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Warren started at the bar, sporting one of his friendly smiles, the one his father had instilled in him when it came to business dealings. It wasn't as if he had any business prospects, but the lessons were valuable. When he asked for Tolansky , he noticed the man stiffen. A look of exasperation crossed his face as he asked Warren a question.
"What have you done now?" he asked with some concern, but above all with tiredness.
So Todd Tolansky was someone who either got into trouble often, or attracted it. Warren guessed it was the former, comparing the waiter's expression to Charles's. Bobby caused the most trouble at school and in Westchester, and he hadn't even been there long. Hank had his moments, though Charles often found his antics amusing. Scott was the perfect student, Warren, on the other hand. He'd seen the waiter's expression on both his father and Charles himself.
"He's not in any trouble, at least I hope not. He hasn't caused any trouble lately, has he?" Warren asked, trying to imply that he knew Todd better than he did.
"The police have him under surveillance; he just got out of juvenile hall. Now he has to wear a tracking bracelet on his heel; he hasn't been able to go to work," the man explained.
"Too bad, at least he was good at work?" The winged mutant hoped to get more into Todd's character; Xavier had a habit of seeing the best in people.
"Todd's a decent kid, he just wants to belong, you know, it's a little difficult considering his condition, is that how you know him?"
The waiter pointed out the hump on Warren's back, where his wings were. Even a trench coat couldn't completely hide them. So, out of necessity, he pretended to have a hump. Similarly, Scott pretended to have an eye condition, that excessive exposure to light could blind him. He saw Scott walking away from a blonde girl, holding a piece of paper.
"Yeah, it's not easy for people to see you, but not really see you, if you know what I mean," Warren murmured, focusing halfway between the man and Scott.
His fellow X-Man nodded a couple of times, signaling Warren to finish.
"I know, Brooklyn is pretty bad. The neighborhood isn't what it used to be. Even those who should understand what it's like to be judged by their appearance can judge others," said the Latin American man, likely the son of immigrants.
But there was a clear understanding in his voice and eyes, as if he'd seen a lot on the street lately. That was probably one of the reasons for tonight. After thanking the man, Warren returned to Scott.
"I got her number," Scott said.
"Who's Alison?" Warren asked.
"No, I asked that girl over there, she just gave me her number and told me to come back tonight, she also asked me my name," Scott said, nervously tilting his cap down, trying to hide his blushing cheeks.
-You didn't give it to him, did you?
"I just said my name was Scott, asked for Blaire and Tolansky , and he gave me Todd's address and said Alison would be here tonight," Scott explained.
"We should prioritize Alison, she has the projection mutation," Warren said, keeping his voice as low as a whisper.
They left the club and started walking toward the apartment complex where Todd lived.
"A physical mutation can be as destructive as a Warren projection," Scott said as they continued their search.
State University of Education (ESU)
Seeing Conners again had been good; everyone always liked him more than Miles Warren. Peter was glad to be learning with Conners again, with the option of being a lab assistant. He hoped so and that his off-campus job wouldn't get in the way. Mary Jane and Harry encouraged him to introduce himself to some of the other students. He bored them by saying he would go to the library and then unpack and rest at home, his new home for the following year.
"Your loss, Pete, we'll come back later to take you to the club if necessary," MJ smiled as they parted ways.
Peter waved goodbye and started walking off campus. Once far enough away, he discreetly found an alley. It was a process he'd practiced since he was fifteen; when he was sure the coast was clear, he'd change. Peter was a bookworm; people ignored him as such. He didn't play sports or change at the gym. Taking off his long-sleeved shirt, he revealed that he wasn't as thin as people thought; his arms and chest showed muscles he hid with his shirt. He unzipped his backpack as he pulled down his pants, taking out one piece and putting on another.
He undid the suit he had made for himself, a frustrating two- year process. As he put it on, his legs fit perfectly into the tight blue pants, and his feet touched the red soles at the bottom. He pulled the front of the suit toward him and stuck his arms inside. Then he zipped up the back and flexed his arms. He put on a pair of red gloves with blue palms and fingers, and attached the wrist devices to them. Finally, he covered his face with the red mask. He zipped up his bag, threw it against the wall, pressing the button on the palm of his hand and releasing from his wrist a white thread that held it to the wall.
A few seconds passed, and with a great shout of "Woof!", the aptly nicknamed "Spider-Man" leaped from the alleyway. He flipped in the air, offering passersby a familiar sight. His suit was blue on the bottom, with red on the soles and around the edges of his feet. On the sides of his waist, he sported a red stripe with small pockets. As he swung through the city, he ruthlessly ejected the cartridge from one of his web-shooters and took a spare clip from his pocket. He swung and released his web, bending his knees and arms, displaying the black spider symbol on its upper body. The upper part of the suit was entirely red, save for blue on the sides and abs. Over the red were numerous black web marks.
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