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xp_logsArthur and Quentin search out leads for a case at Kirby's, where they encounter the helpful bartender.
Quentin let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding in when the informant exited Kirby's. A half-trained gravity manipulator, it had taken much of Quentin's concentration during their meeting to telekinetically keep their drinks and the fried pickles the other insisted on ordering on the table and not floating around the bar. Finishing off his daytime cocktail, he decided he needed another before going through what they'd just learned.
"You need something, too?" he asked his companion as he tried to flag down a waiter or bartender or someone.
Arthur poked at his current drink — his only one of the evening, that — wistfully lost in the swirl of the ice and thoughts of the previous dancing pickles. It took him a second to realize Quentin was talking with him.
"Oh," he blinked attentively, recentering. His gaze centered on Quentin's flagging efforts. "No, but..." He lifted a gloved hand and snapped.
At the bar, something innocuous tipped over and began to roll toward them.
Sam heard the salt shaker tip over from where he'd been cleaning glasses and reached out to grab it. He turned to put it back where it belonged and caught sight of the pink haired man trying to flag someone down. Sam spared a quick glance at the waitress to confirm she was still on break before walking over to the men's table. "Sorry about that, your waitress went on break, what can I get for you?"
Quentin couldn't help himself. Even in professional dress and in a professional setting, the elevator eyes were automatic in the presence of the tall, gangly blond who was clearly hiding a great body under those unflattering clothes. He made a mental note to consider expanding his hunting grounds if game like this young man were available. But he kept the leering to a minimum as he slid his empty glass across the table.
"Tom Collins, light on the soda. He'll take the soda." Quentin nodded in Arthur's direction.
This got a cheerful wave from the other man, and his trademark smile unfolded at the new face like the sun from behind thoughtful clouds. "Q isn't wrong! Seltzer, please, if you could. We're on a case. Important to stay hydrated."
Sam blushed a hopefully not-too-noticeable shade of pink as Quentin's eyes traced his body. "I'll need to see some ID please, if you don't mind." Sam said, offering a small smile in response to the grin from the other man.
"But I just had . . ." Quentin started to protest, but earnestness bled off the bartender, and a telepathic suggestion to just get the damn drink was too selfish an action with Goody Two-Shoes Centino around. Quentin was not in a FAFO mood. So he sighed and flicked his wrist, seemingly summoning his driver's license out of nowhere. At least he could have fun with the sleight of hand Arthur had taught him. "Better make it two Tom Collins. Save you the trouble."
"If you get another from me you'll be grand, but I wasn't the one who carded you last time. I don't like to let anyone slip through the cracks." Sam said with an apologetic shrug. "Alright, so two Tom Collins, light on the soda for the fella with the talented fingers- and a seltzer for the gentleman with the smile? Anything else? Food? Water?"
"You haven't seen anything yet," Quentin muttered. Or maybe said out loud. He made himself clearly heard. "I think we're good, uh, name?"
Sam's blush deepened to a dark red and he cleared his throat awkwardly in an attempt to ensure his voice wouldn't crack. "Sam, I'm Sam. And I'll be right back with those drinks. Just holler if you need anything else while I'm back there."
He got a wide, happy smile at this. "Hello Sam! I'm Arthur."
A beat. Arthur glanced completely discretely toward the bar, and then back to Quentin. Eyebrows were raised.
"Oh, don't give me that," Quentin telepathically scolded Arthur. "Let me have a little fun. I need it after sitting through that. What info did we get that we don't already know? Bunch of people's credit cards were swiped and used to rack up enormous bills. Are we closer to finding the thief"
Hmmm, was the only bit of telepathetic commentary Arthur offered, in the same way that one might say 'fascinating' or 'weren't you in someone's wormhole already' or 'good for you.' Or none of those.
What the man followed up with, however, was back to business. That wandering gaze settled back on his gloveless fingers. Plenty of self satisfaction. I saw him practicing and building his skills, but I didn't see any red flags. His coat's only seen so much... although.
An image flashed through Quentin's mind of a meetup. A sense of feeling small, but finally playing with the big guys.
Then...
Sam returned with their drinks, setting the two Tom Collins in front of the pink haired man, and the seltzer in front of Arthur. "Anything else I can do for you boys 'fore your waitress gets off break and I'm stuck back at the bar?"
Quentin was pondering over the psychometric flashes Arthur shared when the drinks appeared in front of him, and had finished half the first one before he realized Sam was still standing there. "Oh. Actually, Sam, was it? Actually, Sam, maybe you can help us. You seem like you have a keen eye for detail. You heard anything from anyone about a slew of unusual charges on their credit cards? Or anyone losing their card altogether?"
“We’ve had a few folks complain about unusual charges but not more’n usual. We’ve had more folks complain about losing their cards altogether, bought ten people come in asking if they forget to pick up their card when they closed their tab….this anything I oughta worry about?”
“We’ve had a few folks complain about unusual charges but not more’n usual. We’ve had more folks complain about losing their cards altogether, bought ten people come in asking if they forget to pick up their card when they closed their tab… this anything I oughta worry about?”
"Lots of folks getting worried about their money. Might drive down business in the area, might be a sign of worse to come. Neither will be great for locals," Arthur sighed mournfully, still shaking off the lingering emotional toll of his gift.
In a slightly flashier repeat of Quentin's earlier trick, a business card was produced out of thin air and proffered to Sam.
"We're from X-Factor Investigations, and we help people."
Sam nodded, accepting the card. "I'll keep an ear out. People tend to talk to their bartender, if I hear anything I'll give you boys a call. An' you let me know if there's anything else I can help you with? If I can help someone I want to."
Arthur seemed about to follow-up, but then snapped his fingers in realization. His expression brightened considerably. "Hey! Haven't I seen you around the District X Community center?"
This exclusionary tete-a-tete had gone on long enough by Quentin's estimation, and turned the conversation back to the case (and himself). "These folks who asked if they'd left their cards here, did you notice anything common between them? Gender presentation, build, clothes, even which bank their card's from?"
Sam grinned back at the other man. “Yeah! I volunteer there when I can!”
Turning back to Quentin, Sam raised his eyebrows and tried to convey a well practiced non-verbal ‘manners please’ that had always worked wonders on his siblings. “I don’t tend to look too hard at customer’s cards unless I need to check a name. But I do know they were all mutants, which ain’t too surprising here all things considered.”
A look that meant nothing to the telepath, being an only child and lacking the capacity to feel shame in front of strangers. "Scrutinizing ID's and not credit cards, very upstanding and gentlemanly," Quentin replied, grinning, and otherwise letting Sam's scold wash over him. "Do you get fla . . . humans in here a lot to notice?"
"Flatscan shitbag pulling identity theft on mutant targets, it's a possible angle," he privately shared with Arthur.
"They're mostly locals, the ones that stand out tend to make a scene about the fact that us mutants exist, and I throw 'em out right quick like." Sam shrugged and looked between the two men trying to figure out what that slip-up could mean. "Had a few guys come in all up in arms a few weeks ago but it didn't take long to kick 'em out and they couldn't've been here more than five minutes, 'sides the only mutant I let 'em get close enough to swipe a card from was me and I haven't had an issue- not that I've got money to steal."
There were all sorts of ways a man like Sam could rake it in here in New York, but Quentin was sure Sam would explode if presented with those choices. Still, there was one other option. "Well, if you remember anything else, let me or Arthur know. We'd appreciate it. Or come by our office some time. A guy like you, the things you see and people you know, you could really help out the people in this neighborhood." He shook Sam's hand with a firm, manly grip a Southern gentleman would expect, though he brushed his fingers against Sam's as they pulled away. He smirked.
Sam blushed again and cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’ll drop by sometime, if I can help someone I want to and I’ve heard y’all do good work. An’ of course y’all can stop in here anytime.”
Sam found himself with another handshaked that was a bit more enthusiastic, and far less flirty. Also, gloved. "That's very kind of you to offer. I do hope we see you around, Sam. I have a good feeling about you."
Arthur smiled brightly like this wasn't potentially ominous, but before Sam could consider it any further the two investigators had already closed the distance to the door.
Quentin let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding in when the informant exited Kirby's. A half-trained gravity manipulator, it had taken much of Quentin's concentration during their meeting to telekinetically keep their drinks and the fried pickles the other insisted on ordering on the table and not floating around the bar. Finishing off his daytime cocktail, he decided he needed another before going through what they'd just learned.
"You need something, too?" he asked his companion as he tried to flag down a waiter or bartender or someone.
Arthur poked at his current drink — his only one of the evening, that — wistfully lost in the swirl of the ice and thoughts of the previous dancing pickles. It took him a second to realize Quentin was talking with him.
"Oh," he blinked attentively, recentering. His gaze centered on Quentin's flagging efforts. "No, but..." He lifted a gloved hand and snapped.
At the bar, something innocuous tipped over and began to roll toward them.
Sam heard the salt shaker tip over from where he'd been cleaning glasses and reached out to grab it. He turned to put it back where it belonged and caught sight of the pink haired man trying to flag someone down. Sam spared a quick glance at the waitress to confirm she was still on break before walking over to the men's table. "Sorry about that, your waitress went on break, what can I get for you?"
Quentin couldn't help himself. Even in professional dress and in a professional setting, the elevator eyes were automatic in the presence of the tall, gangly blond who was clearly hiding a great body under those unflattering clothes. He made a mental note to consider expanding his hunting grounds if game like this young man were available. But he kept the leering to a minimum as he slid his empty glass across the table.
"Tom Collins, light on the soda. He'll take the soda." Quentin nodded in Arthur's direction.
This got a cheerful wave from the other man, and his trademark smile unfolded at the new face like the sun from behind thoughtful clouds. "Q isn't wrong! Seltzer, please, if you could. We're on a case. Important to stay hydrated."
Sam blushed a hopefully not-too-noticeable shade of pink as Quentin's eyes traced his body. "I'll need to see some ID please, if you don't mind." Sam said, offering a small smile in response to the grin from the other man.
"But I just had . . ." Quentin started to protest, but earnestness bled off the bartender, and a telepathic suggestion to just get the damn drink was too selfish an action with Goody Two-Shoes Centino around. Quentin was not in a FAFO mood. So he sighed and flicked his wrist, seemingly summoning his driver's license out of nowhere. At least he could have fun with the sleight of hand Arthur had taught him. "Better make it two Tom Collins. Save you the trouble."
"If you get another from me you'll be grand, but I wasn't the one who carded you last time. I don't like to let anyone slip through the cracks." Sam said with an apologetic shrug. "Alright, so two Tom Collins, light on the soda for the fella with the talented fingers- and a seltzer for the gentleman with the smile? Anything else? Food? Water?"
"You haven't seen anything yet," Quentin muttered. Or maybe said out loud. He made himself clearly heard. "I think we're good, uh, name?"
Sam's blush deepened to a dark red and he cleared his throat awkwardly in an attempt to ensure his voice wouldn't crack. "Sam, I'm Sam. And I'll be right back with those drinks. Just holler if you need anything else while I'm back there."
He got a wide, happy smile at this. "Hello Sam! I'm Arthur."
A beat. Arthur glanced completely discretely toward the bar, and then back to Quentin. Eyebrows were raised.
"Oh, don't give me that," Quentin telepathically scolded Arthur. "Let me have a little fun. I need it after sitting through that. What info did we get that we don't already know? Bunch of people's credit cards were swiped and used to rack up enormous bills. Are we closer to finding the thief"
Hmmm, was the only bit of telepathetic commentary Arthur offered, in the same way that one might say 'fascinating' or 'weren't you in someone's wormhole already' or 'good for you.' Or none of those.
What the man followed up with, however, was back to business. That wandering gaze settled back on his gloveless fingers. Plenty of self satisfaction. I saw him practicing and building his skills, but I didn't see any red flags. His coat's only seen so much... although.
An image flashed through Quentin's mind of a meetup. A sense of feeling small, but finally playing with the big guys.
Then...
Sam returned with their drinks, setting the two Tom Collins in front of the pink haired man, and the seltzer in front of Arthur. "Anything else I can do for you boys 'fore your waitress gets off break and I'm stuck back at the bar?"
Quentin was pondering over the psychometric flashes Arthur shared when the drinks appeared in front of him, and had finished half the first one before he realized Sam was still standing there. "Oh. Actually, Sam, was it? Actually, Sam, maybe you can help us. You seem like you have a keen eye for detail. You heard anything from anyone about a slew of unusual charges on their credit cards? Or anyone losing their card altogether?"
“We’ve had a few folks complain about unusual charges but not more’n usual. We’ve had more folks complain about losing their cards altogether, bought ten people come in asking if they forget to pick up their card when they closed their tab….this anything I oughta worry about?”
“We’ve had a few folks complain about unusual charges but not more’n usual. We’ve had more folks complain about losing their cards altogether, bought ten people come in asking if they forget to pick up their card when they closed their tab… this anything I oughta worry about?”
"Lots of folks getting worried about their money. Might drive down business in the area, might be a sign of worse to come. Neither will be great for locals," Arthur sighed mournfully, still shaking off the lingering emotional toll of his gift.
In a slightly flashier repeat of Quentin's earlier trick, a business card was produced out of thin air and proffered to Sam.
"We're from X-Factor Investigations, and we help people."
Sam nodded, accepting the card. "I'll keep an ear out. People tend to talk to their bartender, if I hear anything I'll give you boys a call. An' you let me know if there's anything else I can help you with? If I can help someone I want to."
Arthur seemed about to follow-up, but then snapped his fingers in realization. His expression brightened considerably. "Hey! Haven't I seen you around the District X Community center?"
This exclusionary tete-a-tete had gone on long enough by Quentin's estimation, and turned the conversation back to the case (and himself). "These folks who asked if they'd left their cards here, did you notice anything common between them? Gender presentation, build, clothes, even which bank their card's from?"
Sam grinned back at the other man. “Yeah! I volunteer there when I can!”
Turning back to Quentin, Sam raised his eyebrows and tried to convey a well practiced non-verbal ‘manners please’ that had always worked wonders on his siblings. “I don’t tend to look too hard at customer’s cards unless I need to check a name. But I do know they were all mutants, which ain’t too surprising here all things considered.”
A look that meant nothing to the telepath, being an only child and lacking the capacity to feel shame in front of strangers. "Scrutinizing ID's and not credit cards, very upstanding and gentlemanly," Quentin replied, grinning, and otherwise letting Sam's scold wash over him. "Do you get fla . . . humans in here a lot to notice?"
"Flatscan shitbag pulling identity theft on mutant targets, it's a possible angle," he privately shared with Arthur.
"They're mostly locals, the ones that stand out tend to make a scene about the fact that us mutants exist, and I throw 'em out right quick like." Sam shrugged and looked between the two men trying to figure out what that slip-up could mean. "Had a few guys come in all up in arms a few weeks ago but it didn't take long to kick 'em out and they couldn't've been here more than five minutes, 'sides the only mutant I let 'em get close enough to swipe a card from was me and I haven't had an issue- not that I've got money to steal."
There were all sorts of ways a man like Sam could rake it in here in New York, but Quentin was sure Sam would explode if presented with those choices. Still, there was one other option. "Well, if you remember anything else, let me or Arthur know. We'd appreciate it. Or come by our office some time. A guy like you, the things you see and people you know, you could really help out the people in this neighborhood." He shook Sam's hand with a firm, manly grip a Southern gentleman would expect, though he brushed his fingers against Sam's as they pulled away. He smirked.
Sam blushed again and cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’ll drop by sometime, if I can help someone I want to and I’ve heard y’all do good work. An’ of course y’all can stop in here anytime.”
Sam found himself with another handshaked that was a bit more enthusiastic, and far less flirty. Also, gloved. "That's very kind of you to offer. I do hope we see you around, Sam. I have a good feeling about you."
Arthur smiled brightly like this wasn't potentially ominous, but before Sam could consider it any further the two investigators had already closed the distance to the door.
