((Zach and Ruby Writings))
For some of the longest moments of her life, Estella said nothing after the Brit chased her down and expressed his interest in going with her. At least as far as she'd let him. She was used to people of all walks and colors following her. Why? She'd asked herself that since people started to gather around her.
At first, it was no more than her father's muscle: Antonio, Jesus, Edgar. Grown men falling in behind a girl out for revenge. As Edgar had put it, "It's our revenge, too." After Antonio and Jesus died, it was just she and Edger until she stopped some cops from beating a negro man. That negro man brought another negro man who wanted to see if his friend's tale of the girl that 'had the power of God" was true.
Soon friends of that friend brought to her a Japanese American in need of help. It led her to taking on an army unit. That led Government men after her. More people came to her, for help, for protection, just out of a sense of wonderment. To members of society at the bottom of the barrel, someone who could fire electricity and move cars with thoughts was scary...but far less scary than the G-men and the cops and the gangsters who only cared about keeping them down, and using them to meet some end they never wanted to begin with.
All they wanted was security, a little bit of happiness. Maybe some hope. One of them with special abilities? Why fear that? Her mutation became a beacon of hope, not fear. At least to the browns and the blacks and the slanty eyed and the impoverished and the castaways.
Now it was some mutant British guy. Was he the first of a new set of followers?...secretly, she hoped not. She was tired of leading. Tired of making choices that always seemed to end in bloodshed, even when they went right. When anything went right. She was just tired of the weight of it all on her shoulders. Tired of her war, tired of people following her.
For once, she'd hope to let someone else lead for a while. Foolish a hope as that seemed now. Magneto and Xavier and the Wolverine seemed to want followers that wouldn't think too loud or have their own past. Who the hell cared about a drink? About a smoke? It wasn't normal. Estella didn't know someone her age that didn't smoke or drink.
No, all that seemed to say to her was Xavier and his people believed in the kind of leadership that people like Mickey Cohen craved: absolute control of obedient followers. Estella knew where following that kind of leader would get her. And she wouldn't do it.
"Okay."
That was the totality of her response. When they got into the cab, Estella told the cabbie to head to the Wilkshire Hotel, one of New York City's elite hotels. It wasn't until they arrived and got out of the car that Estella looked at the British young man after he paid the cabbie.
"What's your name?"
He'd sat in silence, allowing her to think, or whatever it is she was doing, while they travelled. Henry didn't find it odd, he'd dealt with more eratic behaviour, and was content with watching the city out of the window. While he'd been living in America, he'd never been to the Big Apple before these last few days, it was an interesting sight, although not, he felt, the alternative to London that it had been claimed, although, he hadn't seen London after the bombing. The cities were too different, to be the trans-atlantic equivalent of eachother that bankers and the like spoke of.
Stepping out, momentarily looking up at the hotel, he turned to pay the cabbie, adding a small tip as the Americans seemed want to do, before the first words since they had got in the cab pased the Mexican girl's lips.
"Henry Warwick, I guess it's only fair, as I know yours." He spoke, for once, without a trace of humour as he regarded Estella. It hadn't neccesarily been his intention to stay any longer in her company, they just both happened to have walked out on Xavier's bar, but he didn't feel there was much else for him to be doing, not that he voiced anything else, standing in the cold New York breeze, if she wasn't the type for needless words, he'd no need to make up for it.
"Estella Rey. C'mon."
The doors of the Wilkshire were gold and flanked by doormen in dark green uniforms with silver thread and snow white gloves. She walked closely to Henry as she walked into the palacial lobby of the Wilkshire with it's marble and crystal chandeliers and red leather furniture.
The lobby counter was a darker marble than the pale grey of the rest of the lobby, behind it a thin man with a short crop of brown hair just a few inches taller than Henry in a suit. Estella walked past it, only meeting the man's gaze a moment, his welcoming smile and nod in her direction as full of shit as the lobby was grand.
"I think they make up stories about how a young brown girl dressed like me can afford a room here." Then her voice withdrew to a whisper, her lips cutting into a devilish grin. "Though I doubt they'd guess mutant with a load of stolen Mafia. Wait here, I'll be right down."
Then walked on to the elevator man, and disappeared into his lift. It was another ten minutes before she returned with a pale green seabag near full swung over her shoulder, walking quickly to the lobby counter with a key in her hand. When she turned from the counter after a minute, she was without the key.
Henry had waited patiently, although he had decided to look through a list of the hotel's prices, baulking somewhat at the establishment he found himself in. Maybe if he'd sold all his medals, he might have been able to stay a few weeks in the place, perhaps another sign of the 'good times' they were all supposed to be going through.
"C'mon, white boy. I'll pay for the taxi this time, and some lunch."
She even smiled at him as she walked by, walking out the doors and to another cab in the small line of them that stayed by the hotel at the ready for the guests and patrons of the Wilkshire. The bag was handed to the cabby, and Estella waited for him to get into the back of the cab first before she got in herself and closed the door.
"Grand Central, please." Then she scooted over to the middle of the backseat, close to him, to make the whisper coming more secure from the cabby's ears. "How much are you worth?"
At her question, the joker in Henry revealed itself once more, at least for the moment, "Now, I don't know what you've heard, but I've never been 'that' kind of escort." He smirked for a moment, enjoying his own childishness, before continuing on a more serious note, "Economically, I do alright, don't have much in the way of income at the moment, just savings. My mutation might be worth something to some people, but I haven't figured out a way to sell it yet." His smirk remained, but his tone was more business like.
"If you're asking if I can pay for lunch, I think I can manage that." Joking again, he made a note for himself to take things more seriously in general, but experience had made his current situation seem rather less 'real' and 'serious' than his past, that, and what could a man who could never die 'not' laugh about?
She was more careful with the volume of her voice. "I'm down to forty thousand. Even if I'd stayed with Xavier, I'd still not trust some favor his friends owed him. They obviously didn't think providing for their 'students' out in full, that's a failure of leadership. So however it went, I knew I'd need to fend for myself. I can handle steel doors, so if you have a way of handling human guards better than I can, without hurting them, than I'm thinking we could help each other out. Up to you."
The cab came to a halt, momentarily caught in traffic. Henry used the opportunity, reaching out with the blanket of his 'healing factor' in the following couple of seconds, their driver slumped forwards onto the wheel. He could feel the slight rush of energy coursing to him, at the basic level, stealing the man's energy to refresh himself, before releasing it. The man was awake, and rubbing his eyes, just in time to drive as the traffic eased.
"It takes more focus than my body just healing itself...but I can diasble people without hurting them. I take it we'd be hitting some place big? That's fine by me, people who proffited off the damned war while many survivors can't afford homes, well, they hold a special place in my heart." His smirk, becoming more of a slightly savage grin, remained in place. He had not quarrel with the people who worked in such places, hence why he would put them to sleep, rather than just kill them, which he was sure he could do if he tried, even if focusing his powers was taxing.
"Does this help you plan?"
After a curious perk of her eyebrows, there wasn't much emotion to the latina. "Sounds good. But we do this right. Carefully, and we make sure we get the right target. I don't want us getting hurt, and I don't want to steal from anyone but exactly the war profiteers you're talking about. We need to do home work, it sounds like. Agreed?"
"I always did think school was the best years of my life, seems like were in line with this." He nodded, his facial expression more deadpan, even if the trace of humour still remained. Not that he would have considered robbing a business this very morning, but he had no qualms about the idea, and even if he hadn't joined Xavier's group, it was nice to have some 'fellow' mutant company, even if he suspected it might be shortlived.
"New York should be full of those kind of places, we might even get the chance to pick and choose the worst."
That made Estella Rey chuckle a deep, darker, sort of chuckle. "The worst? That's the only kind I know."
