Alleyway - Clinton - Manhattan

         Heavily littered with newspapers, knocked over garbage cans and other unidentifiable pieces of refuse, this alleyway cuts a narrow pathway between two of the older buildings in the neighborhood. It is dimly lit because of the close proximity of the two buildings and comes to an abrupt end at a brick wall. A couple of doorways dot the crumbling brick walls but otherwise, there is little sign of life down here with the exception of the occasional rat scurries across from one pile of garbage to another.

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The hustle and bustle of the street are somewhat muted in this alley. Though it is still a bit light out, the sun has lowered beyond the buildings enough that darkness has begun to creep through the passage to the extent that the far end can no longer be easily seen. Fox has discovered that people try to avoid it if they can. Well, most people do, anyway. That is precisely why he has decided to wander down this way today. He looks around a bit, he'd been in here before, but had never gone all the way through. He tended to meet some pretty interesting people in alleys and decided it might be a good place to look for one of his acquaintances. He reaches the end of the lane and frowns, looking up at a wall that forms the dead end of this alley. He kicks a bit of trash and turns, leaning against the wall and lighting a cigarette.

It's been a while since Pietro lived in the squalor of New York's streets and gutters but that doesn't mean that he has relinquished his knowledge of them. The winding paths of alleyways and back streets offer valuable shortcuts for those who aren't particularly afraid of what lurks in the City's less tourist-friendly areas, after all. He ducks into the alleyway, long legs carrying him away with quick, broad strides in the general direction of the rusted door of one of the buildings and, of course, the dead end beyond. He doesn't seem to notice Fox at first -- in fact, he might have remained oblivious had the man not lit up his cigarette. As it is, the pale-haired boy pauses before the door, squinting slightly to see down the dim alleyway. "Hey," he starts in a thick (but perhaps difficult to place) accent, "can I bum one, man?"

Fox looks up slightly, squinting out into the alley for the voice which has floated forth from the darkness. He pulls the cigarette out of his mouth, exhaling a cloud of smoke. Walking forward, he pulls the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. "Sure thing, mate." His voice carries a distinctly Australian accent, though he is frequently mistaken as British. Fox sees the young man not too far down the alley and approaches slowly, holding up the pack and tossing towards the boy when he feels he is close enough to do so.

Almost before Fox has finished answering Pietro is on his way down to meet him. The Austrailian accent gets a moment's consideration -- after all, he hasn't met too many Aussies in his time -- but he doesn't remark on it just yet. Instead he stops for a beat to catch the pack when it's tossed out to him, wasting no time in plucking out a cig and placing between his lips as his other hand dives into his pocket for the lighter. "Thanks, he says after he takes a long drag. "Here." He takes a moment to look over the other man before he lobs the pack back over. "So you lost or somethin'?" His tone says he's figuring that Fox isn't but nevertheless there's a hint of curiosity lingering there.

Fox quickly looks the boy over before replacing his cigarette in his mouth and catching the pack as it sails back toward him. "Yeah...er no. I ain't lost mate." He ashes on the ground. "Just takin a peak aroun'. Seein' if any o' me mates are nearby." He casually glances past Pietro, but still sees no one approaching through the darkness. His gaze moves back to Pietro. "What of you? Odd time to be wanderin' the alleys alone, ya think?" He doesn't mean to sound rude or threatening, though that last sentence could easily be misinterpreted as such, especially after mentioning that the kind of people he tends to hang out with apparently spend allot of time lurking around dark alleys.

Pietro shrugs his shoulders and slips his lighter back into his pocket. "Like it's not a weird time for /you/ t' be hangin' around here?" He pauses to take another long drag, seeming to particularly relish it as he inhales the smoke. "Anyway, I don't need somebody t' hold my hand through the dark fuckin' alleyways, trust me." He doesn't necessarily sound angry but it's clear enough that he probably misinterpreted the question a little. "So you usually meet your friends in random dead end alleyways?" He doesn't seem able to decide whether to be amused or curious about that so he settles on a combination of the two.

Fox quirks an eyebrow and laughs as the boy retorts his question. He shakes his head. "I s'pose, maybe it's odd fer me as well. Though I'm no' a kiddo, like yerself." Fox figures that Pietro is probably about ten years younger than himself. He takes a puff of his cigarette, noting that the boy seems to be rather pleased to have a smoke. Perhaps he just hadn't had one in a while. Fox tended to get a bit pissy if he went a while without one. He responds to the second question after a short hesitation. "Kid, The kinds of people I hang out with aren't exactly the type to go prancing down the street in a Sunday dress." He smirks, ashing again.

"I dunno who you think you're talkin' to, man. I'm no kid." If Fox is a particularly keen observer he might note that the pace of Pietro's words picked up a little, bolting ahead ever so briefly in tandem with a flash of annoyance before settling back into his normal -- if already slightly accelerated -- speech pattern. Perhaps the young man gets a bit pissy as well after a nicotine drought... Or perhaps it's just a more permanent element of his charming personality. "And hey, even the chicks I hang around wouldn't touch a fuckin' party dress," Well, perhaps one but that's beside the point, "so 's not like I'm all delicate in contrast or somethin'" He ashes a bit on a little pile of trash slumped up against one of the bordering buildings.

Fox nods and grins. "Yeah, I s'pose not." He notes the boy's apparel, not exactly the upper crust of society. He shakes his head. "I just doubt it's quite the same." He spits at the ground and looks back at Pietro with a smirk on his face. "Well then mate. If I can't call ya kid, what should I call ya? Whitey, perhaps? Maybe Frosty?" He gestures with his cigarette toward the boys hair. Fox figures that it might piss the kid off but Fox, being a big buff military man, figures he can handle the kid if he gets too rowdy. He laughs after a moment, which may lead some to rightly assume that he is perhaps a bit tipsy at the moment.

"Sure, whatever," Pietro mutters, giving Fox an apathetic wave of his cigarette to their situations not being quite the same. His indifference doesn't last long however before -- predictably -- those cracks about his hair prick his temper again. "Hey, fuck off. Does that mean I can call you the fuckin' Crocodile Hunter?" He flicks the cigarette again to ash, a bit more aggressively this time, and a few embers flutter down to the concrete as well. Well, at least he identified the accent correctly? Though there's no telling whether it was his first guess.

Fox laughs again. "Aw nah, nah. I don't hunt no crocs, though nice of you to guess correctly. Most Yanks tend to think I'm a Brit or some shit." He takes a quick look around the alley taking note of a few burned trashcans and the general filth of the alley. Not that he'll need to do anything drastic, he just likes to be prepared if the need should arise. He looks back to Pietro, suddenly serious. "But seriously, don't go makin' no cracks on Steve, he was a damn hero, he was. You can call me Fox...'cause er...well tha's me name." He takes a quick puff and flicks the remainder of his cigarette at the ground. "Though come to think of it, yer voice don't sound like a normal Yank's. What is that? Soviet?"

"Yeah, well I'm not a Yank, am I?" Pietro doesn't fail to notice that Fox is glancing about the alley now and he follows suite, just in case there's something about their surroundings that he hasn't picked up on. "Steve? ... Oh, right." That throws him off slightly which is probably a good thing since it also derails his temper for the moment. He sizes up the older man as he goes on, considering the name as it's given. He takes another long drag, ashes again and cocks his head to spit into the pile of garbage. "The accent's the same as me: fucked up," he quips. He's not exactly lying: it's definitely European in origin but he's been in New York long enough to have the local flavour superimposed awkwardly upon the original cadence. He takes a final draw from the cig, seeming to consider Fox -- or perhaps more appropriately, to consider how much he really cares to reveal to him -- before adding simply, gruffly: "Came from Romania. Long time ago."

Fox nods and quirks a brow. "Romania, eh? Tha's interestin'." He says nothing further about that, but in reference to the kid's 'being fucked up' he responds "I'm sure it can't be that bad, kid. Everyone thinks they're...er... 'fucked up'." He makes little air quotes. Fox shrugs "'Least, most people I tend to meet." He looks the boy over again, he seems average enough, and appears slightly less angry. "An' trust me mate, yer not the most rooted person I've met." Granted, Fox is basing all of this off Pietro's appearance and demeanour.

Pietro arches an eyebrow to match Fox's but as the man goes on he just flicks his cig away down the alley and falls back to lean against the grimy wall behind him. "You're sure it can't be that bad?" His tone hardens a touch. "That's nice. What'd be even better'd be if you knew what the hell you were talkin' about... What the fuck's that even supposed to mean, exactly? 'Most rooted person'." He snorts derisively. "Maybe everyone you know thinks they're fucked up 'cause they really are. 'S pretty much the way it's worked out for me." Whatever else can be said for the youth, he's flush on one thing at least: cynicism. "What's your deal, anyway? Just like to play Outback Psychologist or somethin'?"

Fox says "Rooted? Means fucked." And he shakes his head, no longer smiling. "An' the people I meet tend not to be fucked up. Everyone else seems to think they are, an' as a result, they think themselves to be." He spits again. "An' my 'deal', I guess, is that I don't like people thinkin' their life's so hard when it perhaps ain't so. " He shakes his head. "An' I mean" he gestures to Pietro "an angsty teen wanderin' the streets? Not really that uncommon." Fox doesn't know why he's acting this way. Maybe he's just bored. It's still a little early for his acquaintances to be out, might as well kill some time and annoy this kid at the same time."

"Oh," is about all that Pietro says as Fox explains his meaning. He crosses his arms over his chest and adjusts his stance against the wall to lean the brunt of his weight at his shoulders. Though he's clearly listening to the little spiel about who is and isn't 'fucked up' he looks patently unimpressed. "Yeah well you don't know the first goddamned thing about my life. 'S none of your business and you've got some fuckin' balls to tell me whether or not you think it's it's hard to be me." He shrugs again but the motion is accelerated, making it look a bit more like a random jerk than a proper shrug. "And anyway, I never said my life's hard. I just said I'm fucked up. Never even said that's a bad thing." Even if being 'fucked up' so is generally considered to be a bad thing by the populace at large.

Fox notices the boys spasm and makes a mildly confused face. He decides it's probably nothing and leans against the opposite wall of the alley. "Really now?" He looks the boy up and down, giving him a patronizing look. A faint ghost of a smile quirks up on his face. "An' how's it 'fucked up', then, eh mate?" He makes some more air quotes, deciding that picking on this kid is one of the more fun things he's done in a while? "You wear some grubby clothes, decided to take up smoking, get a few piercings?" He shakes his head, ignoring the fact that he has piercings himself and the fact that he gave Pietro the cigarette in the first place. "Please. You people are all the same." He says the word 'people' with some contempt and starts talking in a fake child voice "Life's too bloody hard. I'm fucked up because I'm not happy." He shakes his head, returning to his normal voice again. "You don' know nothin' about nothin' kid."

Fox's confused expression gets another brow quirk; after all, as far as Pietro is concerned he just gave a normal shrug. It probably hasn't dawned on him that he's done anything out of the ordinary at all yet. "Like I said, /mate/, 's none of your goddamned business." He straightens up but remains against the wall, glaring daggers over at the Australian man now. Things kick up a notch at the 'you people' comment, though, and suddenly he's more than annoyed, he's practically fuming. "'You-/people/'??" Even after he realizes what sort of 'you people' are being referred to -- which really isn't much better than what he'd originally assumed -- he doesn't show much sign of cooling off. "I don't know nothin', huh? I'd watch my fuckin' mouth if I was you. You-dunno-what-kind-of-fuckin'-people-I-am," he growls, fighting a loosing battle to reign in the speed of his words. "And if you keep running your mouth, I-might-haveta-show-you."

Fox can't help but laugh...in a rather loud and annoying manner. "Oh my. Ye'v got quite a mouth on ya', there mate." He laughs some more, slapping his knee. "Holy dooley you talk fast you little bugger." He calms his chuckles and smirks at the boy, puffing out his muscular chest. "An' wha's that s'post to mean, eh?" He gives the kid another patronizing look. "I mean really, what's a scrawny little ankle-biter like yerself gonna do agin' me, eh?" Fox eyes the kid defiantly, getting a rush out of picking on the kid. Not that it's the nicest thing he's ever done...But he's bored...and the kid IS kind of getting on his nerves. He was just talking about this the other day, and decides to reiterate for Pietro. "The roo taunts the dingo, the roo gets eaten, natural selection." It's a severely odd thing to say. Few people are likely to interpret it properly.

"I-don't-need-a-lesson-on-natural-selection-from-some-cocky-fuckin'-koala-bear-bastard," Pietro barks. It might be a little difficult to discern what he's saying at times what with the way the words are flying out of his mouth now. The look that he gives the man is no less defiant than the one he's getting and he spits a little on the ground between them. "I-ain't-as-patient-as-I-used-to-be-so-you-can-stop-wastin'-my-time." He's definitely not liking the obvious enjoyment in the other man's manner. Not one bit. He narrows his silver eyes dangerously, gritting out, "You-really-wanna-see-what-this-scrawny-little-kid's-gonna-do-to-you? How's-this-for-natural-fuckin'-selection?" Pietro's true to his word, at least insofar as not being patient. It seems he's had enough; it's high time he wipes that smirk off of the Aussie's face. What happens next might be unexpected. One moment he's leaning there against the wall and the next there's a blur of motion sprinting across the alleyway. Unless Fox does something to block or otherwise throw matters off course he'll find a few well-aimed punches in quick succession: a pair at his stomach, one squarely on his jaw and one more, a bit wilder but set to land somewhere in the general vicinity of his ribcage.

You say "Oh my, are..." Whatever he was saying is cut off immediately as he is attacked, he receives all punches. Two to the stomach, one to the jaw, and another under his left pec. As he is attacked, something strange begins to happen. Ash, soot, and dust in the alley begins to move toward the two, but stops as the attack ends. He doubles over, coughing a bit at the extremely unexpected attack...Not that he didn't expect an attack, just that he didn't expect it to happen so quickly. "Yowzer!" he yells out, feeling his jaw with one hand as his other arm wraps around his midsection. He looks up at the boy, but he no longer looks smug or angry, in fact, he now smiles warmly. "Why you ain't no roo at all... Yer a dingo...Just like me. 'f I'd a known that, I would've been a bit friendlier..." He stands up, wincing a bit. Fox suspects he has a cracked rib. He looks at the hand he'd had on his jaw, pulling it away to discover blood from a busted lip. He backs up a bit and holds out his hands in front of him. The spectacle that unfolds is reminiscent of animations depicting how stars are born, dust swirling inward and condensing into a central sphere. The dust ball continues to grow, it is currently about ten pounds, having gained a large amount of ash from a nearby trash bin. "I assumed you were unworthy, didn't realize you were like me...brother.""

Needless to say Pietro is a little preoccupied to note the particles beginning to move toward the pair. At first it seems as though he might go for Fox again, that this little pause is just that and he hasn't finished pounding out his frustrations, but he stills himself for now and just keeps an eagle's watch on the man, almost daring him to retaliate. When he's met with a smile, however, he narrows his eyes suspiciously, not quite ready to relinquish his anger. That slowly changes as the man speaks; by the time he replies there's still heat in his tone but it's that of embers instead of flames at least. "What the fuck's a din--" He cuts himself short, sufficiently distracted by the strange sight of the dust ball morphing into existence before him. "Huh..." He watches it for another second or two; his eyes catch a bit of light from overhead as he flicks their focus between the ball and the man controlling it. "I told you you didn't know what kinda people I was, man." He seems slightly at a loss at the 'brother' moniker -- he doesn't deny it but neither does he reciprocate it, seeming at odds with the remains of his faded annoyance for a moment before he simply nods. "So now I'm not just a scrawny kid, am I?"

The dust ball sinks slowly to the ground and becomes a dust pile, though bits of soot and ash continue to stream into it from the ground. Fox doesn't plan on using it, but he'd rather not receive another pummelling quite yet. He grins, shaking his head. "Naw, you ain't no scrawny kid, strewth." He nods, noting the boys eyes. "Thought you were some common alley rat, didn't realize you was an evolved individual. Like I said, wouldn't try an' piss you off if I didn't think you were unworthy." He winces again at his ribs...He should probably bind his chest soon.

For his part Pietro doesn't seem in the mood to start swinging again -- though that's not to say that he won't if he feels it's necessitated. To that effect, he nods a bit and relaxes his shoulders. "Well... Right. Whatever," seems to signal acceptance of the explanation. "Just be careful who you piss off, I guess... You, uh, okay, man?" That last bit comes out somewhat awkwardly. After all, he's not generally in the practice of beating on people and then checking to ensure that they're still fine. But for what it's worth, he seems to be pretty sincere in the question.

Fox chuckles and wipes a bit of blood from his lip again. "Hey, no worries, mate. Im sure I can patch meself up fine and dandy." He shrugs and grins a bit. "Yeah, maybe I should just be sure they're human before I try an' piss 'em off, eh?" He shakes his head. "Too much fun...unless they turn out to be a mute and decide to crack yer ribs...But...I guess I deserved it." He shrugs again, turning and looking toward the exit to the alley. "Suppose I should go get some whiskey and wrap meself up, eh?"

"Right," Pietro says curtly, though he offers a slight smile as Fox seems rather light-hearted about all this now that he knows they're both mutants. "Eh. Or just make sure you can block better'n that. Can't fault you for fuckin' with the norms, though. 'S too much fun sometimes." Of course, it's not fun at all when he's on the receiving end of things. "But you did deserve it. Fuckin' koala bastard." He offers a little laugh to that, though. "You, uh, gonna be alright t' go? 'Cause I guess it'd be kinda fucked up if I left ya and you keeled over on me or somethin'."

Fox laughs light heartedly. "Yeah, I mean, they pick on us enough, might as well give them something to complain about. And 'long as I don't run into another speedster like yerself, I should be fine." He shakes his head when Pietro asks if he's going to die or something. "Naw. No worries, mate. I've had worse than this." He points a thumb at his chest. "I'll be fine, just need some booze is all." He heads toward the alley exit with an arm still wrapped around his chest. "He does a wave-salute-point thing toward Pietro as he passes by. "See ya 'round, mate."

"Well, don't think there's a lot like me around here so you're probably safe on that," Pietro replies with a smirk to the prospect of Fox running into another speedster. "Alright then. Tank up..." He gives a little up-nod as the other man passes, apparently satisfied by the assurances that he's fine -- that's that and he's certainly not going to follow him out if Fox says he's fine. "Catch ya later... And, uh, just call me Sid."

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