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xp_logsAlex and Quentin find someone willing to talk about the homeless mutant found dead in the park. Quentin needs to learn better information gathering techniques.
"Another one that hired the guy," Alex muttered as he and Quentin left the convenience store. Mutant labor was cheap labor, he supposed. "Mole's not much of a name to go off of though, huh?"
"They all seem to know who we're talking about," Quentin countered, pulling on his gloves. "You'd fucking have to, when he looks like that. What better name is there for him? Couldn't fucking give him actual steady work, though," he said darkly, sparing a brief glance over his shoulder for the store they had just left. "Guy looks like him, bad for business. Fuckers."
"Come on, next one," Alex said, nudging Quentin to another nearby store. He didn't disagree, but the debate about it could wait until they were back in the office. "Hello sir," he said politely to the man behind the counter. "We were wondering if you knew anything about a guy named Mole? Kinda looks like - well, a mole-"
"The little mutant freak?" The man behind the counter sneered. "He tried to panhandle in front of my store, scared all my customers away."
Quentin stepped forward and opened his mouth to speak, but one look from Alex stopped him. Now was not the time. He'd come back later and implant a few nightmares then. "When's the last time you saw him?" he asked instead.
"I don't know, a month? Told him if he ever came back I'd beat him with a bat."
"Nice." The single word was dripping with sarcasm as Alex shouldered Quentin toward the door. "Thanks for your time sir."
"Should've burned that place down," the telepath said regretfully. "Plenty more shitty bodegas where that came from. You'd've been doing this city a favor. We can come back later once we've finished this and you can do your civic duty."
"I'd rather focus on finding who ripped up this poor guy," Alex replied. "No one's actually said a bad thing about him if you ignore the whole mutant freak thing. Sounds like he was just trying to make a living. Seems more important to worry about finding the jackass that did this than to burn down every anti-mutant business, don't you think?"
Quentin shrugged and followed Alex into the next store, a small brick-and-mortar music store that actually had a couple of costumers in it. Quentin almost could not believe his eyes. "It's like stepping back in time," he said with some amusement, running his hand down a rack of vinyls.
"My moms had a record player," Alex said as he eyed the racks. "Loved that thing." He looked at the young woman behind the counter, putting on a smile as he said, "Hi, sorry to bother you, but we were wondering if you knew a guy who looks a bit like a mole? Goes by...well, Mole?"
The young Japanese woman looked up from what she was doing, eyes narrowing slightly. "I might," she replied cautiously. "It depends on who wants to know and why. Because if you're one of those anti-mutant hate groups, you can get the hell out of my store."
"Listen, lady," Quentin started, spinning on his heel to confront such an insult. "Do we look like some kind of stupid, evil thugs? We're trying to find the stupid evil thugs who got to Mole in the first place. So do you know him or not?"
The woman snorted. "What are you, Veronica Mars? This isn't a college project, kid. Why don't you go bother someone else - some of us actually gave a crap about Mole and what happened to him and don't appreciate the amateur police act."
Alex carefully stepped in front of Quentin, making a mental note not to let him speak anymore. "Okay, alright. Listen, I'm really sorry about my friend, he's...passionate." That was an understatement. "You're right, we didn't know Mole. But that doesn't mean we don't give a crap. We care. We care because we know the police don't, and I know we don't look like Mole, but we're mutants too. I'd offer to show you but I'm sure you like your store in one piece. But if someone or something is killing mutants, we want to know. They shouldn't be allowed to get away with it."
Her arms folded over her chest, the woman looked at Alex without expression. Then, slowing unfolding her arms, she held out a hand for him to shake. "Opal Tanaka. If you're serious about this, I'll tell you what I can."
"Alex Summers," Alex introduced himself, shaking Opal's hand. "This is Quentin. And we are serious, I promise. No one with power is looking out for mutants, so we gotta look out for each other, right?"
"This is a waste of time," Quentin sighed. "She knows something. I could just pluck it out of her head." Probably not, not at this stage of his training, but it sounded like a good threat. "Look, if we don't do anything, then nobody will do anything, and Mole will just be another dead mutant no one gives a shit about. We can at least try to get him some of the justice he deserves."
Opal shot him a Look. "It's people like you that make life difficult for people like Mole," she retorted. "Big scary mutant throwing around threats because humans are nothing to you. Yeah, you could go for the mind rape, but if you're serious about wanting to do something, then maybe you could take a lesson from your friend here about asking before you decide I'm just another piece of human trash." With that, she pointedly turned to Alex. "Let's make this quick, before your friend decides to lobotomise me. What do you need to know?"
Alex was seriously starting to lament the last minute decision to not bring duct tape. "Anything you know about him, honestly. We know he was homeless but did he have any regular haunts? Anywhere he slept regularly? Do you know if anyone had any grudges against him or thought they had a good reason to kill him?"
"Mole was a sweetheart," came Opal's reply. "He started hanging around here maybe two, three years ago? After the Apocalypse thing, any way. He'd sleep in the alley behind the store a lot, near a sewer grate - I suppose it was warmer or something. I gave him food and old clothes and what work I could and let him sleep in the back room when it was cold, but when I suggested maybe getting him some official help, he'd take off."
"How often did he come here? Do you know any other places he worked or slept?" Quentin asked, ignoring the woman's read. He almost wanted to add this to the list of places he'd ask Alex to nuke, but Opal did help Mole despite being a baseline, so maybe it could be spared.
"In summer, maybe every couple of weeks. In winter I'd see him more often." Opal kept addressing Alex, although she was answering Quentin's questions. "The convenience store across the street would hire him sometimes or give him food that was close to expiring, but Mole was scared of people, mostly. Not just because of his mutation - he told me once that he'd been treated for an anxiety disorder." Opal sighed. "Like I said, he was a real sweetheart. It was horrible what happened to him."
"It was," Alex agreed, frowning. "Just one more question - you said he slept near the sewers. Do you mind if we take a look back there?"
Opal shrugged. "Help yourselves. Back door's through there." She indicated the rear of the store. As they began to leave, she suddenly burst out: "I hope you're serious, about stopping this guy. Life's hard enough here for people like Mole without..." She let the sentence hang, before continuing. "Any way, yeah. Thank you."
"Another one that hired the guy," Alex muttered as he and Quentin left the convenience store. Mutant labor was cheap labor, he supposed. "Mole's not much of a name to go off of though, huh?"
"They all seem to know who we're talking about," Quentin countered, pulling on his gloves. "You'd fucking have to, when he looks like that. What better name is there for him? Couldn't fucking give him actual steady work, though," he said darkly, sparing a brief glance over his shoulder for the store they had just left. "Guy looks like him, bad for business. Fuckers."
"Come on, next one," Alex said, nudging Quentin to another nearby store. He didn't disagree, but the debate about it could wait until they were back in the office. "Hello sir," he said politely to the man behind the counter. "We were wondering if you knew anything about a guy named Mole? Kinda looks like - well, a mole-"
"The little mutant freak?" The man behind the counter sneered. "He tried to panhandle in front of my store, scared all my customers away."
Quentin stepped forward and opened his mouth to speak, but one look from Alex stopped him. Now was not the time. He'd come back later and implant a few nightmares then. "When's the last time you saw him?" he asked instead.
"I don't know, a month? Told him if he ever came back I'd beat him with a bat."
"Nice." The single word was dripping with sarcasm as Alex shouldered Quentin toward the door. "Thanks for your time sir."
"Should've burned that place down," the telepath said regretfully. "Plenty more shitty bodegas where that came from. You'd've been doing this city a favor. We can come back later once we've finished this and you can do your civic duty."
"I'd rather focus on finding who ripped up this poor guy," Alex replied. "No one's actually said a bad thing about him if you ignore the whole mutant freak thing. Sounds like he was just trying to make a living. Seems more important to worry about finding the jackass that did this than to burn down every anti-mutant business, don't you think?"
Quentin shrugged and followed Alex into the next store, a small brick-and-mortar music store that actually had a couple of costumers in it. Quentin almost could not believe his eyes. "It's like stepping back in time," he said with some amusement, running his hand down a rack of vinyls.
"My moms had a record player," Alex said as he eyed the racks. "Loved that thing." He looked at the young woman behind the counter, putting on a smile as he said, "Hi, sorry to bother you, but we were wondering if you knew a guy who looks a bit like a mole? Goes by...well, Mole?"
The young Japanese woman looked up from what she was doing, eyes narrowing slightly. "I might," she replied cautiously. "It depends on who wants to know and why. Because if you're one of those anti-mutant hate groups, you can get the hell out of my store."
"Listen, lady," Quentin started, spinning on his heel to confront such an insult. "Do we look like some kind of stupid, evil thugs? We're trying to find the stupid evil thugs who got to Mole in the first place. So do you know him or not?"
The woman snorted. "What are you, Veronica Mars? This isn't a college project, kid. Why don't you go bother someone else - some of us actually gave a crap about Mole and what happened to him and don't appreciate the amateur police act."
Alex carefully stepped in front of Quentin, making a mental note not to let him speak anymore. "Okay, alright. Listen, I'm really sorry about my friend, he's...passionate." That was an understatement. "You're right, we didn't know Mole. But that doesn't mean we don't give a crap. We care. We care because we know the police don't, and I know we don't look like Mole, but we're mutants too. I'd offer to show you but I'm sure you like your store in one piece. But if someone or something is killing mutants, we want to know. They shouldn't be allowed to get away with it."
Her arms folded over her chest, the woman looked at Alex without expression. Then, slowing unfolding her arms, she held out a hand for him to shake. "Opal Tanaka. If you're serious about this, I'll tell you what I can."
"Alex Summers," Alex introduced himself, shaking Opal's hand. "This is Quentin. And we are serious, I promise. No one with power is looking out for mutants, so we gotta look out for each other, right?"
"This is a waste of time," Quentin sighed. "She knows something. I could just pluck it out of her head." Probably not, not at this stage of his training, but it sounded like a good threat. "Look, if we don't do anything, then nobody will do anything, and Mole will just be another dead mutant no one gives a shit about. We can at least try to get him some of the justice he deserves."
Opal shot him a Look. "It's people like you that make life difficult for people like Mole," she retorted. "Big scary mutant throwing around threats because humans are nothing to you. Yeah, you could go for the mind rape, but if you're serious about wanting to do something, then maybe you could take a lesson from your friend here about asking before you decide I'm just another piece of human trash." With that, she pointedly turned to Alex. "Let's make this quick, before your friend decides to lobotomise me. What do you need to know?"
Alex was seriously starting to lament the last minute decision to not bring duct tape. "Anything you know about him, honestly. We know he was homeless but did he have any regular haunts? Anywhere he slept regularly? Do you know if anyone had any grudges against him or thought they had a good reason to kill him?"
"Mole was a sweetheart," came Opal's reply. "He started hanging around here maybe two, three years ago? After the Apocalypse thing, any way. He'd sleep in the alley behind the store a lot, near a sewer grate - I suppose it was warmer or something. I gave him food and old clothes and what work I could and let him sleep in the back room when it was cold, but when I suggested maybe getting him some official help, he'd take off."
"How often did he come here? Do you know any other places he worked or slept?" Quentin asked, ignoring the woman's read. He almost wanted to add this to the list of places he'd ask Alex to nuke, but Opal did help Mole despite being a baseline, so maybe it could be spared.
"In summer, maybe every couple of weeks. In winter I'd see him more often." Opal kept addressing Alex, although she was answering Quentin's questions. "The convenience store across the street would hire him sometimes or give him food that was close to expiring, but Mole was scared of people, mostly. Not just because of his mutation - he told me once that he'd been treated for an anxiety disorder." Opal sighed. "Like I said, he was a real sweetheart. It was horrible what happened to him."
"It was," Alex agreed, frowning. "Just one more question - you said he slept near the sewers. Do you mind if we take a look back there?"
Opal shrugged. "Help yourselves. Back door's through there." She indicated the rear of the store. As they began to leave, she suddenly burst out: "I hope you're serious, about stopping this guy. Life's hard enough here for people like Mole without..." She let the sentence hang, before continuing. "Any way, yeah. Thank you."
