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xp_logsGabriel and Jubilee pop out of Snow Valley's new office to check out the most local business imaginable: the convenience store downstairs.
The Loisaida Deli and Grocery was, in most respects, no different from the corner stores and mini-grocers that proliferated along the streets of the five boroughs. There was no denying that it looked moderately shabbier than its peers in gentrifying neighborhoods: its signs were older, its lighting dimmer, its floors more worn.
But New Yorkers (real New Yorkers, with years under their belt) judged their delis not by the ambiance but by the quality of their sandwiches and how well their shelves served the neighborhood. By that account, this family-run bodega deserved five stars. As the neighborhood changed, as other stores gave way, the Loisada Deli and Grocery remained a constant.
None of this, of course, was known by the new upstairs neighbors: the spies inhabiting space in the office building that rose above the store. But as Gabriel and Jubilee entered, he felt something resonate with him, and he decided immediately he liked this place, with its cramped aisles and ample variety of cigarettes.
The man at the cash register — either Puerto Rican or Dominican, Gabriel decided, given the store’s name and the salsa in the background — eyed the two new customers. Gabriel gave him a nod, then scanned the store for the ATM he knew he’d find in a corner.
"Dude! They have Conchas!" Jubilee bounced slightly with excitement as she made a beeline for the Mexican sweet bread trapped behind a small glass case on the counter. She grinned at the owner and held out her hand in a friendly manner. "Hey there, my name's Jubilee. We're just moving in upstairs."
It took him a moment, and she could tell he wasn't quite used to anyone being this full of energy at almost any time of the day. She almost told him it was a mutant thing but even given where they were, she had learned some discretion as part of her training. She grinned wider as he took her hand and gave it a firm shake before letting go easily. She wasn't the type to think you could tell who someone was by how they shook your hand, but what you could tell was what they thought about handshakes, which at least told you something.
Gabriel, punching in his PIN, rolled his eyes. It was the kind of disdain for enthusiasm that made him think he'd lived in New York too long, even before he decamped to Westchester. But Jubilee's enthusiasm was particularly hard for him to take at times these days, when he found himself more sapped of energy than anything else.
The machine spat out a few bills, and he pocketed them, so he set about his next task. In the aisles, a dark-skinned woman — younger than the man, whose mustache and hair were graying and whose face bore wrinkles — was stocking a fridge with drinks. "Excuse me," he fired off in Spanish, "but can you point me toward the energy drinks? Red Bull, Monster, that kind of thing?"
Valentina smiled shyly and then pointed to the next aisle along.
“Just down there. Unless you want the cold version, and then it’s in the fridge at the back.” she said in rapid fire Spanish.
“Thank you,” he nodded, heading toward the back. Definitely Puerto Rican; he could tell by the accent. “Jubes, you want anything? I’m buying, within reason.”
“See, you say that but then what I think is reasonable and like, what other people think is reasonable are totes different things.” Jubilee popped up from the aisle besides his, almost soundless expect that she’d deliberately tried to make herself known so as not to startle random shoppers. “But get me some energy bars? My stash is running a bit low. Also! I think we should bring sandwiches back to the office for the others.”
Gabriel wrinkled his nose as he grabbed a cold Red Bull out of the fridge. "It's right downstairs," he pointed out as he reached for a second. "They can come down and get their own sandwiches." He whirled around to look for her energy bars. "I'm not handling multiple sandwich orders for a bunch of annoyingly particular people." Though he'd love to see Emma's face if he showed up with a bodega sandwich.
In a split-second, he appeared next to her, handing her two energy bars and cradling the drinks in the crook of his elbow. "I can't tell," he said to her quietly, "if they're family or not, so to speak. I mean, they've clearly been here for a while, but not every business around here is one of ours, you know?”
Jubilee hummed in a non-committal manner, even if they weren’t mutants themselves, the fact they still lived in District X either met they were pro mutant, or didn’t have the funds to move elsewhere.
“If someone is gonna be all picky at me when I bring them a sandwich they like, did not have to fetch themselves, then they don’t get free sandwiches from me again.”
The place didn’t seem run down, the opposite really. Not rich but well taken care of, well loved by the people who worked there just from the cleaness of the space, not a lick of dust anywhere.
“Does it matter?” She asked, her voice quieter after the initial statement. A boring louder conversation about office politics hiding her real conversation. “Like, it matters but does it matter?“
Personal feelings aside, unless the people who owned this place belonged to some anti-mutant cult or group, their personal feelings about their species didn’t really concern her, except in a calculation on how they might use that to their advantage, either way.
Gabriel couldn't help but seem a little surprised, then immediately irritated at her seeming nonchalance. "As someone who was gay in Texas," he said, not even bothering to hide how irked he was, "it fucking matters." He didn't give her the dignity of standing still for the response, instead turning on a heel and heading toward the front. "I need smokes."
Jubilee shook her head and followed behind him, giving him a moment while she perused the shelves. She stopped beside him before attempting an explanation.
“It’s District X, Dude, and deep into it too. Anyone anti-mutant is either gone or being really obvious about it and those types are easily used to find bigger fish.”
Gabriel pursed his lips but said nothing. He felt she was making assumptions that made her seem almost naive, plus she was being dismissive, and he didn’t want to get into it. It was not, he knew, foolish to try and figure out whether your neighbors hated you. And it was not unforeseeable, given the high cost of everything in this city, that bigots would stay out.
“Hey,” he said in Spanish with a nod to the man behind the fill, who eyed him somewhat coolly. “Can I get a pack of Marlboros?” He paused. “Actually, I’ll take two. You’re puertorriqueño, yeah?”
“Sí, por que?”
The man pulled two packs of Marlboros from the trays behind him and laid them on the counter. You couldn’t have said that he was any more weary then he had been when they entered but there was certainly an air of watchfulness that hadn’t been there before.
"Just asking," Gabriel shrugged. He placed the Red Bulls on the counter as well. "I spend all day in an office with gringuitos. Nice to be able to come downstairs and speak the language. Comforting, you know? I don't get that a lot, this far from home."
He glanced back at Jubilee, switching back to English. "See anything good?"
“Just the Conchas,” Jubilee replied and asked for two as she placed the energy bar on the counter. “I’ll probably come down for more later, this was just the ‘checking things out’ trip.”
Gabriel nodded. "I'm Gabriel, by the way," he said in Spanish, watching as the man grabbed gloves and tissue paper for the pastries. His eyes scanned the sundries behind the counter — floss, Advil, condoms. Next to the cash register were a few photos, some clearly taken from back in Puerto Rico, others looking more current. He spotted one, a family portrait. Standing between Valentina and her husband was a little boy. They looked cute. Gabriel, despite himself, smiled.
"Thanks," he said in English, grabbing his wallet as the man placed the pastries on the counter and shelling out a few 20s.
“Tomas, and you’re welcome,” Tomas replied in Spanish, and then repeated it in English for Jubilee’s benefit. “It is always good to meet new neighbors.”
The Loisaida Deli and Grocery was, in most respects, no different from the corner stores and mini-grocers that proliferated along the streets of the five boroughs. There was no denying that it looked moderately shabbier than its peers in gentrifying neighborhoods: its signs were older, its lighting dimmer, its floors more worn.
But New Yorkers (real New Yorkers, with years under their belt) judged their delis not by the ambiance but by the quality of their sandwiches and how well their shelves served the neighborhood. By that account, this family-run bodega deserved five stars. As the neighborhood changed, as other stores gave way, the Loisada Deli and Grocery remained a constant.
None of this, of course, was known by the new upstairs neighbors: the spies inhabiting space in the office building that rose above the store. But as Gabriel and Jubilee entered, he felt something resonate with him, and he decided immediately he liked this place, with its cramped aisles and ample variety of cigarettes.
The man at the cash register — either Puerto Rican or Dominican, Gabriel decided, given the store’s name and the salsa in the background — eyed the two new customers. Gabriel gave him a nod, then scanned the store for the ATM he knew he’d find in a corner.
"Dude! They have Conchas!" Jubilee bounced slightly with excitement as she made a beeline for the Mexican sweet bread trapped behind a small glass case on the counter. She grinned at the owner and held out her hand in a friendly manner. "Hey there, my name's Jubilee. We're just moving in upstairs."
It took him a moment, and she could tell he wasn't quite used to anyone being this full of energy at almost any time of the day. She almost told him it was a mutant thing but even given where they were, she had learned some discretion as part of her training. She grinned wider as he took her hand and gave it a firm shake before letting go easily. She wasn't the type to think you could tell who someone was by how they shook your hand, but what you could tell was what they thought about handshakes, which at least told you something.
Gabriel, punching in his PIN, rolled his eyes. It was the kind of disdain for enthusiasm that made him think he'd lived in New York too long, even before he decamped to Westchester. But Jubilee's enthusiasm was particularly hard for him to take at times these days, when he found himself more sapped of energy than anything else.
The machine spat out a few bills, and he pocketed them, so he set about his next task. In the aisles, a dark-skinned woman — younger than the man, whose mustache and hair were graying and whose face bore wrinkles — was stocking a fridge with drinks. "Excuse me," he fired off in Spanish, "but can you point me toward the energy drinks? Red Bull, Monster, that kind of thing?"
Valentina smiled shyly and then pointed to the next aisle along.
“Just down there. Unless you want the cold version, and then it’s in the fridge at the back.” she said in rapid fire Spanish.
“Thank you,” he nodded, heading toward the back. Definitely Puerto Rican; he could tell by the accent. “Jubes, you want anything? I’m buying, within reason.”
“See, you say that but then what I think is reasonable and like, what other people think is reasonable are totes different things.” Jubilee popped up from the aisle besides his, almost soundless expect that she’d deliberately tried to make herself known so as not to startle random shoppers. “But get me some energy bars? My stash is running a bit low. Also! I think we should bring sandwiches back to the office for the others.”
Gabriel wrinkled his nose as he grabbed a cold Red Bull out of the fridge. "It's right downstairs," he pointed out as he reached for a second. "They can come down and get their own sandwiches." He whirled around to look for her energy bars. "I'm not handling multiple sandwich orders for a bunch of annoyingly particular people." Though he'd love to see Emma's face if he showed up with a bodega sandwich.
In a split-second, he appeared next to her, handing her two energy bars and cradling the drinks in the crook of his elbow. "I can't tell," he said to her quietly, "if they're family or not, so to speak. I mean, they've clearly been here for a while, but not every business around here is one of ours, you know?”
Jubilee hummed in a non-committal manner, even if they weren’t mutants themselves, the fact they still lived in District X either met they were pro mutant, or didn’t have the funds to move elsewhere.
“If someone is gonna be all picky at me when I bring them a sandwich they like, did not have to fetch themselves, then they don’t get free sandwiches from me again.”
The place didn’t seem run down, the opposite really. Not rich but well taken care of, well loved by the people who worked there just from the cleaness of the space, not a lick of dust anywhere.
“Does it matter?” She asked, her voice quieter after the initial statement. A boring louder conversation about office politics hiding her real conversation. “Like, it matters but does it matter?“
Personal feelings aside, unless the people who owned this place belonged to some anti-mutant cult or group, their personal feelings about their species didn’t really concern her, except in a calculation on how they might use that to their advantage, either way.
Gabriel couldn't help but seem a little surprised, then immediately irritated at her seeming nonchalance. "As someone who was gay in Texas," he said, not even bothering to hide how irked he was, "it fucking matters." He didn't give her the dignity of standing still for the response, instead turning on a heel and heading toward the front. "I need smokes."
Jubilee shook her head and followed behind him, giving him a moment while she perused the shelves. She stopped beside him before attempting an explanation.
“It’s District X, Dude, and deep into it too. Anyone anti-mutant is either gone or being really obvious about it and those types are easily used to find bigger fish.”
Gabriel pursed his lips but said nothing. He felt she was making assumptions that made her seem almost naive, plus she was being dismissive, and he didn’t want to get into it. It was not, he knew, foolish to try and figure out whether your neighbors hated you. And it was not unforeseeable, given the high cost of everything in this city, that bigots would stay out.
“Hey,” he said in Spanish with a nod to the man behind the fill, who eyed him somewhat coolly. “Can I get a pack of Marlboros?” He paused. “Actually, I’ll take two. You’re puertorriqueño, yeah?”
“Sí, por que?”
The man pulled two packs of Marlboros from the trays behind him and laid them on the counter. You couldn’t have said that he was any more weary then he had been when they entered but there was certainly an air of watchfulness that hadn’t been there before.
"Just asking," Gabriel shrugged. He placed the Red Bulls on the counter as well. "I spend all day in an office with gringuitos. Nice to be able to come downstairs and speak the language. Comforting, you know? I don't get that a lot, this far from home."
He glanced back at Jubilee, switching back to English. "See anything good?"
“Just the Conchas,” Jubilee replied and asked for two as she placed the energy bar on the counter. “I’ll probably come down for more later, this was just the ‘checking things out’ trip.”
Gabriel nodded. "I'm Gabriel, by the way," he said in Spanish, watching as the man grabbed gloves and tissue paper for the pastries. His eyes scanned the sundries behind the counter — floss, Advil, condoms. Next to the cash register were a few photos, some clearly taken from back in Puerto Rico, others looking more current. He spotted one, a family portrait. Standing between Valentina and her husband was a little boy. They looked cute. Gabriel, despite himself, smiled.
"Thanks," he said in English, grabbing his wallet as the man placed the pastries on the counter and shelling out a few 20s.
“Tomas, and you’re welcome,” Tomas replied in Spanish, and then repeated it in English for Jubilee’s benefit. “It is always good to meet new neighbors.”
