milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

A young woman with a tangle of dark, curly, brown hair was sitting alone in a booth. Several items were abandoned on the table before her, including a small, leather-bound journal and a plate with a half-eaten chicken salad sandwich. Her bright blue eyes were perusing the pages of the New York Times, although closer inspection would have revealed that they didn't seem to be settling on anything.

She certainly looked like April O'Neil, yet if you were to judge by steely, distant expression alone, you would have easily mistaken her for someone else. There was also the matter of a certain gold locket being conspicuously absent from its previously permanent place around her neck.

~~[OOC: 4:00 PM ET - Mun is leaving work now, and going to do real life-ish stuff. Will be back in a few hours.]~~

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Katherine DeQuincy, without preamble, sat down adross from her.

"... April?"

"Hmm?" The paper was lowered and April smiled at the young woman. "Hey, Katherine. How're you? It's been awhile."

"Yeah, I've been upstairs writing a lot -- are you okay?" Katherine's look wavers between concerned friend and concerned doctor.

"In all honesty, I've been better. But hey, life goes on." In fact, she would make if go on if she had to. "What've you been writing?"

"Treatment methods for post-traumatic stress disorder. It's become a rather common thing I've been seeing -- here, at least, though that makes sense. The place attracts people who've been through some pretty amazing things."

She pauses, smiling a bit.

"Anything you want to talk about?"

"Not really, but I appreciate the offer." She might, eventually. Give her time. "Yeah, I imagine the bar would be a prime place to study post-traumatic stress." It was a wonder she didn't have it herself. Maybe she did.

"Anytime. Yeah - I'm not sure anyone's going to want treatment for it, seeing as I doubt it's really come up much with the others, medical-wise -- I could ask though, I suppose -- but it's good to have methods down."

She looks over the things on the table, then, "Can I get you a drink or anything?"

"I'm fine, thanks." April folded her paper and set it aside. "You know, it wouldn't be such a bad idea to set up a clinic, for patrons. A psychiatric one, I mean. For therapy. I think Peter Venkman was offering pro bono therapy awhile back. You might find some others willing to contribute as well."

"Well, there are a lot of us here, I think the current number is four ... or so I've heard. I don't really know any of the other psychiatrists, but it would be a good service to the bar."

Beat. "And to us, something to do."

"I can definitely think of a few people who could use it, too," April replied with a faint smirk.

A small bowl of Hagen Daas appears in front of her.

April looked up and had to immediately force her mouth from quirking up more than just a bit. Some things were instinctual, it seemed.

"Hi."

The ice cream was chocolate, because he knew, and that hurt her.

"Got room for a booth-less ninja on the lamb?"

"Looks like the seat's empty," she replied. Her eyes flicked over to the space across the table and then turned back to her paper.

"Oh good. It's cold out here in the bar. It's cold and there are wolves."

Deadpan, "Wolves and turtles. What is the universe coming to?" She didn't look up and her ice cream was melting.

Yeah, that just wasn't right. No self-respecting April would let perfectly good ice cream go from frozen smooth deliciousness to soup without at least some sort of a fight.

"Not anywhere good, I can assure you."

He's testing the waters....and testing them carefully.

"Obviously." April turned a page of the paper and frowned, subtly. There was nothing worth reading. Or, more accurately, nothing that would hold her interest. Just then she was in desperate need of something to take her attention from the ex-turtle seated across from her with the concerned look upon his face.

Mike is a little brother. He knows right off when he's being ignored.

Mike doesn't like being ignored.
If she wants him to leave, she's going to have to tell him to leave. He leans back into the booth, and gets comfortable.

"I was thinking the other day that now that I've gone and gotten myself a little bit of expendable income, that I'd get moving on my Vampire Farm idea."

"Hmm." April folded the paper with a resigned sigh and set it aside, pulling her sandwich back over and taking a bite. "Sounds like a good way to waste money."

Mike blinks. Okay, the absurd wasn't going to get her attention.

"It's true. But you've got to waste money to make money, right?"

He studies her a bit more. Something is up, oh yes...something is up.

"It's spend money, not waste," April corrected him blandly.

"These are details, that as an Idea Man, I don't have to worry about.

I mean, just think about it. Every home with a domesticated vampire in it. They'll be the greatest Halloween Presents EVER."

"What do you want, Michaelangelo?" April asked abruptly, losing her patience. Of course, he had no way of knowing she had lost her patience with herself instead of him.

There it is. The tone that says Mikey, get out of my lab. Or, Mike, I'm trying to practice here. Or even Mike! That'sMY lipstick!

His face drops all expression, as his eyes begin to work over her face. It's like a small child trying to work out how a machine works. A machine that they will out perform the previous generation by leaps and bounds.

April has seen it before.
It's a technique he learned from Splinter. And why Leo uses it to watch bodies, and Don to watch mechanics....Mike has always used it only on people and their eyes.

He's mean that way.