♫ | lorna
He was popular if the activity from his cellphone was any indication. It seemed he’d no sooner turned it on, then the thing was going off like an alarm clock. Lorna was beginning to wonder if he was some sort of big deal, and if she was putting herself in danger just by sitting here talking to him. One wrong photo if he was famous, and her face would be plastered all over who knows what social media. Not good when her face was also plastered all over Sentinel Services wanted posters.
Eyes swept over the phone, taking in the picture before she took a second to tap the name and color into her own phone – a quick text to John to start putting word out that they were looking for them. “I’m assuming not everyone would have access to those? Which means there won’t be a whole lot of them floating around on the street?” There were less-than-legal dance clubs, raves, and the like all over, which meant someone would buy them, but the market was limited. At least the kids had stolen something that would be easy to track down.
Hopefully.
“If I can get them back for your colleague, think you might be able to convince him not to press charges? The kid’s in enough trouble without adding theft to it.” For fuck’s sake, he was in so deep now, he’d probably never see a trial anyway if the cops got him first.
The conversation made its way back to the DJ, and it confirmed her suspicion from earlier. This guy was a bid deal, and big deals meant trouble. “Wow. Impressive. You’ve got enough clout to get the place tanked? What are you? Famous or something?” Innocent question, even said with a wide, friendly smile, but it served another purpose. If he was famous, she was seriously going to have to watch what she said and how close she got while saying it. Friendly conversation at a bar could be interpreted a thousand different ways in pictures with no context.
She wasn’t here to impress some famous guy though. Lorna had work to do, and a kid to find. If this guy could be even the least amount of help (which he’d already helped so much), then she needed to focus on that. “The ‘oh shit’ end is one way to look at it.” Her head nodded in agreement, smile fading into a frown now that they were back on the heavier topic. “Look. I’m sorry about your friend. It’s awful, I know. I’ve lost a lot of people I love to them, even spent time in their tender loving care myself.” There. She’d all but admitted that she was a mutant as well. If he had a problem it, she supposed she’d find out soon enough.
“For what it’s worth, I hope we find him first too. We can get him someplace safe. Sentinel Services gets him and the chance that he’s never seen again goes way up. They’re in bed with some way shadier organizations than people know, and I’ve see first hand the damage those organizations can do.” She held out her hand, a test to see if he’d take it or if he blew her off because of what she was. “I’m Lorna, by the way, and I gotta say…the lack of love for us started way before Texas.”
HE CAN’T HELP but agonise over the question for a moment, pulling a face and giving a vague shrug. “I mean you can buy ‘em in a lot of places but they’re not exactly somethin’ you find in your local Walmart. And the white ones make you look like a douchebag.” The end comment is muttered into the rim of his soda can, a cattiness to the tone that he just can’t help. He’d said the same thing to the owner when he suggested getting a less obnoxious pair but he ended up concluding you couldn’t help some people. Which, given that was coming from someone whose aesthetic was gaudy bright lights, was rich - but it’s not like he didn’t have his own reasons.
“I’ll try my best to get him to drop it, logically he shouldn’t have any reason to follow through if they’re returned in one piece.” He sucks the air through his teeth with a wince because he knows what the outcome will be no matter what he says. And the last thing he needs is for accusations to start flying that he’s sympathetic to what they would just see as mutant criminal activity. He knows where that can lead. “But you gotta understand that when you’re on the nightclub circuit, you’re only gettin’ paid a maximum of 200 a session - if you’re lucky. So when you lose a pair of headphones, that’s a night’s work and then some. And it’s hard enough for amateurs to get well paying gigs in the first place. People seem to think we work for peanuts.”
He speaks from experience, years of it, and that was back when it was moderately easier to get work and get your name out there. Now the market was over-saturated and filled with mid-lower skilled DJ’s with nowhere to go. There was an awful lot of goldfish in those shark-infested waters. The question was, was he one of those sharks? Arguably, yes. “I’m…famous in the sense that I’ve had twenty-five thousand people chanting my name. But out on the street I’m nobody. People either recognise the name an’ the music, or they don’t. Never the face, but then it’s not like I put it on the promotional material - and on stage I’m little more than a silhouette covered in LED’s.” He prefers it that way, the anonymity. Occasionally he’ll get recognised, but he can walk through a festival showgrounds without anyone even stopping him to ask if he is who they think he is. “But fame’s subjective. Even the people that would recognise the name is limited to a very select crowd - ask the people in there and I guarantee well over a half wouldn’t have a clue.”
There’s not much reaction when she all but admits to being a mutant and, if he’s being honest, he’d suspected something of the sort when she expressed a non-familial interest in keeping the boy safe from Sentinel Services. If she was expecting some kind of negative response, she was looking in the wrong place. The urge to ask her how she got out dances across the tip of his tongue but instead of asking, he swallows it down with another mouthful of coke. Best not to pry. Some times ignorance is the safest option, and when shady government agencies are involved it was best to keep your nose clean and far away from that kind of trouble. Especially considering when he had so much to lose.
He doesn’t hesitate in taking the offered hand, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Nice to meet you, Lorna. I’m Rattle.” He doesn’t let the contact linger but even then he can’t help the small static shock between his and her fingertips that causes him to withdraw his hand sharply and shake the feeling back into his fingers. “Sorry. Static buildup. I’ve ruined a lot of equipment like that.”