It's somewhere around nine in the evening - early for a pubcrawl, late for
dinner, just right for people who aren't particularly fond of overcrowded
places - and the weather's officially perfect. Today had been a fairly
warm, muggy day, but with the sun down and the breeze off the ocean
washing gently through the city streets, it's downright pleasant. One can
even see the brightest stars in the sky when not standing directly under a
streetlamp.

Holding the door open for Kitty with his foot and lighting a cigarette as
he does so - aah, multitasking - is a certain black-haired and bepatched
suit, minus jacket and with tie loose. And sleeves rolled up. Because my
god, it was lovely outside. Not being cold is always a plus. Well, almost
always. Once the thing's lit, Pete pockets his lighter and watches Kitty;
he's now actually leaning on the open door. "Rather want to go for a
crawl. Can we? Or early night?"

Kitty's looking just a touch worn, as she steps outside to join the smoker
- not physically, not emotionally, but recovering from a different kind of
strain altogether. "That," she replies, "sounds like just the thing. If we
came back early, I'd feel obligated to try and get some work done, and -
God, my brains would leak out my ears." T-shirt and jeans for her, as
usual; she looks more or less like any college coed. Except that most
college coeds don't have the Discordian golden apple on their shirts, or
quite the habit of flicking a glance toward any uncharacteristic sounds.

It may be a warm day, but warm days can be just as uncomfortable as cold
ones. Or so one would think by the figure hunched in the mouth of an
alleyway, legs and arms scratched, long hair dirty and falling over her
shoulders. A pair of worn and obviously too-big combat pants sit off her
hips, and an old t-shirt is draped over her shoulders. The shapeshifter
has crafted this subterfuge carefully. And now it's time to bait the hook.

It's time for a lazy saunter. Time was it was absolutely necessary that
Pete be in physical contact with Kitty at all times, lest she vanish. But
trust, time, the resolution of issues, and practicality have put that
level of PDA at a much more sane plateau - it's possible to actually walk
from their flat to the local without at least having arms hooked. Either
that or Pete's having pity on Kitty because his constant temperature added
to the ambient heat isn't necessarily pleasant. So, sidling down the
pavement, taking their time, going past any number of alleys. "If you
tried to get work done, I'd be obligated to distract you, which would
result in - eh, well. At least less relaxation, anyroad. What's that
vanilla Co--" Stopping because this particular area doesn't generally have
people sleeping in the alleys. Stopping talking, anyway, and peering
one-eyed through the semidarkness. That hunched-up figure looks /just/
familiar enough... "Pryde." Quiet. Is it just me, or--?

Not that Kitty's given to being more than their arms' reach away from Pete
anyhow - there's a certain level of precaution that's easy to take, and
the awareness that at any given moment she can reach out, clasp hands, and
pull him out of most danger is reassuring. Most danger. Not all. Not that
she's worrying about that in the forefront of her mind at the moment; work
has been put as firmly aside as possible for now. Or had been, up till
Pete cut himself off midword. She turns her head to follow his glance, and
... hesitates herself, half-frowning. Something familiar, naggingly so,
but it's not someone she knew as well or had seen as recently. "I'm
seeing." But not quite placing, not yet.

From behind a bent and scratched pair of sunglasses, the girl peers,
lifting her gaze with an expression mimicing that of a lost puppy. Looking
and not seeing, Meggan's eyes glance past Pete and Kitty, as if she
doesn't really know they're there. But with the sunglasses, it's hard to
tell /just/ where her focus is. Inside, the shapeshifter is smiling. There
may be recognition there, but it's too early to tell. There's a small
backpack beside her, crumpled and worn, but perhaps in a style that Kitty
or Pete might recognize. An emblem of some kind?

"Meggan?" The name is spoken softly, clearly questioningly, and gently --
as if to prevent flight. Pete takes a stunted half-step forward, one hand
going back automatically, reaching for Kitty, the other flicking the sadly
newly-lit cigarette away, then reaching out in the direction of the figure
in the alleyway. He's watching closely, looking her and her backpack over
as best he can as she's in the darker shadow of the alley. Would that the
streetlight made things more clear.

Kitty clasps hands with Pete by reflex at his gesture, half precaution and
half reassurance. She lets herself be carried the half-step along with
him, expression shifting - startled, worried. "Meggan?" she echoes, her
voice only a little stronger than Pete's. Bait, it seems, taken.

Meggan backs up, pressing her back against the alleyway wall as both Kitty
and Pete approach. She looks afraid and skittish, and suddenly the bag by
her side is clutched. She looks like she's been on the street for days.
And she's not wearing shoes. She makes a few little whimpering sounds. And
when she speaks, it's in the tones they remember. But they're hoarse and
disoriented. It's dark. She can't see them clearly, "Do I know you?"

"'S possible, love," answers Pete clearly, calmly, the hand holding
Kitty's squeezing briefly. He doesn't come forward any further. "Pete and
Kitty, we are. D'you know us?" He's not going to be any more explanatory
than that just yet, not until he can determine whether the fey mutant
recognises them. After all, the condition she's in -- hearing the Beacon
Harbor talk probably won't be conducive to sanity. Wait until she has some
food in her, maybe some sleep.

Kitty hesitates - the urge to amplify is plain, but ... if this /is/
Meggan, it's not necessary to say so much as 'We're friends' out loud.
She'd be able to feel the concern, at this range. If there's not enough
light for her to read it in Kitty's expression anyhow. So for the moment
she lets Pete do the talking, follows his lead.

Meggan looks up, and right at Kitty for a moment. She reaches up and pulls
the sunglasses off her face, revealing tired eyes. And if there was any
doubt of her 'identity' before this, it would be thrown off by the motion
of brushing hair behind her ears, to reveal that they are in fact,
pointed. "Kitty and Pete....? But no...it can't be. They told me...that I
wasn't at home anymore. That I was...." And then she starts to take in
sharp breaths and hug her knees to her chest. Post traumatic, perhaps?

The really sad thing is - there's no doubt. Not in Pete's head, anyway.
Well - in his head, his standard low-grade paranoia's pointing out,
always, that things may not be what they seem. But in his heart, there's
no doubt at all. Protectiveness, there immediately upon recognition,
blossoms like fire through the Englishman - someone told her. Someone
already told her. But not nearly enough and not nearly nicely enough.
Meggan, poor thing. His hand is still out to her. "I don't want to
frighten you off," he says a trifle helplessly, then glances back at
Kitty. I'm the scary-looking one. You go to her, she needs holding. Then
he looks back at the blonde changeling, expression open and sincere. "I'm
really Pete Wisdom, I swear it, and she's really Kitty Pryde. Open up,
love, if you've shut us out. Are we lying? I'll explain everything."

Kitty meets Pete's glance, wordless, and - lets go his hand to take
another step forward, and a second. "Meggan ..." She searches the other
woman's face for a few moments, trying to tell - with her entirely human
and much more restricted capabiilties - whether her approach is reassuring
or frightening. "Please," she says finally. "Let us help." Which is what
everything Pete was saying boils down to, when the words get stripped
away.

"You're not lying." Meggan meeps timidly. "And...you don't want to hurt
me. But the man said..." She looks off down the street with paranoid
looks, "...said that I would meet people who weren't really the people I
know." Slowly, she stretches to her feet and leans against the wall. Hands
aren't leaned in to, but no longer is she trying to dodge any physical
contact.

Looking away from Meggan to watch Kitty approaching her, Pete still
doesn't move -- but looks a little more relaxed, anyway. And his gaze
shifts back to Meggan, misplaced apology only somewhat stifled in his
expression. "We're not the originals, no, but I'm willing to lay odds
we're close enough. D'you remember the Crosstime Capers? I wasn't there
for them, but I heard all about them - it's a bit like that. Alternate
realities, converging here. But you know we /don't/ want to hurt you."
Then, echoing Kitty, he takes another half-step forward, and stops.
"/Will/ you let us help? When's the last you've eaten?"

Kitty steps a little closer, till she's at a more normal conversational
distance - farther from Meggan than the version she knew would usually
talk at, but normal for most people. A few feet away, almost in the alley.
"Or gotten a decent night's sleep? Or a shower?" Normal things. Mundane
things. Kitty runs a hand through her own hair, short as it is, letting
the worry show visibly in her expression now. Worry /for/ Meggan, not /of/
her. Trying desperately to find some way to reassure - for once, even she
finds it a pity that there isn't a Brian Braddock here. For a moment. Just
a moment. Then reason returns. "I can't even say 'you look terrible,'" she
half-jokes, "because you never do." Given the difference between Meggan's
build and Kitty's rather more slender one - it's not hard to guess that's
a running joke.

Despite her frazzled state, Meggan finds herself laughing a bit mutedly
and hoarsely at Kitty's joke. But then her expression turns more solemn.
"It's...well, not since I was dumped here. I...wasn't in the best shape
when that happened..." But this seems to choke her up, and she swallows it
back, straightening herself. Tired gaze flicks between Kitty and Pete. And
then hesitantly, she takes a step forward.

Sealed, then. Pete finally finishes the approach, passing Kitty and
reaching out to gently place a guiding hand on Meggan's arm. "Come home
with us, love, we've plenty of space and food and a bathroom that's not
deplorable, thanks to Pryde here. Don't be afraid of anything, we've got
your back." And I'll put all the alcohol out of sight, and I won't drink
in front of you, and you look /awful/ and I'm so sorry you've been on your
own in a strange place, and if the bad shape is because of that louse
Braddock then he'd better be damn glad he's not in this universe. He
glances up at Kitty - a look that clearly says we should really get a
better couch. The fold-out kind.

Kitty says quietly, "You don't have to stay, not if it makes you nervous
to be around us, but - at least come and clean up and rest?" She hovers,
figuratively at least, at Meggan's other side - the woman's not
surrounded, she's far enough away for that, but one or the other of her
and Pete can manage to be between anything else on that street and Meggan.
And her glance back to Pete has just a touch of amusement along with the
implied 'yes'. Seems to be a necessity of life in this city.

As much as she'd still like to be leery, Meggan finds herself reaching for
Pete's offered arm and clinging to it, then clinging to Pete, using almost
all of him to hold herself up. Safety. Familiar faces. And given her
supposed emotional state, it makes sense to feel comfort amongst them.
Tired gaze also falls on Kitty, and she manages a smile. Then, she reaches
out to grasp the other woman's hand, with a whispered, depedent murmur of,
"Thank you." Part ay of the plan has passed. There is still much to do,
but so far it seems that the shapeshifter's plan is working.