Please Bring Snacks To A Coven of Spies
Feb. 15th, 2022 08:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsPiotr journeys to the Snow Valley facility to bring snacks and tea as a thank-you for keeping his name away from the NYPD.
It was something of a hassle to haul fresh hot food and an industrial-grade thermos bottle of good black tea all the way to District X via public transportation but he was too broke to catch an Uber and really, it wasn't too big of a hassle. Hardest part was his stomach rumbling from the smells of the pirozhki [1]he'd spent a good chunk of yesterday making. Meat, veg, sweet, savory … he just hoped they were in the mood to accept hot snacks from strange Russian men who stopped stupid people from running protestors over.
Still, the red-haired woman had given him her card and he did want to thank her. The NYPD hadn't been by to visit him and no-one was getting their pitchforks and torches out to hunt the giant metal man in their midst.
A positive sign, to be sure.
He glanced down at the card and then had to bobble his parcels to make sure he was at the right place. Yep. Looked right.
Taking a deep breath, he opened the front door.
Darcy looked up at the soft chime that announced a guest, taking in the behemoth of a man that stepped into the welcome area. “Welcome to Snow Valley, how can I help you today?” A pop-up on the computer distracted her, fingers lightly dancing across the keyboard in front of her for a moment before she stood and walked around the desk. “Need a hand with that?”
"Yes, thank you." he said, handing her the Thermos so he could use that hand to fish out Marie-Ange's business card. "I was hoping to speak with Mlle Colbert if I could." he said pleasantly.
“Of course, let me see if she’s available.” Darcy set the Thermos down on the counter and stepped behind the desk, picking up the phone. “Ange? Extremely tall, muscled guy here to see you, what’s–mmhm. Da, very. Two? Someone will.. yes, I’ll bring him right back.” She hung the phone up, neatly scribbled “Russian Beefcake” on a name tag, and gave the taller man a sunny smile as she handed it over. “Hi, sorry about your wait. I’m Darcy. If you’ll put that on and follow me, I’ll bring you back to one of the conference rooms.” She tucked the Thermos back into her arms, waving the man along behind her.
Like the obedient sort that he was, he glanced at the nametag before sticking it nearly onto his button-down. Out of all the things he could have been called, that was fairly tame. He followed the short busty woman deeper into the building, the clack of her heels only making minimal noise. He glanced around as he followed her, evaluating the building itself. He'd hate to lose this outfit but if needs be he could probably get out if it became necessary that he do so in a hurry. Couldn't speak much as to how well the building would handle it, but if needs drove…
On the plus side, the receptionist was nice to look at. Point to this Snow Valley place.
Darcy showed tall and muscled into the small conference room. “Have a seat, the two taller chairs should be able to handle your particular brand of very muscled. Marie-Ange will be in momentarily. In the meantime, I’ll get some plates and cups in here. Hm.” She hefted the Thermos in her arms, setting it gently on the table. “Is this tea or coffee? Also, got a name? I can’t keep calling you tall and muscly in my mind, it’s rude.”
"Peter." he said with an easy smile. "Or, today, I am Russian Beefcake," he said, gesturing towards his nametag and deliberately thickening his accent.. "And it's tea" he said, gesturing towards the Thermos bottle. "It goes well with pirozhki. A gift, free for everyone here." Finally, he looked at the aforementioned seats, picked one that looked the sturdiest, and sank into it carefully.
"Guessed based on your accent, so if you are neighboring country beefcake, I can fix that," Darcy replied easily. She gave him a careful pat on the shoulder as she left the room. "Relax, if Ange wanted you dead you would've never been given her card."
He kept his thoughts about the redhead to himself - she looked fairly harmless, although it was likely she was not. Still, if she wanted him dead, she'd have to work for it. But it was, he had to admit, fairly unlikely that she'd given him her card only to lure him to his death. That was … baroque. To an extreme.
Snow Valley so rarely did mansion intake discussions that Marie-Ange had to scramble for a minute to remember where the folder she kept with the information even was. She found it finally under a box of leftover paper and stamps - the sort of 'art supplies' that led to excellently crafted passports, not the sort that led to beautiful watercolor paintings.
She'd looked into this Piotr Rasputin as soon as she'd gotten back to the office. A master's in fine arts, absolutely no interactions with the NYPD, and a reputation in the artist's community for being polite, generous with his time and strength, possessing an excellent hand at portraiture - and an honest streak as long as he was tall.
She pulled herself into 'friendly weirdo' mode, tucked one of her better drawing pens in her bun, and walked over to the conference room, folders in hand.
"Good afternoon." She said, and then blinked a few times at the stack of pirozhki already neatly arranged on the table. "... Ah. Merci? I think? This is.. For our office?"
"Yes." he said to the Frenchwoman. "A thank-you for keeping me away from both the news and the police. I just hope you can find something you enjoy." he said, gesturing at the spread. "I may have gotten slightly carried away."
"I assure you, you have not." Marie-Ange's smile was genuine. "Several people here have… well." She set the folder down on the table. "The mutant metabolism, I think many people call it. Everyone here is gifted in some way. So half the office has big appetites. I apologize for just handing you a card and darting off, that sort of protest is one of the things we monitor here. I am glad to hear that no one harassed you after the accident."
"Not one word." he said. "But about the driver - did he survive?" he asked with actual concern in his voice. Guy was a maniac who was going to mow down innocents in a classic car and Piotr honestly wanted to know if the man lived. "And, wait. You have gifts? Everyone here has a gift?" he said with bewilderment. "You have seen mine and I will refrain from demonstrating again. I like these clothes. If you do not mind, what do you do?"
Marie-Ange pulled a card from her pocket, and set it down on the table. Unlike the business card she'd handed Piotr days earlier, this was a classic American baseball card. "Easier to show than try to overcome two degrees of language barrier, yes? My Russian is… " She waved her hand back and forth. "I can order vodka, and find a bathroom."
On the table, a miniature baseball player popped into existence, bat over his shoulder, and wearing the blue and white uniform of the Toronto Blue Jays. "I take pictures and make them into things. Mostly solid, a little squishy."
Piotr poked a finger towards the little baseball player, who looked annoyed at the intrusion. "Колдунья"[2] he said under his breath, then withdrew from the little construct. "Impressive. Probably could not stop rampaging car, but very impressive."
"I know that one too. But no, my partner is the witch." Still a genuinely amused smile. "And yes, he cannot stop a car. Useful though, for carrying in groceries. I can make them big enough to shovel snow if I have to." She indicated the folder on the table. "Everyone here is gifted, yes. Oh, I forgot. Yes, the man who hit you survived. Broken bones, concussion, remembers nothing about who stopped the accident." They had made quite sure of that.
Opening the folder, Marie-Ange pulled out a few brochures. "And now I get to do the terrible explanation of Snow Valley and the Xavier's Institute, and there is a reason I never do this. I am awful at it. In very short, mutant think tank, and a place of safety in Westchester for the gifted."
Artie tapped on the door before she got fully started and - uncharacteristically - hissed out loud, letting his tongue become visible. His part in this was, as always, to see how the visitor would react to a visible mutant and in this case, one with communication issues. When he’d caught Marie-Ange’s attention, he gestured to the brochures and raised an eyebrow, pointing to himself and signing explain. Do you want me to talk about this? was the message.
Marie-Ange glanced at Piotr, and then at Artie. "Yes. Please. Just do not scare the poor man off." she signed back. "Talk up the art studio." She then waved a hand vaguely and nodded once before actually speaking instead of using sign. "Piotr Rasputin, Artie Maddicks. Artie, this is Piotr, he is the man who stopped the car at the protest last week."
Artie smiled at Piotr, shaking hands and hissing again with a slightly gargling sound underpinning it. There was a reason he didn’t speak out loud. It only took him a moment to bring up the conference room’s screen and begin typing, letting the screenreader take over. “Nice to meet you, Piotr. As you can see, I can’t speak - it’s a mutant thing - you know how it is, so we’ll make do with this.” He gave another smile, cheerful and friendly and the picture of a man who did some kind of community project worky stuff with a think tank, from the chinos to the casual yet sensible button-down and sweater.
"Bozhe moi!" he said as Piotr got his first look at Artie. "That's quite a tongue you have there." he said after a moment. He was starting to feel like a rube with straw in his hair and shit between his toes - again - and he didn't care for the feeling. "Hello, Artie." he said, remembering his manners and returning the handshake.. "You remind me of someone - like Ursa Major, but lizard and not bear." he mused out loud. "But Ursa was like me. Shifter. Anyway." he said, ready and willing to listen to a lecture about American mutant politics and secret strike forces and whatnot. Very interesting.
Darcy had slipped back into the room behind Artie, giving him a fondly exasperated look at the hissing and extra cheerful demeanor. She prepped the tea silently as Artie introduced himself, breaking in before he could start the Xavier’s spiel. “Sugar or preserves for your tea, Piotr?”
"I take it black. Just like my men." he said, completely deadpan. Buddy of his had introduced him to Airplane! in grad school and some forms of humor were universal. Now, the real question was how she'd react…
“Black it is, then.” Darcy bit back a laugh as she poured, placing the cup at his side before taking a seat.
Artie smiled and began to type. "The Snow Valley Research Center is a multi-disciplinary group with a politically neutral stance on the 'mutant problem'. We prepare a range of policy and briefing papers. Currently, we're working on a study regarding the way intra community aid and relationships are linked to location, race and ethnicity and type of mutation, with a focus on on the larger mutant communities in New York, Los Angeles and London. We hope to extend the research to the Moscow community and perhaps the Paris, Madrid or Barcelona ones in the future. The presence of the EU and Brexit created some fascinating patterns in the movement of mutants. We also work on mutant presence throughout history. We're primarily millennials and Gen Z but not exclusively, did you know that?"
"I did not know that." Piotr said, impressed despite himself. Clearly, these people were thinkers. Historians. Maybe a little secret agent. Hard to be sure. "From personal experience, in Moscow mutants are either wretched and get by however they can, or if the State decides you are useful, they do their best to co-opt you into the system. Good life, nice apartment, fat paycheck. All you have to do is sell them your soul." he said with a look of distaste. "Outside of big cities, is easier." he added, pausing to take a long sip of his tea. "Keep your head down, don't advertise your power, and if you're a visible mutant, find some friends." he said with an apologetic look at Artie. "There is - was - a national hero team for the glory of Russia, or the old Soviets, whatever. Called the Winter Guard now. And …" he said, and then let his voice trail off for a moment.
"There's rumors of something called Black Widows. Deadly assassins, all women. They do the messy things outside of our borders. Just rumor, of course. Have never met a Widow. Never want to."
Artie nodded. "One of the biggest challenges facing mutants is the desire to weaponise them. The Chinese, Canadian and Australian governments have also made moves in that direction but we're non-political, so the focus of our research isn't there. My role here at Snow Valley is as a field worker. My background is in fine arts, not sociology, but as both a visible mutant and someone defined by both mutation and disability, I can often build connections with mutant communities that someone like Marie-Angie cannot."
"Fine arts?" he said, perking up a little and gesturing with his cup of tea. "As pretty French lady undoubtedly knows by now, I have my MFA from Columbia. May I inquire as to your own area of interest?"
“She mentioned. I was mostly involved in installation and light works - projections, and so on.” Artie gestured back at the screen. “The Xavier Institute, meanwhile offers housing, powers training and support in that and, for more vulnerable people, assistance in completing high school or post secondary education, along with therapy, medical assistance and so on.”
Piotr nodded. "That sounds like good practical work. Study is good, learning about how the world handles mutants and perhaps guiding policy, but boots-on-ground, this is good." he said with another nod, then he snagged a pirozhki for himself and bit into it.
“Lawyer, analyst. Front desk peon sometimes, as you already know,” Darcy said, hand hovering over a pirozhki. “Did you make these, or is there a Russian bakery hiding from me?”
"Russian bakeries are crafty things. Used to hiding. But no, I made these." he confessed as he finished off his pastry and then fished for another.
“Flavors? I’m not allergic to anything, but best to know what I’m biting into,” Darcy asked as she plucked two from different containers. “And yes, very crafty. There are a few nice tea rooms in the area though.”
"Carnivore, veggie over there, sweet over there." he said, gesturing. "Should be enough to suit just about anyone."
Darcy took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “You made these. For us. Because Ange was nice to you? What’s your visa status, again?” She turned to Ange. “We’re keeping him, right? Ter and I need an extra kitchen tall.”
Piotr smiled pleasantly as he poured himself some more tea. "Perhaps." he said. "I'm an artist. I don't think I'm cut out for analyzing societal trends or researching policy decisions." he said. "Happy to support all of you while you're about it, but … not for me, I think."
The door creaked a little as it was carefully shouldered open, and a stack of boxes let itself in. Technically, there was a person attached to the boxes, but she was so short that it barely mattered.
“Twenty-three?” A distinctly British voice muttered. “Wait. Damn it.”
Topaz finally peeked around the boxes, grimacing when she realized she was definitely in the wrong room. “Sorry. Counted steps wrong. Not interrupting anything too important, am I?”
“Have you considered one less box?” Darcy gave an exaggerated sigh as she popped the last bite of her pirozhki into her mouth and stood, taking the top box off of Topaz’s pile. “Topaz, Piotr. He brought us snacks. Which room does this need to go in?”
“I have. And then I considered having to make one less trip to my car and took the chance.” Topaz eyed Piotr for a moment, head tilted slightly. “Pleasure. I didn’t walk in on a job interview, did I?” To Darcy, “Avalon-lite.”
"No, Not a job interview, I think." Piotr mused. "Do you require a hand with those? I'm good with carrying heavy things." he said, in what might be the Understatement Of The Year. Even as Piotr, he was fit and strong. "Also, feel free to take a pirozhki if you'd like." he offered.
No, not a job interview. An introduction into a whole new world, by the looks of it.
“Nah, I’ve got it. The bottom box tries to bite sometimes.” There was absolutely no indication in her expression about whether that was a joke. She was quiet for a moment before saying, “Probably a good fit for one of the others. I’ll be back for a pirozhki,” and carefully backing out of the room again.
Darcy hefted the box up. “I’ll be back before you need walking out,” she said to Piotr, before turning to Marie-Ange. “Anyone specific you want me to send back if I run across them?”
"Amanda, if you happen to see her." Marie-Ange picked up one of the aforementioned 'carnivore' pirozhki and took a measured bite. "On the subject of keeping you, I think you are right, this is not a good place for you to be, but the Xavier Institute…" She took another bite of pastry. "If I am making a guess right, you have very much a sense of community to do all this work to say thank you, yes?"
He thought about it for a moment. "Could call it that." he said agreeably. "You, presumably, kept the police away from me when they came to ask questions, and gave me your business card." he said, playing with the brochures in front of him with an idle hand. "I felt - and still feel - gratitude for that. But you also told me there were more like you, out there among mutantkind." he said, knowing he was probably explaining things badly. "Things here and probably back home are getting ugly for peaceful mutants who just want to live their lives. I have a great gift and even if I do not wish to use it, I feel … obligated to." he said, his frustration writ clear. "I am explaining badly." he muttered.
"Not so bad as you think. You want to help, in the ways you can, but sometimes find it unpleasant. I understand all too well." Marie-Ange said, carefully. "I think perhaps a good idea if we introduce you to the people in Westchester, at the Institute. Perhaps it would be a place you could use your gifts to help other mutants, and also feel safe to use them without having to then go run to deli bathrooms and hide from the police." She paused, finished her pirozhki and then smiled. "Although, if you want to go into a career of deli work, I think Betty's would take the recipe for these happily."
Piotr smiled a touch wistfully. "Old Rasputin family recipe." he said, for a moment feeling a wash of emotion, of loss. His baby sister loved pirozhki when she was little. Used to play at helping Mama make them. "Don't think I can part with it so easily." Then, to cheer himself up, he tapped his nametag. "Perhaps deli bathroom wants big Russian man to stop by. Enjoy the gun show." he said with a quick flex of an impressive bicep. "This Institute sounds like an interesting place. You trust them?" he asked.
"Very much so. We do work for them when needed, they support us sometimes." Marie-Ange explained. "We have similar goals, just approach them in different directions. You saw the flooding in Maryland a few months ago on the news? The Institute people did rescue and cleanup work during and after, for example."
"I heard about that." he noted, then nodded. "Sounds like good work."
At that point, a blond woman around the same age as Marie-Ange poked her head into the door. “Hey, Topaz said you wanted me, love?” Amanda said to Marie-Ange, before catching sight of Piotr. “Ah.”
"Our mystery accident survivor." Marie-Ange explained. "Brought us tea and snacks to say thank you, so we are giving him the speech about Westchester. Piotr, this is Amanda. Amanda, Piotr, who turns into metal and walked away from that car crash. Also who makes Russian snacks for us, and I think Darcy wants to adopt him."
Piotr made a little wave to Amanda before gesturing to what was left of the snacks he'd brought. Mutant Metabolisms, indeed. "Enjoy." he said. "And hello. Are you also … researcher?" he said with a significant enough pause that it was obvious he'd substituted a word in there.
Artie smiled again and stood, tapping out a quick “I’ll leave you to it. I have work to be getting on with. It was very nice to meet you, Mr Rasputin.” He gave a nod to Marie-Angie and Amanda, replaying Piotr’s movements and reactions in his mind. He’d seemed genuine, if unused to the presence of other mutants.
“Researcher, yes,” Amanda replied, stepping aside so Artie could leave. “Angie told me about her meeting with you - thanks for stopping that car. Things could have been really messy if you hadn’t.” She headed for where Marie-Ange was sitting, pausing to give her a quick kiss before taking a seat and reaching for a pirozhki. “And thanks for the snacks. I was getting hungry.”
"You are welcome." he said, referring to both items she mentioned. "I am not about to let crazy person run down innocent-but-loud people with their car if I can stop it." he said. "Did cost me a good pair of jeans and boots, though." he said ruefully. "Snacks are for making sure law enforcement does not go on manhunt for large metal man." he added a moment later. "I do not wish to be rude but I do not think spies like yourselves are how I can lend my skills to mutant causes. But this Institute here…" he said, toying with the Xavier's brochure, "... sounds like a better fit for me. You said you trust them, work with them. Can you arrange an introduction?"
"Very much so." Marie-Ange said. "And clever of you to see what we really are." Came with his background, she thought. Brother who went into the space program, missing sister. This Piotr was much more perceptive than the one she used to know - probably time to retire "piotr rasputin is a plonker' as a regular complaint. "I think, let me put you in touch with Scott Summers, and Sooraya Qadir. Between the two of them, I think they could get you the information you need."
He just nodded, pleased, and then stood up. "Then, unless there is anything else…" he said. "You can keep the leftovers, if there's anything left." There wasn't much of anything, really. "You have my address, can send back Thermos and basket when convenient for you." Scott Summers sounded like an American but Sooraya Qadir - sounded like something from south Asia. One of the 'Stans or the like. For personal reasons, he hoped she wasn't a Kazakh. He did not have fond memories of Kazakhstan. Not her fault but he wanted to come in eyes and emotions clear, not mourning a departed brother.
Then, without thinking, he leaned over and kissed Marie-Ange on both of her cheeks. "Thank you for presentation. And silence." he said with a smile. "Will probably need an escort out, unless you want Russian Beefcake wandering through your places."
"So polite." Marie-Ange said. "I have to apologize, I do not remember the appropriate response to the cheek kiss at all." She did pat Piotr's shoulder lightly, standing up on the toes of her already very tall shoes. "Of course. Darcy should be back in a moment, or I can walk you out to the front, whichever you prefer."
“I heard my name,” Darcy replied as she walked back in. “Only I didn’t.. ah, Amanda found you. Excellent. I got waylaid delivering my box.” She grinned at Ange and Amanda, the look turning a bit more mischievous as she looked up at Piotr. “You ready to make a break for it yet, Tiny?”
Piotr stood up carefully, gathering all his brochures into a neat pile before picking them up. Really, he was already being mega-rude by cutting his goodbyes so short already and the short woman, however pleasant to look upon, was finding his last nerve and jumping up and down on it. While wearing her spike heels. He quietly took a deep breath and then released it. "I think it's time I be on my way." he said as noncommittally as he could.
“I’ll show you back to the front, then.” Darcy hoped Piotr did take the team up on the offer to come visit Xavier’s properly. He seemed friendly enough, and even if they weren’t a fit for him, perhaps one of the other teams would be. His abilities in the kitchen were just a bonus, but she was sure Terry would be as delighted by that as she was. She was quiet as they walked through the hallways, and once they’d gotten back to the front she gestured to the door with a smile. “It was lovely to meet you, and thank you for making us delicious snacks. I do hope you’ll come visit the Institute. It’s a little overwhelming sometimes, but it’s nice having a community to turn to.”
Piotr nodded. "Thank you." he said quietly, his one hand full of pamphlets and he left Snow Valley with a thoughtful look on his face.
[1] https://www.tasteatlas.com/pirozhki
[2] Russian for "Witch" (if Google Translate is to be believed)
It was something of a hassle to haul fresh hot food and an industrial-grade thermos bottle of good black tea all the way to District X via public transportation but he was too broke to catch an Uber and really, it wasn't too big of a hassle. Hardest part was his stomach rumbling from the smells of the pirozhki [1]he'd spent a good chunk of yesterday making. Meat, veg, sweet, savory … he just hoped they were in the mood to accept hot snacks from strange Russian men who stopped stupid people from running protestors over.
Still, the red-haired woman had given him her card and he did want to thank her. The NYPD hadn't been by to visit him and no-one was getting their pitchforks and torches out to hunt the giant metal man in their midst.
A positive sign, to be sure.
He glanced down at the card and then had to bobble his parcels to make sure he was at the right place. Yep. Looked right.
Taking a deep breath, he opened the front door.
Darcy looked up at the soft chime that announced a guest, taking in the behemoth of a man that stepped into the welcome area. “Welcome to Snow Valley, how can I help you today?” A pop-up on the computer distracted her, fingers lightly dancing across the keyboard in front of her for a moment before she stood and walked around the desk. “Need a hand with that?”
"Yes, thank you." he said, handing her the Thermos so he could use that hand to fish out Marie-Ange's business card. "I was hoping to speak with Mlle Colbert if I could." he said pleasantly.
“Of course, let me see if she’s available.” Darcy set the Thermos down on the counter and stepped behind the desk, picking up the phone. “Ange? Extremely tall, muscled guy here to see you, what’s–mmhm. Da, very. Two? Someone will.. yes, I’ll bring him right back.” She hung the phone up, neatly scribbled “Russian Beefcake” on a name tag, and gave the taller man a sunny smile as she handed it over. “Hi, sorry about your wait. I’m Darcy. If you’ll put that on and follow me, I’ll bring you back to one of the conference rooms.” She tucked the Thermos back into her arms, waving the man along behind her.
Like the obedient sort that he was, he glanced at the nametag before sticking it nearly onto his button-down. Out of all the things he could have been called, that was fairly tame. He followed the short busty woman deeper into the building, the clack of her heels only making minimal noise. He glanced around as he followed her, evaluating the building itself. He'd hate to lose this outfit but if needs be he could probably get out if it became necessary that he do so in a hurry. Couldn't speak much as to how well the building would handle it, but if needs drove…
On the plus side, the receptionist was nice to look at. Point to this Snow Valley place.
Darcy showed tall and muscled into the small conference room. “Have a seat, the two taller chairs should be able to handle your particular brand of very muscled. Marie-Ange will be in momentarily. In the meantime, I’ll get some plates and cups in here. Hm.” She hefted the Thermos in her arms, setting it gently on the table. “Is this tea or coffee? Also, got a name? I can’t keep calling you tall and muscly in my mind, it’s rude.”
"Peter." he said with an easy smile. "Or, today, I am Russian Beefcake," he said, gesturing towards his nametag and deliberately thickening his accent.. "And it's tea" he said, gesturing towards the Thermos bottle. "It goes well with pirozhki. A gift, free for everyone here." Finally, he looked at the aforementioned seats, picked one that looked the sturdiest, and sank into it carefully.
"Guessed based on your accent, so if you are neighboring country beefcake, I can fix that," Darcy replied easily. She gave him a careful pat on the shoulder as she left the room. "Relax, if Ange wanted you dead you would've never been given her card."
He kept his thoughts about the redhead to himself - she looked fairly harmless, although it was likely she was not. Still, if she wanted him dead, she'd have to work for it. But it was, he had to admit, fairly unlikely that she'd given him her card only to lure him to his death. That was … baroque. To an extreme.
Snow Valley so rarely did mansion intake discussions that Marie-Ange had to scramble for a minute to remember where the folder she kept with the information even was. She found it finally under a box of leftover paper and stamps - the sort of 'art supplies' that led to excellently crafted passports, not the sort that led to beautiful watercolor paintings.
She'd looked into this Piotr Rasputin as soon as she'd gotten back to the office. A master's in fine arts, absolutely no interactions with the NYPD, and a reputation in the artist's community for being polite, generous with his time and strength, possessing an excellent hand at portraiture - and an honest streak as long as he was tall.
She pulled herself into 'friendly weirdo' mode, tucked one of her better drawing pens in her bun, and walked over to the conference room, folders in hand.
"Good afternoon." She said, and then blinked a few times at the stack of pirozhki already neatly arranged on the table. "... Ah. Merci? I think? This is.. For our office?"
"Yes." he said to the Frenchwoman. "A thank-you for keeping me away from both the news and the police. I just hope you can find something you enjoy." he said, gesturing at the spread. "I may have gotten slightly carried away."
"I assure you, you have not." Marie-Ange's smile was genuine. "Several people here have… well." She set the folder down on the table. "The mutant metabolism, I think many people call it. Everyone here is gifted in some way. So half the office has big appetites. I apologize for just handing you a card and darting off, that sort of protest is one of the things we monitor here. I am glad to hear that no one harassed you after the accident."
"Not one word." he said. "But about the driver - did he survive?" he asked with actual concern in his voice. Guy was a maniac who was going to mow down innocents in a classic car and Piotr honestly wanted to know if the man lived. "And, wait. You have gifts? Everyone here has a gift?" he said with bewilderment. "You have seen mine and I will refrain from demonstrating again. I like these clothes. If you do not mind, what do you do?"
Marie-Ange pulled a card from her pocket, and set it down on the table. Unlike the business card she'd handed Piotr days earlier, this was a classic American baseball card. "Easier to show than try to overcome two degrees of language barrier, yes? My Russian is… " She waved her hand back and forth. "I can order vodka, and find a bathroom."
On the table, a miniature baseball player popped into existence, bat over his shoulder, and wearing the blue and white uniform of the Toronto Blue Jays. "I take pictures and make them into things. Mostly solid, a little squishy."
Piotr poked a finger towards the little baseball player, who looked annoyed at the intrusion. "Колдунья"[2] he said under his breath, then withdrew from the little construct. "Impressive. Probably could not stop rampaging car, but very impressive."
"I know that one too. But no, my partner is the witch." Still a genuinely amused smile. "And yes, he cannot stop a car. Useful though, for carrying in groceries. I can make them big enough to shovel snow if I have to." She indicated the folder on the table. "Everyone here is gifted, yes. Oh, I forgot. Yes, the man who hit you survived. Broken bones, concussion, remembers nothing about who stopped the accident." They had made quite sure of that.
Opening the folder, Marie-Ange pulled out a few brochures. "And now I get to do the terrible explanation of Snow Valley and the Xavier's Institute, and there is a reason I never do this. I am awful at it. In very short, mutant think tank, and a place of safety in Westchester for the gifted."
Artie tapped on the door before she got fully started and - uncharacteristically - hissed out loud, letting his tongue become visible. His part in this was, as always, to see how the visitor would react to a visible mutant and in this case, one with communication issues. When he’d caught Marie-Ange’s attention, he gestured to the brochures and raised an eyebrow, pointing to himself and signing explain. Do you want me to talk about this? was the message.
Marie-Ange glanced at Piotr, and then at Artie. "Yes. Please. Just do not scare the poor man off." she signed back. "Talk up the art studio." She then waved a hand vaguely and nodded once before actually speaking instead of using sign. "Piotr Rasputin, Artie Maddicks. Artie, this is Piotr, he is the man who stopped the car at the protest last week."
Artie smiled at Piotr, shaking hands and hissing again with a slightly gargling sound underpinning it. There was a reason he didn’t speak out loud. It only took him a moment to bring up the conference room’s screen and begin typing, letting the screenreader take over. “Nice to meet you, Piotr. As you can see, I can’t speak - it’s a mutant thing - you know how it is, so we’ll make do with this.” He gave another smile, cheerful and friendly and the picture of a man who did some kind of community project worky stuff with a think tank, from the chinos to the casual yet sensible button-down and sweater.
"Bozhe moi!" he said as Piotr got his first look at Artie. "That's quite a tongue you have there." he said after a moment. He was starting to feel like a rube with straw in his hair and shit between his toes - again - and he didn't care for the feeling. "Hello, Artie." he said, remembering his manners and returning the handshake.. "You remind me of someone - like Ursa Major, but lizard and not bear." he mused out loud. "But Ursa was like me. Shifter. Anyway." he said, ready and willing to listen to a lecture about American mutant politics and secret strike forces and whatnot. Very interesting.
Darcy had slipped back into the room behind Artie, giving him a fondly exasperated look at the hissing and extra cheerful demeanor. She prepped the tea silently as Artie introduced himself, breaking in before he could start the Xavier’s spiel. “Sugar or preserves for your tea, Piotr?”
"I take it black. Just like my men." he said, completely deadpan. Buddy of his had introduced him to Airplane! in grad school and some forms of humor were universal. Now, the real question was how she'd react…
“Black it is, then.” Darcy bit back a laugh as she poured, placing the cup at his side before taking a seat.
Artie smiled and began to type. "The Snow Valley Research Center is a multi-disciplinary group with a politically neutral stance on the 'mutant problem'. We prepare a range of policy and briefing papers. Currently, we're working on a study regarding the way intra community aid and relationships are linked to location, race and ethnicity and type of mutation, with a focus on on the larger mutant communities in New York, Los Angeles and London. We hope to extend the research to the Moscow community and perhaps the Paris, Madrid or Barcelona ones in the future. The presence of the EU and Brexit created some fascinating patterns in the movement of mutants. We also work on mutant presence throughout history. We're primarily millennials and Gen Z but not exclusively, did you know that?"
"I did not know that." Piotr said, impressed despite himself. Clearly, these people were thinkers. Historians. Maybe a little secret agent. Hard to be sure. "From personal experience, in Moscow mutants are either wretched and get by however they can, or if the State decides you are useful, they do their best to co-opt you into the system. Good life, nice apartment, fat paycheck. All you have to do is sell them your soul." he said with a look of distaste. "Outside of big cities, is easier." he added, pausing to take a long sip of his tea. "Keep your head down, don't advertise your power, and if you're a visible mutant, find some friends." he said with an apologetic look at Artie. "There is - was - a national hero team for the glory of Russia, or the old Soviets, whatever. Called the Winter Guard now. And …" he said, and then let his voice trail off for a moment.
"There's rumors of something called Black Widows. Deadly assassins, all women. They do the messy things outside of our borders. Just rumor, of course. Have never met a Widow. Never want to."
Artie nodded. "One of the biggest challenges facing mutants is the desire to weaponise them. The Chinese, Canadian and Australian governments have also made moves in that direction but we're non-political, so the focus of our research isn't there. My role here at Snow Valley is as a field worker. My background is in fine arts, not sociology, but as both a visible mutant and someone defined by both mutation and disability, I can often build connections with mutant communities that someone like Marie-Angie cannot."
"Fine arts?" he said, perking up a little and gesturing with his cup of tea. "As pretty French lady undoubtedly knows by now, I have my MFA from Columbia. May I inquire as to your own area of interest?"
“She mentioned. I was mostly involved in installation and light works - projections, and so on.” Artie gestured back at the screen. “The Xavier Institute, meanwhile offers housing, powers training and support in that and, for more vulnerable people, assistance in completing high school or post secondary education, along with therapy, medical assistance and so on.”
Piotr nodded. "That sounds like good practical work. Study is good, learning about how the world handles mutants and perhaps guiding policy, but boots-on-ground, this is good." he said with another nod, then he snagged a pirozhki for himself and bit into it.
“Lawyer, analyst. Front desk peon sometimes, as you already know,” Darcy said, hand hovering over a pirozhki. “Did you make these, or is there a Russian bakery hiding from me?”
"Russian bakeries are crafty things. Used to hiding. But no, I made these." he confessed as he finished off his pastry and then fished for another.
“Flavors? I’m not allergic to anything, but best to know what I’m biting into,” Darcy asked as she plucked two from different containers. “And yes, very crafty. There are a few nice tea rooms in the area though.”
"Carnivore, veggie over there, sweet over there." he said, gesturing. "Should be enough to suit just about anyone."
Darcy took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “You made these. For us. Because Ange was nice to you? What’s your visa status, again?” She turned to Ange. “We’re keeping him, right? Ter and I need an extra kitchen tall.”
Piotr smiled pleasantly as he poured himself some more tea. "Perhaps." he said. "I'm an artist. I don't think I'm cut out for analyzing societal trends or researching policy decisions." he said. "Happy to support all of you while you're about it, but … not for me, I think."
The door creaked a little as it was carefully shouldered open, and a stack of boxes let itself in. Technically, there was a person attached to the boxes, but she was so short that it barely mattered.
“Twenty-three?” A distinctly British voice muttered. “Wait. Damn it.”
Topaz finally peeked around the boxes, grimacing when she realized she was definitely in the wrong room. “Sorry. Counted steps wrong. Not interrupting anything too important, am I?”
“Have you considered one less box?” Darcy gave an exaggerated sigh as she popped the last bite of her pirozhki into her mouth and stood, taking the top box off of Topaz’s pile. “Topaz, Piotr. He brought us snacks. Which room does this need to go in?”
“I have. And then I considered having to make one less trip to my car and took the chance.” Topaz eyed Piotr for a moment, head tilted slightly. “Pleasure. I didn’t walk in on a job interview, did I?” To Darcy, “Avalon-lite.”
"No, Not a job interview, I think." Piotr mused. "Do you require a hand with those? I'm good with carrying heavy things." he said, in what might be the Understatement Of The Year. Even as Piotr, he was fit and strong. "Also, feel free to take a pirozhki if you'd like." he offered.
No, not a job interview. An introduction into a whole new world, by the looks of it.
“Nah, I’ve got it. The bottom box tries to bite sometimes.” There was absolutely no indication in her expression about whether that was a joke. She was quiet for a moment before saying, “Probably a good fit for one of the others. I’ll be back for a pirozhki,” and carefully backing out of the room again.
Darcy hefted the box up. “I’ll be back before you need walking out,” she said to Piotr, before turning to Marie-Ange. “Anyone specific you want me to send back if I run across them?”
"Amanda, if you happen to see her." Marie-Ange picked up one of the aforementioned 'carnivore' pirozhki and took a measured bite. "On the subject of keeping you, I think you are right, this is not a good place for you to be, but the Xavier Institute…" She took another bite of pastry. "If I am making a guess right, you have very much a sense of community to do all this work to say thank you, yes?"
He thought about it for a moment. "Could call it that." he said agreeably. "You, presumably, kept the police away from me when they came to ask questions, and gave me your business card." he said, playing with the brochures in front of him with an idle hand. "I felt - and still feel - gratitude for that. But you also told me there were more like you, out there among mutantkind." he said, knowing he was probably explaining things badly. "Things here and probably back home are getting ugly for peaceful mutants who just want to live their lives. I have a great gift and even if I do not wish to use it, I feel … obligated to." he said, his frustration writ clear. "I am explaining badly." he muttered.
"Not so bad as you think. You want to help, in the ways you can, but sometimes find it unpleasant. I understand all too well." Marie-Ange said, carefully. "I think perhaps a good idea if we introduce you to the people in Westchester, at the Institute. Perhaps it would be a place you could use your gifts to help other mutants, and also feel safe to use them without having to then go run to deli bathrooms and hide from the police." She paused, finished her pirozhki and then smiled. "Although, if you want to go into a career of deli work, I think Betty's would take the recipe for these happily."
Piotr smiled a touch wistfully. "Old Rasputin family recipe." he said, for a moment feeling a wash of emotion, of loss. His baby sister loved pirozhki when she was little. Used to play at helping Mama make them. "Don't think I can part with it so easily." Then, to cheer himself up, he tapped his nametag. "Perhaps deli bathroom wants big Russian man to stop by. Enjoy the gun show." he said with a quick flex of an impressive bicep. "This Institute sounds like an interesting place. You trust them?" he asked.
"Very much so. We do work for them when needed, they support us sometimes." Marie-Ange explained. "We have similar goals, just approach them in different directions. You saw the flooding in Maryland a few months ago on the news? The Institute people did rescue and cleanup work during and after, for example."
"I heard about that." he noted, then nodded. "Sounds like good work."
At that point, a blond woman around the same age as Marie-Ange poked her head into the door. “Hey, Topaz said you wanted me, love?” Amanda said to Marie-Ange, before catching sight of Piotr. “Ah.”
"Our mystery accident survivor." Marie-Ange explained. "Brought us tea and snacks to say thank you, so we are giving him the speech about Westchester. Piotr, this is Amanda. Amanda, Piotr, who turns into metal and walked away from that car crash. Also who makes Russian snacks for us, and I think Darcy wants to adopt him."
Piotr made a little wave to Amanda before gesturing to what was left of the snacks he'd brought. Mutant Metabolisms, indeed. "Enjoy." he said. "And hello. Are you also … researcher?" he said with a significant enough pause that it was obvious he'd substituted a word in there.
Artie smiled again and stood, tapping out a quick “I’ll leave you to it. I have work to be getting on with. It was very nice to meet you, Mr Rasputin.” He gave a nod to Marie-Angie and Amanda, replaying Piotr’s movements and reactions in his mind. He’d seemed genuine, if unused to the presence of other mutants.
“Researcher, yes,” Amanda replied, stepping aside so Artie could leave. “Angie told me about her meeting with you - thanks for stopping that car. Things could have been really messy if you hadn’t.” She headed for where Marie-Ange was sitting, pausing to give her a quick kiss before taking a seat and reaching for a pirozhki. “And thanks for the snacks. I was getting hungry.”
"You are welcome." he said, referring to both items she mentioned. "I am not about to let crazy person run down innocent-but-loud people with their car if I can stop it." he said. "Did cost me a good pair of jeans and boots, though." he said ruefully. "Snacks are for making sure law enforcement does not go on manhunt for large metal man." he added a moment later. "I do not wish to be rude but I do not think spies like yourselves are how I can lend my skills to mutant causes. But this Institute here…" he said, toying with the Xavier's brochure, "... sounds like a better fit for me. You said you trust them, work with them. Can you arrange an introduction?"
"Very much so." Marie-Ange said. "And clever of you to see what we really are." Came with his background, she thought. Brother who went into the space program, missing sister. This Piotr was much more perceptive than the one she used to know - probably time to retire "piotr rasputin is a plonker' as a regular complaint. "I think, let me put you in touch with Scott Summers, and Sooraya Qadir. Between the two of them, I think they could get you the information you need."
He just nodded, pleased, and then stood up. "Then, unless there is anything else…" he said. "You can keep the leftovers, if there's anything left." There wasn't much of anything, really. "You have my address, can send back Thermos and basket when convenient for you." Scott Summers sounded like an American but Sooraya Qadir - sounded like something from south Asia. One of the 'Stans or the like. For personal reasons, he hoped she wasn't a Kazakh. He did not have fond memories of Kazakhstan. Not her fault but he wanted to come in eyes and emotions clear, not mourning a departed brother.
Then, without thinking, he leaned over and kissed Marie-Ange on both of her cheeks. "Thank you for presentation. And silence." he said with a smile. "Will probably need an escort out, unless you want Russian Beefcake wandering through your places."
"So polite." Marie-Ange said. "I have to apologize, I do not remember the appropriate response to the cheek kiss at all." She did pat Piotr's shoulder lightly, standing up on the toes of her already very tall shoes. "Of course. Darcy should be back in a moment, or I can walk you out to the front, whichever you prefer."
“I heard my name,” Darcy replied as she walked back in. “Only I didn’t.. ah, Amanda found you. Excellent. I got waylaid delivering my box.” She grinned at Ange and Amanda, the look turning a bit more mischievous as she looked up at Piotr. “You ready to make a break for it yet, Tiny?”
Piotr stood up carefully, gathering all his brochures into a neat pile before picking them up. Really, he was already being mega-rude by cutting his goodbyes so short already and the short woman, however pleasant to look upon, was finding his last nerve and jumping up and down on it. While wearing her spike heels. He quietly took a deep breath and then released it. "I think it's time I be on my way." he said as noncommittally as he could.
“I’ll show you back to the front, then.” Darcy hoped Piotr did take the team up on the offer to come visit Xavier’s properly. He seemed friendly enough, and even if they weren’t a fit for him, perhaps one of the other teams would be. His abilities in the kitchen were just a bonus, but she was sure Terry would be as delighted by that as she was. She was quiet as they walked through the hallways, and once they’d gotten back to the front she gestured to the door with a smile. “It was lovely to meet you, and thank you for making us delicious snacks. I do hope you’ll come visit the Institute. It’s a little overwhelming sometimes, but it’s nice having a community to turn to.”
Piotr nodded. "Thank you." he said quietly, his one hand full of pamphlets and he left Snow Valley with a thoughtful look on his face.
[1] https://www.tasteatlas.com/pirozhki
[2] Russian for "Witch" (if Google Translate is to be believed)
