There's too much work and I'm spent

[viced]

WHO: Mitchell Hundred and YOU
WHERE: Around Heropa.
WHEN: 4/1-4/7
WHAT: Mitchell Hundred, professional politician, doing his thing
WARNINGS: none right now, will edit if necessary!



[1]
There were some things that just simply didn't change. Mitchell Hundred frequenting the coffee shops was one of them. It didn't matter that he wasn't in as high-stress a job as before, because he still wasn't sleeping any more than he had before. Hell, maybe it was still the memories of the City falling apart before his eyes that kept him up -- well, one of the things. Generally, the 24-hour coffee shops had come to expect him at all hours, along his route. It didn't matter whether it was early morning, late night, or somewhere in between, he generally made his way toward coffee when there was a spare moment.

Unfortunately, lines, and a lack of familiarity was a thing that happened here. Back in the City, he'd often found a way around the lines, except for the odd moment when he'd been crazy enough to wait in line, thinking it would make him seem "normal". Not one of his better ideas, he had to admit. The problem with waiting in line was that he was antsy, his fingers tapping against his side, shifting from foot to foot, the constant whispers and calls of the machines around him was enough to drive him up the wall. It would have been par for the course, in the City, but here in Heropa, things sounded different. He couldn't necessarily describe it, but the way they communicated was different -- unique -- like a change in dialect.

Still antsy, it was hard to pay attention, when he accidentally bumped someone, his shoulder nudging against them, and he prayed that he wasn't going to get something like coffee all over one of his very few, very precious, good suits. "Shit, sorry," was automatic, even still.

[2]
Networking was important, a vital stage in the process to getting the connections any politicians needed. Mitchell was good at networking, and it showed. He was already recognized across the base, and not just because his position meant that he had to be -- being the import representative was something that he intended to run with, after all -- and around the base, he'd made sure to focus wholly on that. Sure, he also had a scond job, the civil engineer one, but Mitchell had spent far too long doing that, he could practically do it in his sleep. A few hours of that, here and there, and he could take care of those duties easily enough. This was the job that required his full attention. The one that meant he was often heading toward the military base, papers in hand, or his phone plastered to his ear, something in-between a grimace and a smile on his face if he was talking, flat and serious if he wasn't.

On the way in is where he stopped, hovering outside the gates, arguing with a guard. Oh, they knew who he was, and of course he had the credentials, but there was a "something something" going on, and they couldn't allow in any civilians until they were finished. He could kindly reschedule, or he could wait for them to be done. It would be, oh, an hour or so. The look was there in his face, the consternation at being told so bluntly that he wasn't important enough to bypass their drills. That he couldn't just come up and tell them he had important business, and they'd been expecting him, so they'd better let him in.

Ah, but that was the problem with starting over, wasn't it? The whole reason he was here? He had to make the best of it, no matter the circumstances, and take this moment, and see it as the opportunity it was. So that's what he would do, take a step to the side, and stand there. That being said, he didn't exactly look bored, seeking out anyone that walked by with a smile and an outstretched hand, obvious in his attempts to get his name out there, or at least make sure that he was recognized easily.

[3]
[ Wildcard! Got a scenario in mind? Run with it! Mitch is generally out and about constantly, so we can run with anything, or if you're a roommate, we can do something at the house! ]

Comments

3

[glassbox]

It was a surprise that nobody else had moved out after Frank -- maybe Harvey hadn't gotten a heads-up coin flip for camping out at Matt Murdock's home permanently, or Mitch had invested in industrial strength earplugs -- but Lil didn't seem in any hurry to change her scenery, even after one of her roommates had casually pushed her off a boat and left her to drown. Then again, she was a hard woman to shake, and besides that, after the past few months she'd had, adding the trouble of moving was the last thing she needed.

Either way, there was a part of her that naturally fell into the role of almost intrusively looking after others. Old habits from being someone's wife, maybe -- or that perpetually lacking sense of personal boundaries. But it was lunchtime, and if she was going to make herself something, she didn't see the harm in offering to make an extra plate or two.

Lil stopped by Mitch's room on her way to the kitchen, knocking on the door to announce herself.

"Hey, I'm makin' lunch. Y'want a sandwich or somethin'?"

[viced]

Mitchell was the kind of person that was going to bide his time, and wait until he was ready to move out of the provided housing. Hell, he'd lived at the MAC back in the City right up until the moment that he'd moved into Gracie Mansion. It didn't matter how long it would take, but then again, he was the transient sort. He didn't really settle, and hadn't exactly had a place of his own for quite some time.

So dealing with people being angry, or whatever was happening in the rest of the house, was easy. All he had to do was keep his head down, come in painfully late, and leave excruciatingly early. Pretty much a day in the life.

Sadly, he could only stay out for so long, and it was in the mid-afternoon that he was home, actually at his drawing board, working on something or the rather -- he hadn't been paying enough attention, working on autopilot, but while his door had been open, he hadn't exactly been expecting anyone to peek in and say anything.

His head swung up, almost surprised. Mitchell was a quiet sort, when he was in his living space. "Uh, shit, you don't have to," he said, trying to brush it off.

Even if his stomach did the talking for him, saying what he was too polite to say.

[glassbox]

The audible grumbling from his midregion was answer enough for Lil. She gave Mitch a bit of a pointed, knowing look before she gestured with her hand, a little dismissive wave as if to say, You just stay right there. Then she disappeared from the doorway, footsteps fading into the kitchen as she gave Mitch a brief reprieve from her somewhat invasive presence.

Ten minutes saw her return with a plate in each hand. It was a modest lunch -- a ham, cheese, lettuce, and tomato sandwich with s hint of mayonnaise, strategically scooted to the side of the plate so she could balance a glass of water on each. Letting herself into his room, she offered him one before helping herself to a seat on his mattress.

"If y'don't like mayo, y'can always scrape it off," she commented mildly, watching him a moment before she went on, "What y'workin' so hard on?"

[viced]

Mitch had half a mind to close the door, but from what he'd seen of Lillian Crawley, if he did that, he was just going to piss her off even more than lying about how hungry he was had. Thankfully, the food wasn't heavy -- and after a moment he took it with a half-hearted smile, before he set the glass down, and removed not the mayo, but the cheese.

Lactose intolerant fuck that he was.

"Oh, this?" he asked, before holding up the sandwich. "Thanks, by the way. I guess I can't lie if my goddamn stomach's going to go around squealing," it was a half-hearted attempt at a joke, before he turned to look back over the building. It wasn't much, really, schematics for something on the civil side, and he had to think about it before he answered. Somewhere, about three hours ago, he'd gone onto autopilot.

"It's, ah, supposed to be a new civil offices building. Some place they're going to shove a whole load of bureaucrats. Not usually what I work on, but hell, work's work."

[glassbox]

It was true, there wasn't much a closed door could do when it came to Lil Crawley anyway. She had a special kind of persistence that such a feeble barrier could hardly stand up to. But at least in the moment, she was more or less behaving herself, even if she'd chosen to impose on his personal space. She watched as he removed the cheese from his sandwich, making a mental note of it -- no cheese, next time.

"Civil offices building, huh."

Mostly out of her area of expertise -- or interest -- but she had asked. Still, she wrinkled her nose just a little at the mention of bureaucrats. Not her favorite, generally, but Mitch was okay. It wasn't as if they'd ever been close -- not, of course, that he seemed like the kind of guy that ever let anybody too close -- but after bonding with Bradbury and Eddie, she would be lying if she said she hadn't developed a mild kind of curious interest when it came to their former Mayor.

"Hard t'think that we were all workin' t'gether at City Hall jus' a little while ago, ain't it?" Those were some of her better days. She sighed lightly before picking up her sandwich. "I ain't even hardly seen Rick. Seems like I used t'be in his office all the time. Y'still see him ever? Or the others?"

1

[selfequipped]

What were the odds of running into someone in a coffee shop that you intended to go to a coffee shop with? Kate did the odds in her head quickly after she nearly lost her latte on Mitchell's shirt, but she regained her balance quickly—easily done enough given her training and physique—and mustered up a smile for him. His face was one that stood out to her, even if she couldn't put her finger on why.

Actually, she knew what it was after a beat of seeing him without the filter of a screen: he actually looked like a politician. He was the very image of the type of guy that Americans wanted to vote for, and Kate wasn't certain how she felt about that. Then again, the fact that Mitchell said he was the mayor of New York City was still one of the strangest things to encounter here. That she could say the reason for quite readily.

"It's fine," she finally said, and carefully shuffled her cup over to her left hand before extending her right one. "It's Kate Bishop. We spoke once." There was a beat. "About coffee."

[viced]

It took him a moment, some of the pre-caffeinated cogs still sluggishly working in his head, before he put two and two together. When it did, the light bulb flashed, and realization dawned. It was clear across his face, the transcription of confusion, and then recognition, and then his face split into a grin.

All in a matter of seconds. He nodded, and held out his hand. "Shit, yeah, I remember talking to you," he paused, and looked around the confines of the coffee shop. "And it was about fucking coffee, wasn't it?" Go figure. He wouldn't call himself obsessed, but a man like him had certain needs, and one of those needs was the certain caffeinated drink that he was currently craving.

"Sorry, this is embarrassing, I normally don't half-run into people when I'm tired, you sure you didn't spill any?"

[selfequipped]

Kate glanced down toward her cup. There was a little bit of the light brown liquid that had collected in its lid, but it was otherwise in good shape. From what she could see, there was nothing wrong, and that single sip wouldn't determine whether or not she continued to be awake for the rest of the day.

After all, she was a superhero. A loss of a cup of coffee was smalL fry in comparison to some things.

"It looks fine," she said. "If I decide I'm too tired after I finish it, though, I'll take advantage of this." It was obvious from her tone that she didn't intend to black mail him into more coffee. Not really.

Though it wasn't that bad of an idea for a place to begin criminal activity.

[viced]

Kate was in better straits than Mitchell was, but then again, that was probably one of many reasons why he made a godawful hero. He wasn't the sort that could go without his coffee for long. Disasters and crises were dealt with while downing a cup of the black liquid, a necessity for the man who'd been the mayor of New York City.

He looked around, but there was something of a wicked quirk of his lips, like he was sharing a secret with her, when he leaned down slightly.

"Well, don't tell anyone, but I think if you need a cup of coffee, my guilt is pretty high, I could be asked to supply some."

And the line moved, and he stepped forward, and he tilted his head, like he was asking her to join him. May as well, since his schedule often left him too busy to actually plan shit like this out.

[selfequipped]

"Well, you owed me either way," she told him. "Even if I'm responsible for not following through on our other plans." Kate had been too busy trying to become a considerable fount of knowledge to worry about coffee "dates" with alternate universe mayors.

Kate didn't hesitate to join him, then, making it clear that she was following his lead. She made a few notes about him, and thought that he probably needed to wake up more. Then again, wasn't that why they were there? At least there wasn't any level of false advertisement involved.

1, naturally

[beenwaitinglong]

Well, who else was most likely to be found skulking around a coffee shop?

Fortunately for Mitchell, if there was one thing Godot wouldn't do, it was accidentally spill coffee. He managed to jostle his mug to the side at the perfect angle to prevent it from spilling.

Miraculously, the tray of paper coffee cups resting on his elbow didn't spill, either.

"Ah, Mr. Mitchell Hundred." Beneath the glow of his mask was a pleasant grin... at least, his tone would make one assume it was pleasant. "I hate to say it, but if you came here looking for coffee, they overdid the roast this morning. It's all a little too bitter."

[viced]

It was odd, hearing something from the guy's mouth -- and also hearing the machinery on his face, his head tilting in confusion, before he finally resolved to not say anything about it. His usual way of dealing with his powers, after all, was to just say nothing about them at all. It was easier that way.

"How bitter is too bitter?" he asked, his smile affixing in place, even while his eyes drifted to the coffee cups everywhere -- shit, this guy really did like coffee almost as much as he did, didn't he?

"Because it looks like you've got quite a bit of it, for it being a bit too bitter, it's still drinkable, right?"

Desperate times called for desperate measures, and right now, he was damn desperate.

[beenwaitinglong]

"I didn't say it wasn't drinkable," Godot insisted, gesturing to the mug in his hand as well as the tray with him. "I just got done with my first round, actually. I dare say the extra burn has a little charm to it... though it's really just out of the question to call it an American roast."

He paused for a sip. "Don't worry," he reassured him. "I just spoke to the management about it."

He motioned with his head over to a corner table, where the remains of five other cups of coffee were sitting next to a stack of paperwork.

"Care to join me?

[viced]

Well, this guy really was a kindred spirit, wasn't he? His lopsided smile in response should have said it all, but he gestured with his hands, either way.

"Shit, an offer like that? I can't say no. How did the manager take being told his coffee was off?" he asked, eyebrows quirking in surprise. Honestly, most owners would either take that as a challenge, or as an insult. It was telling of what kind of establishment this was, depending on how the manager reacted.

Mitchell didn't often do the complaining, but a guy like him was damn good at observing.

[beenwaitinglong]

Godot had a grave frown on his lips as he shook his head.

"He didn't know what I was talking about," he said somberly. One could rest assured that Godot schooled him immediately afterwards.

At the table, he gathered up the empty cups and set them on a table beside them to clear up some space. Then he set down his tray and his mug right atop his stack of papers, apparently unconcerned.

"Here," he said, and offered Mitchell one of the cups on the paper tray. "There's the Italian. Still a little overdone if you ask me, but the best of the bunch today."

2

[abadidea]

Isaac never slept well. If it wasn't the nightmares that still plagued his subconscious after all the horror he'd witnessed (or facilitated) it was something else, more mundane, some untold fear that manifested itself whenever he tried to sleep. Whatever it was, Isaac had taken to more coffee than he ever had back home. Back home, well, things had been bad, and the liquor store had been closer, and then, passing out had been preferable to night terrors.

This particular coffee shop was one he stepped into whenever he could, on the way to work, on the way home, when he was on the way to Ellie's place, or when he was working on a project instead of trying to sleep. Tonight was the latter, though surprisingly it wasn't because of a nightmare, but simply an idea for a design that had occurred to him and he wanted to try it out.

Which meant he was startled out of his thoughtful silence when the guy behind him bumped into him in line, he looked immediately to apologize, even though he hadn't been the bumper only to raise his eyebrows in surprise.

"Mitch. We've got to stop meeting like this. It's too much physical contact."

[viced]

The joke, and it was supposed to be a joke, was probably funnier to people like Mitch, who only allowed for physical contact in certain, measured situations. The need to reach out not one he immediately gravitated toward. Also one of the reasons why he almost jumped out of his skin at the familiar voice.

Isaac was...well, not exactly what he expected, face to face, but a welcome sight, and his smile, while hesitant, was honest. As honest as a smile from Mitchell Hundred could get, anyway. He didn't have much to smile about these days, but he made the effort when he could.

"Christ, sorry, I'll remember to keep my hands to myself next time. Maybe it'll make you a little more comfortable?" his tone was wry, teasing, but he did reach out in an effort to offer a hand to steady him, if he needed it.

"Didn't expect anyone else with a real job to be out this late."

[abadidea]

Isaac laughed it off, used to close quarters and working with others in them. The maintenance hatches and tunnels of an intergalactic frigate were tight and there was rarely ever one engineer dispatched to handle a repair situation. Bumping into people was so much a part of his job he hardly thought about it. "Don't worry about it."

Still, while he didn't know Mitch particularly well, he never struck Isaac as a man who'd be so lost in thought as to run into someone because he wasn't paying attention. "But that's my line. What's got you so distracted?"

[viced]

"Me?" he asked, and gave him a look. "Lack of caffeine, actually. Go figure, I'm used to having people bring it to me when I'm dragging, not having to go out and get it my own damn self." His tone of voice, of course, suggested that he thought it was funny that he'd gotten so lazy, that he should know better than to rely on coffee gophers.

Then again, Mitchell had plenty of things going on to keep him distracted, not counting the symphony of voices that only he could hear in his head. The coffee shop was quiet -- other than the occasional sounds of the baristas talking, and the hiss of the steamers -- but to him? It was like a crowded subway tunnel. Couple that with the plans he was outlining in his head, the constant stream of things he needed to work on, well --

Mitchell was often distracted.

[abadidea]

"Sounds like you should hire a secretary." He chuckled at his own joke, even though he knew it wasn't a particularly funny one. Isaac, being primarily a field operative, had never really had much use for an office. He wasn't a planner but a doer, and sitting idle had never really suited him. He enjoyed exploration, seeing things first-hand, getting his hands dirty.

Civil engineering would never be something he wanted to do, and he admired Mitch for it. "At midnight?"

3!

[pyms]

Riding up to the gates of the base, Hank had a weird feeling. A deja vu. Of being told that his invention was going to weaponized, being told that his good intentions were just that, of meeting Jan the first time after another round of rejection for funding.

Good god, he's old. And as he thinks that he wears a smile and prepares add this to his belt.

Expectantly, the guard halts him, asks him a string of questions and ah, there it is. Rejection. Right on time. Hank doesn't argue his point, he didn't make any appointments after all. Just showing up doesn't guarantee anything. If he had to wait here all day, though. He entertained the idea of sneaking into the base himself, it's completely do-able — if only that didn't give off the worst impression possible. So Hank settles and gets pointed over to the side to wait. And immediate, he catches Mitchell Hundred's glowing circuits.

"Mister Hundred, good to see you in the flesh!" Hank greets the man with a pleasant tone. Because seeing this man and getting a real look at the mysterious tech on his face is always a pleasure, and definitely making up for the wasted trip down. He doesn't blatantly stare at it but does his eyes seem to twinkle?

[viced]

The voice -- after a moment of delay, thanks to the other sounds everywhere else around him -- was enough to startle Mitch, but it was also familiar enough that after only a moment, he turned with a smile. It wasn't an honest one (of course) but it was a smile, and he wasn't about to start out a conversation unpleasant. Besides, it wasn't like he knew the guy personally, and he was always looking for someone new to network with.

But...that didn't mean he was unfamiliar, either. Hank Pym. Giant-Man, Ant-Man, whatever else, there were a crapton, if he remembered his old Avengers comics well, and seeing human flesh on something that was supposed to be ink and paper was always eerie, and disconcerting. But, Edward Nygma had imprinted on Mitchell well, had taught him -- encouraged him -- to mask the boyish wonder, so it's only a half-familiar smile, that he greeted him with, and an outstretched hand.

"Hank Pym, right?" he asked, voice light, but certainly friendly enough. "The guy who liked my powers?" he added, a touch of a tease in there. The way the guy's looking at him, there's definitely something he's interested in, and after their conversation...well, it's hard to pretend what it couldn't be.

He doesn't shy away, though, he can only assume, and that was never a good starter for a conversation. "At least the wait isn't a lonely one, huh?"

[pyms]

Hank's smile faltered for a moment. In that moment, his brain clicked on two things; his interest was really blunt, and that he probably did not make a good impression with the things he said. However, it is a very interesting focal point from all perspectives. Hank wasn't going to let that slide. But the tone was friendly, amicable despite the fact. Maybe the man was as good as a politician as he said he was. Hank regained his composure with a small chuckle and a sheepish look.

"Guilty as charged. Glad I didn't scare you off after that conversation." He said, tone matched in lightness, to the point where he feels like he's entertaining more than conversing. And for the love of God, he hopes he doesn't sound too forced. He always sounds forced in these situations.

[viced]

And sure, he still sounds forced, but Mitchell isn't about to actually point that out, or hold it against the guy. There are people meant for networking and talking to other people (him), and then there are people that just struggle with the base, normal interactions (our good Mr. Pym). He couldn't say he minded, since people like this tended to be easier, simpler to talk to.

Bluntness, he could appreciate. Even if it was bluntness about his powers, and that always made his hackles rise, when he often preferred to pretend that his powers were simply there. Things that he didn't use in his day to day life -- even if he did.

"Oh no, as long as you're not threatening me, generally I can handle a little power oddness. It's a pretty wild sounding thing anyway, so I can't blame you." Hell, he'd even thought about it, at first, when he first started looking into what to do post-accident. Eventually, he'd chosen the least useful career choices possible.

[pyms]

He's just

So excited.

Alien technology interfacing with human biology to create an ability to converse with technology. Jesus take the wheel. It blows his mind. And admittedly, he lies awake at night wondering what it would be like to have that, to go through that process. How the synapses would fire, is it the biology that fires first or the technology the sends the signal? How does the most mundane machines know how to respond to that signal without being preprogrammed? There's so many questions and if he could just get his hands on it and and

Hank laughed, sheepish at how envious he is, "It's not just wild, Mr. Hundred. It's amazing. It's stuff that people write volumes and issues of books about."