Mansion than how I treat myself."

The pair was taken to a small table in the middle of the semi-crowded restaurant and handed their menus. They looked a little out of place there, an older and well-dressed white man accompanying a black and clearly not rich teenager. "Es mi Big Brother," Miles said to the patron seated at the adjacent table who was giving them the stink eye.

"So do you parents not even know about you, either?" he asked Warren, getting back to their conversation in the car. "How'd you even keep that secret for so long?"

Warren was oblivious to any stares that came their way. He was very good at that. Instead, he looked at the menu, and realized he had no idea what to order. He'd pick something that looked the least messy. "Everyone asks me about my parents," he mused. "I'm not entirely sure why. I'm 35, my parents hardly have any impact on my life right now, other than the fact I work with my father, and I enjoy annoying my mother." Reaching for his glass of water, he took a sip before continuing. "And in case you haven't noticed by that statement, I'm the perfect definition of a WASP family. Other than genetics, we have no bonds Although, I do like my father well enough."

The fact that this was still true, even after finding out that his father was piloting a project to kill all mutants. It was a sore subject for him.

"Was it difficult to get your parents to let you go to the Mansion? I assume then that you're close to them."

"Because everyone knows who your parents are and how do you even keep a secret like that from them? It's hard enough for me, and you can't even tell just by looking at me." Not that hiding his powers was always an easy thing, especially when you could tear a door off its hinges if you weren't being careful. "I had to get . . . creative with my parents. I had to transfer to public school this term because the boarding school I was going to pretty much exploded during all that crazy last month so they had to close. So when I told them that I'd found another kinda boarding school that offered scholarships and late admission, they bought it. They don't know what's, you know, really going on."

"We don't hug," he said dryly. "And I never take my shirt off around them. It's not much different than hiding a tattoo or a piercing. It's more about being careful." He leaned into his chair, and draped an arm around the back. "It's different when it's simply physical, rather than anything else. How old are you, anyways?"

That might have been meant to be self-deprecating, but Miles actually found that a little sad. He came from a pretty touchy-feely family and he couldn't imagine his parents or his abuelas not constantly hugging or patting him. Note to self: hug Warren.

"I'm 15," he answered. "But my parents are actually kind of relieved that I left home for school. Should really increase my chances of getting into a good college, which is their life goal right now."

15? If Warren had been drinking, he would've spit the water everywhere. At 15, he was actively trying to blend in, not taking on muggers in back alleys. There was clearly more to Miles then he'd noticed. "Well, I'm glad I didn't allow you to drive my car. Talk to me when you get a license." And then because he was curious, he asked, "Are you an only child?"

"Yeah. Really bucking the Catholic trend there. My dad has a brother who lives in Harlem but he doesn't have any kids. My mom has some brothers and sisters and they're all over. And I still have lots of family back in San Juan." And not a one of them knew Miles's secrets. "But just me at home. I guess my parents are doing that empty quest thing right now with me gone."

Quest? The kid obviously meant nest, but Warren didn't correct him. "San Juan is a lovely place. I've only been once before on a school trip, but I enjoyed it. I couldn't get enough of the tostones." Speaking of which, he thought, as the waiter showed up up. "Feel free to order for me," Warren said to Miles. "I'm curious what you'd pick."

That offered a world of possibilities to Miles. Go traditional to show este chele how it's done right? Be daring and get the extra weird and spicy so he could get a great post to Instagram when Warren took his first bite? But Warren had come all this way just to take him out and that would be mean, so Miles kept it simple with a mofongo dish and a beef stew. Moderately seasoned.

"So what do you do?" Miles asked. "I mean, I know what your company does. Kind of. At least parts of it. But what do you do?"

How to explain this, he thought to himself, when the person asking probably had no concept of a global enterprise...

"My title is Vice-President of Operations. I work directly under my father, who is CEO, and am responsible for the general day to day tasks of the entire company. I have directors, and such who report to me, which is how I know what's happening on the ground level. At times, I take on certain mergers, especially ones that are difficult or potentially volatile, and lead that project. Now, with the company branching out into the technology sector, I will probably have to learn more than I care to about engineering and such." He quirked his lips. "In the end, it's boring paperwork, but I have a fantastic wardrobe, a lovely assistant, and I get to schmooze to my heart's content. So. There is that."

"And that leaves you enough time to try to save the city?" And here Miles thought that being in high school got in the way of important things.

"I don't sleep much," Warren offered by way of explanation. "And I have a strange schedule. I basically am awake as my business needs it, so if I have a deal in Japan, for instance, I'm going to work with their hours instead of Manhattan's. That means I might be awake in the middle of the night with little to do." He wasnt' going to get into how that was prime scoring time. The kid was too young for that conversation. "Lately, we've been focusing a lot on the Biotech contract, making sure that we are expanding responsibly and in accordance to the work we are receiving. Because of that, I'm on my regular hours right now."

Another shrug. "It's not very exciting being an adult."

"I'm sure you cry yourself to sleep every night on your big piles of money surrounded by many beautiful women."

Warren gave him a fake surprised look. "Who told? They got it all wrong." The waiter came back with delicious smelling food, and Warren leaned back to allow the food to be placed down. Picking up his fork, he pointed it towards Miles. "I don't sleep on my money. That's dirty. I actually have a pool of money, a la Scrooge McDuck. If you're good, maybe I'll let you swim in it." He waggled an eyebrow. "So behave."