Erik:

         This is the type of man who blends into a crowd all too easily.
He stands at a relatively average height of five feet, ten inches. His
hair is a light brown in color, cut short and combed in almost lazy
fashion. His equally brown eyes are set into what is, essentially, a
pretty plain and unremarkable face. His build is average, but a little on
the lean side, more than fitting a man such as himself who, most probably,
doesn't get enough excercise to put more meat on his bones.
         At the moment, he's wearing unremarkable clothes to go with his
unremarkable self. A dark blue, long sleeved shirt protects him from
chilly weather and his jeans, black and almost certainly new, don't do
anything to help it. His shoes look pretty new, free of damage and scuff
marks.

******************************************************************************
                               Today's Weather:

It's a swampy, miserable day of pure, punishing summer misery. The sky is
overcast, full of heavy clouds that offer little relief from the stifling
blanket of water-saturated air that's weighing down the city. The humidity
index is at a crushing high, and just stepping outside is enough to cause
a sweat to break out on most any person's forehead. Hopefully, it'll rain
overnight and clear out some of the mugginess.

******************************************************************************

It's late in the afternoon, verging into early evening - which means it's
/still/ horrifically hot. Kitty's traded in her jeans-and-T-shirt for
cutoffs, a pale-green tank top, and a whole lot of sunscreen ... and her
curls are /still/ soaked enough with sweat to be hanging into her eyes,
and she's almost drooping under the weight of the backpack on her
shoulders. But she's found the address. And therefore there is knocking at
the door. And praying that the university didn't have the number wrong.

The door is opened! Unfortunately, it is not Whisper that answers it. Erik
is standing there in a t-shirt and shorts, a soda in one hand. He blinks
at the girl standing at the door and nearly says 'we don't want none of
your girl scout cookies', but refrains. He clears his throat. "Ah, yeah.
Can I help you?"

Kitty tips her head back to look up at him. Hm. No, this is definitely not
the Whisper she is looking for. Wrong gender. Wrong hair. Wrong accent.
And so forth. "Sorry to bother you," she says, as convincingly as she can
manage when her body's trying to melt off her skeleton. "I'm looking for a
Barbara Sacco...?"

"Oh, this is her place," Erik says agreeably. "I'm her room mate. She's
not home right now, though." Erik shakes his head. "Maybe I can leave a
message for her or something?" He eyes the backpack she's wearing,
briefly, perhaps assuming that she must be one of Barbara's assistants or
students or some such.

Not a bad assumption; she picked up that backpack because she /was/ a
student. And hey, there is stuff in it, after all. "That'd be great,"
Kitty admits. "If you could. I didn't know she had a roommate." She pushes
her hair out of her eyes, a pointless gesture: curls fall right back in a
moment later, and she winces.

"Sure thing. Just let me go get a pen and paper. Come on in out of the
heat while you're waiting. I've got the AC on high." Erik steps away from
the door to let Kitty in and leaves it open. She can shut it herself,
after all. The place is absolutely spotless, too. How easy cleaning is
when one can make things to clean *for* you! It only takes him a few
seconds to get a pad of paper and a pen in hand.

Kitty does indeed shut it herself behind her, and heaves a desperate
breath. Air. Air that doesn't feel /solid/ going into the lungs. Oh, yes,
this is good. The flicker of her eyes over the room as she enters is
habitual mild-paranoia, nothing more; the slower scan afterward is actual
interest. "Thank you /so/ much. I think the humidity actually replaced the
oxygen in the air out there. If you could tell her Kitty Pryde came
looking for her..."

"Right." He writes her name down, spells it with an 'i'. "I'll let her
know. Can I ask what it's about, or should I just leave it like that?"
Erik offers, politely. "I'll pass it along to her when she gets back, but
she hasn't been around much so God only knows when *that'll* happen." His
face scrunches up.

Kitty waves a hand, half careless, mostly limp. Immensely limp, really.
"Something that's up with a mutual friend - I've got some information
she'll probably want. It's kind of a long story." Her accent's Midwestern,
flavored slightly with London - almost no hint of New England at all.

"Oh, right. Well, I'll pass it along, then." He wanders back into the
kitchen for a moment, puts the note up on the fridge with a magnet that
appears to be a halfeaten hamburger in shape. He grabs another soda from
the fridge and offers it over to her. "You want a soda?" Coke!

Kitty's glance flicks into the fridge past him for an instant - if it'd
been halfway barren, she'd've said no. Instead, there's an utterly
grateful, "/Please/. Caffeine /might/ keep me from collapsing on the way
home. It's always six times as bad after you get a break." The can's
actually cradled against her cheek for a moment, letting the metal soak up
a little of the heat. "Thank you so much."

"Hey, no problem. There's a reason I have decided that while this heatwave
lasts? I am letting Barbara do all the shopping. Hah, hah. I'm a cruel
person." Erik gives her a bright grin at this, then adds, "I just makes
sure she keeps me stocked well with caffiene. Gotta have my soda." He taps
his own can with his fingertip, adding, "I mean, shit. I always hated the
heat."

Kitty manages to force her hair to stay out of her eyes for a full five
seconds this time. At least it's no longer dripping sweat into them. The
bangs definitely need trimming, however. Rest of it's just a short mop,
currently fairly tangled. Thank you, evil weather. "Past tense? Before you
moved in with an Aussie who's probably capable of mocking both our weather
and our wildlife?"

"Well, no. I still hate it. But now I have air conditioning, so it's much
more bearable. See, I don't have to go out in the heat all that often,
thankfully, so I can't hate it quite so hard as I used to." Erik explains,
gesturing towards the air coniditoner by the window.

Kitty actually opens the cola and takes a drink - rather like most people
slugging back a swallow of something more alcoholic. "Lucky," she says
afterward. "My roommate bloody /likes/ this weather. The creep. 'S good to
know there are a couple saner people in the city."

"Saner being the right choice of word there given that we're living
*here*. I don't think anyone who does can be said to be completely and
utterly sane if they're doing it by choice." He cracks a grin at this.
"Myself included, of course."

Kitty flicks a grin at her cola can. "I'd rather be in Chicago,
personally, but - can't have everything. And nothing's blown up my
apartment building yet." There's a faint edge of subtle agitation, though,
that the caffeine is doing nothing to take away, and the conversation
circles back around briefly to a previous topic: "No idea when Barbara
will be back, huh? Doesn't sound like she's been keeping a regular
schedule."

"None, really. It could be anytime. Then again, it might not be anytime
soon either. In other words, Barbara doesn't keep me informed of her
comings and goings most of the time. She just.. goes off and does her
thing and I do mine. Probably one of the things that makes her a great
room mate. Still, we gt along pretty good, so it all works out. I'm Erik,
by the way."

Kitty repeats, "Erik," with a quick nod, and a faintly bemused expression
for a moment. Mental database, accessing, searching record 361 of 50,039
... "My name's Kitty, but then, you wrote that - huh." Cue the blink: one
record returned. "Erik the 'wonderfully sensible'?"

"Who the hell said that?" Erik peers at Kitty. "I knew my ears were
burning recently, but I thought that was just the heat." He scratches one
of them, looking mock-irritated.

Kitty gives him one of those quick, there-and-gone half-smiles himself
this time. "Woman by the name of Seishi." Which she pronounces correctly.
"Though it's not necessarily you she was talking about. Erik's not that
uncommon a name." Particularly when the spelling isn't audible.

"Nah. I know Seishi. She's cool and a 'wonderfully sensible' person
herself." Erik nods his head. "Friends with Barbara and lives with the
messy guy not too far from here." Erik gives her a quirk of a smile
himself. "Yeah, I actually met Barbara through Seishi."

Kitty thus gives Erik a longer look, a little more measuring - though
there's a definite tug at the corner of her mouth again at the mention of
'the messy guy.' "So did I - well, half, anyway. My roommate knows
Barbara, too; no idea how /he/ met her. All I ever got out of him on the
subject was something about how she brought him macaroni and cheese when
he needed it most, and an amazing lack of detail." Chatter to cover the
mental gears turning, really.

"...I never heard this story. At least not from Barbara, anyways." Erik
looks amused. "But then, I think she's talked about making cookies, at
least." He scratches his head, trying to remember. "Ah, hell. I don't
remember. I probably tuned out when she started talking about it."

Kitty shrugs reasonably enough, backpack and all. "'Macaroni and cheese'
doesn't exactly measure up to 'almost getting run over,' nah."

"...no, it doesn't. Seishi told you that story?" Erik eyes her at that,
looking wry.

Kitty gives a small, open gesture with the hand not holding the cola. "She
mentioned the incident. Probably at least half out of commiseration - cars
don't seem to /like/ me."

"Cars don't like anyone. I'm sure of this. I mean, hell. My last car got
trashed by an alien. I forgot to buy my Junkyard insurance." He makes a
face.

Kitty only blinks once, and does /not/ look at him like he's a lunatic.
"Aliens never seem to believe in the concept of private property,
somehow."

"Hell yeah. Especially *that* one. There really is Junkyard insurance. Not
kidding. He's responsible for more property damage than anyone else in the
freaking city. Put the mayor in a coma. Seishi and I lucked out, though.
I'd just picked her up in my Junkmobile, an apt name, that I'd *just*
bought the day before and, like...whammo. There it goes. The alien coems
out of nowhere and thrashes it and then runs off." He leaves the bit out
about cleaning him, completely, as a form of revenge, yes.

Oddly, that's a form of revenge Kitty could've appreciated, too. But. She
shakes her head sadly. "The poor car. I'm glad you and Seishi came out of
it okay in the long run, at least. If minus some money; money's a lot more
replaceable than body parts."

"God, yes. Besides, the car was a real piece of shit." Erik adds, amused.
"But it was cheap. I'll probably get another piece of shit before long,
though, since I've been trying to save up for one. This time? I'm buying
Junkyard insurance." Erik adds that last bit firmly.

Kitty resorts to her cola again, in lieu of shaking her head. "I'm just
surprised an insurance company found a way to put that policy together
without losing money. I mean - I've seen some of the articles on that
guy."

"Well, you can imagine how much the corporations around here are willing
to pay to get coverage for that," Erik points out. "It winds up being a
lot of money over time and the company doesn't have to pay out *that*
often, mostly because he doesn't turn up that often. It's just that when
he *does*? Things go boom. Really boom."

Kitty gestures appropriately with her free hand, at his 'really boom.'
"Right. Between him and whoever's trying to /stop/ him - right. Me, I'm
just going to keep an eye out and be prepared to run very fast the other
direction if necessary." She pauses. "I pity the claims investigators,
though."

"So do I, believe me, so do I." Especially since he sometimes has a hand
in that damage. Erik tilts his head to one side and then the other,
stretching his neck. "Anyhow, the whole thing scares me and I'll be with
you running the other way, yeah. Fast. I don't wanna be anywhere near
there."

Kitty has had a hand in subsidiary damage in the past. But Junkyard? She'd
like her little private universe and his not to come any closer than her
hearing about his doing horrible things to Erik's car. "Nice, healthy
attitude," Kitty agrees. "A fast defense is the best ... way to stay in
the gene pool." Flicker of that smile, there and gone, and hey, she's
still got Coke. And drinks some. Because on a day like today, even /in/
air conditioning, the stuff is good. "Let the professionals deal with it.
Are there professionals? The unlucky amateurs, anyway."

"Not that I'm aware of." Erik admits, wryly. "I mean, if there are any
professionals, they wisely keep their heads down. No one here likes the
metas, that's for sure. The only ones you *do* hear about are the ones
that casue the massive property damage."

Kitty admits, "Just about. I think I've heard one other one mentioned in
the media; that's about it. I was thinking more along the lines of SWAT
teams." She runs her fingers through her hair, more effectively pulling it
out of her face now that it's mostly dried out and therefore not quite so
willing to flop in the service of gravity. "National Guard. Whatever the
city does."

"Well, they do have M-SWAT or whatever they're calling it now," Erik
shakes his head. "But I can't imagine it doing much against the likes of
Superman or what have you. Hell, Junkyard'd probably take one look at it
and their suits would explode."

Kitty avoids inhaling cola mostly by force of will at his last sentence.
"Mmmh," she replies less than coherently as she takes a moment to make
sure her breathing is working properly again. "Right. Again with the
'running very fast in the other direction' plan."

Now that gets a grin from him. Yes, he realizes that she nearly inhaled
soda "Definitely. With you right there." He gives her a big thumbs up.

Kitty grins back at him, and this time the expression actually lasts more
than three-quarters of a second. "If you can keep up. I'm pretty good at
the running away bit - when it's not hot enough to turn the air into a
solid wall. I /hate/ this weather sometimes."

Good thing solid walls don't stop Kitty! Erik males a face. "I hate it all
the time. Except when I'm not in it. Like, oh...*now*." He lifts his coke
can towards her in a toast, then downs the rest of it.

Kitty echoes what he didn't say aloud: "To air conditioning," and matches
him. "You are so immensely lucky. A livable apartment /and/ a roommate
who's a part-time fairy godmother. See the rewards of living a life of
common sense. Pity most people don't have enough to recognize them."

"Well, I wouldn't go so far as to call her a fairy godmother, but she *is*
nice." Erik agrees. If anyone is the fairy godmother, it's him. And he's
not a fairy. VERY not a fairy.

Kitty just isn't asking. The ring on her left hand may be intentionally
unobtrusive, undecorated, and much less than eye-catching, but it's still
a fairly effective bar against any but the most academic curiosity about
other people's preferences. "And she has the timing down pat. I'm willing
to give her at least honorary status for it."

Well, come on. Erik could turn a pumpkin into a stage coach! Well, okay.
He'd really just *make* a stage coach, and who ever heard of a green stage
coach anyways? Erik rubs his eyes a little, then adds, "Well, all right.
I'm sure she'll be absolutely thrilled to hear that. I'll pass it along to
her in the message when I see her." Another grin flashes across his face.

Kitty's expression is definitely amused, even without the image of green
pumpkin coaches. "Nah, no need. I already told her to her face once. Well,
more or less. Though -" She hesitated, and though most of her expression
doesn't change, she studies Erik for a lingering moment before continuing.
"If you could tell her it's kind of urgent. And maybe give her a phone
number ..."

"Sure thing." Erik adds, quickly. "That's no problem." He picks the pen up
again and heads back over to the fridge. He writes 'urgent' under the name
and then waits for the number, glancing back over his shoulder at her.

Kitty recites the string of digits from memory: Pete's cellphone number,
rather than the one for the phone she carries herself. "Thanks again," she
adds, fairly sincere. Despite that she, oh, didn't bother to mention the
number till after he'd confirmed knowing Seishi, given her a detail or two
she could confirm himself, and both recognized and evaded the
almost-run-over story. After all, it's just a phone number, right?

And it's not even her's. It's Pete's! Poor Pete. Erik just casually nods
his head at this, saying, "Right, right. It's all good, then. I'll let her
know as soon as she gets in. Hopefully, you two'll be in touch soon. I've
probably kept you long enough," he admits.

What. They have a system. The people likely to develop sudden
life-threatening emergencies in the immediate future get Kitty's number -
/everyone/ else gets Pete's. Cuts down on the chance of someone needing a
rescue and getting a busy signal. And, actually, cuts down on the phone
calls at all, given Wisdom's usual social graces or lack thereof. He's the
kind of person that telemarketers /voluntarily/ take off their lists.
"Yeah. If I try to stick around till she shows up, I could be cluttering
up your kitchen so long I'll need dusting. On the other hand, if I go, ten
to one she'll be home within fifteen minutes, right?" Flick of a grin, and
she adds a little more seriously, "Good to meet you. And your air
conditioning."

"Yeah, good to meet you too. And glad you liked my air condition. Another
one for the road?" Erik offers, fetching another soda from the fridge to
offer her. He seems to be well stocked.

Kitty is visibly tempted, but shakes her head. "Nah. One's fair, two is
definitely taking advantage." She did come bearing gifts in return, but
they were oriented toward Barbara, not an unexpected roommate - and even a
roommate indirectly vouched for by both Whisper and Seishi, she's not
entirely willing to leave the file-folder in her backpack with.

Laughing, Erik says, "It's all right, but if you're sure. It's cool." He
puts the soda back in the fridge and shuts it again, heading for the door
afterwards. He proceeds to open it back up. He holds it there for her.
"Well, be seeing you." He salutes. Someone's been watching 'The Prisoner'.

Kitty blinks at him just the once, looking for a moment mildly disturbed -
and then flicks another quick grin, and steps out, whistling a tune. Well,
a specific tune. 'All You Need Is Love.' Only question with that one is
how recently he's been watching the /last/ episode. Fortunately, Kitty
isn't carrying a submachine gun.

After seeing that one, 'who is number one', 'you are number six' has a
whole new meaning. Erik grins brightly at her, then swings the door shut
behind her once she's on her way. "Huh," he looks over at the name on the
fridge, then shrugs and settles back in to watch TV.