Hello Kitty [...jesus don't kill me Lyn]

[Mike Batista]

On the weekends Mike liked to go for morning walks that his fosters were welcome to join (and were occasionally required to join if they were under thirteen for safety's sake), but since the Stewarts were sixteen and trustworthy Mike was fine with letting them sleep in. He'd told them he was going out walking in the morning and left them a note on the kitchen table as well. Since he was at the school the rest of the week, Mike's walks often took him in the opposite direction, toward the lake or downtown area just for variety and to see what was new. For emergencies, his cellphone and a can of pepper spray were in his pockets, though he'd never had call to use either for the reason he carried them.

The weather was still good, if colder, and Mike wore a sweatshirt and his light jacket as he walked. As always, he enjoyed the exercise and being outside, and he waved or said a low 'morning' to those he encountered with a pleasant smile.

After walking for an hour, Mike had worked up a little bit of a sweat but the cool weather had wicked it away, so that he didn't feel too grungy to stop in at the Velvet-Tone to look at the Sunday ads and have a little refreshment. He washed up in the bathroom (hands and face), ordered a citrus green tea, and sat back with his paper. It was one from Burlington (because it had all the ads and the coupons), and as he sipped his tea he set aside ad pages with coupons or sales he was interested in. His coat hung on the back of his chair, and he sat on the end of one of the group tables near the front window.

[Lyn Ivchenko-Lewis]

Most weekends would have seen Lyn either at the office (working on a case) or at home (relaxing for once). However, seeing as how the courts were in a bit of a kerfluffle with the problems going on in Washington, D.C., there was some time to catch up on her reading and less important paperwork. Of course, the paperwork had been finished yesterday, and the DA's office wasn't burning down around its ears, so the older prosecutor decided to keep the day to herself. Since there was a mild chill in the air but she felt like stretching her legs, Lyn decided the coffeeshop a bit of a ways away from the courthouse was a good place to be. They played older music that she liked, and the staff were mostly Hammel students, which made it feel somehow homier.

Dressed in one of her usual grey tweed suits and flats, covered up against the cold with a grey and blue wool scarf and a short grey trenchcoat, the small woman would have almost been mistaken for fog if there were any in the area by the time she reached the Velvet-Tone save for the fact that she moved in a much more determined fashion than any natural mist. Barely pausing to untie some of the scarf from around her neck, Lyn walked through a small crowd of people milling about and to the actual line for the counter. Smiling briefly at the youth behind the counter, she ordered an oolong teapot, then looked about for a place to sit.

Just about every seat in the small shop (that wasn't a booth, because they made her feel awfully small) was taken, so after taking a browse of all the patrons at the lower tables by the front window, the lawyer chose one, picked up her teapot and cup, and walked over to greet the older man. Considering that she hadn't spent much time around Pilot Ridge between graduation and her return in January (read, no time at all), she had barely recognized Sean despite the fact that he still looked so much the same. Recognizing any of her other peers was a big stretch, and she didn't expect anyone really to remember her either, save the telepath and his ex-girlfriend.

"Excuse me," she asked, trying to catch the attention of the reading man politely. "Would you mind if I sat here?"

[Mike Batista]

One of the things Mike liked most about coffeehouses was the smell. Even as a child, he'd loved the scent of coffee, and within a coffee shop like the Velvet-Tone, it mixed pleasantly with the baked goods on offer and the various teas in a way that it had no right to and still be appealing. He considered a bun or a scone, but... nope. Had to watch his waist. He'd had some scrambled eggs for breakfast at home before he left, with some toast and salsa. Mike sipped his tea instead.

When a diminutive lady who appeared around his own age spoke, Mike looked up from his reading and automatically smiled. "No, no, please sit. I don't mind at all."

He didn't recognize her, though given their age difference while at Hammel and the amount of time between then and now, it would have been remarkable (and improbable) if he had. The scents of their tea mingled nicely, and Mike hastily moved some of his newspaper and inserts out of her way.

"Feel free to read whatever you like," he said, gesturing to the mass of Sunday news.

[Lyn Ivchenko-Lewis]

Lyn wasn't much of a coffee person. She didn't like the flavor, but the smell didn't bother her very much (not as much as mint tea), so coffeehouses were pleasant places to be when she wanted to relax and simply enjoy a cup of tea. Though not as fond of coffee pastries as some (which were either filled with coffee beans or sugar), she did occasionally enjoy scones. Especially the little vanilla icing-coated ones that the Velvet-Tone carried regularly. But, alas, they were out, and so she would simply go without.

The gentleman at the table seemed to have no objections (quite the contrary, actually), so Lyn dipped her head graciously and placed her tea opposite of him on the table. "Thank you," she offered as well, removing her short trenchcoat and scarf to lean them over the back of the chair. The room would become uncomfortably hot if she were to keep wearing them indoors.

Taking her seat, the lawyer added, "Again, thank you. May I see the business columns?" Though business law was not her strongest suit, there had been times when the feline meta had been called to serve papers for accounting fraud. Since then, she had learned it was easier to track the local businesses with the town's own paper. Bigger news involving bigger corporations also tended to give insight to the political climate, including new laws that she needed to keep on the lookout for.

[Mike Batista]

With enough milk and a bit of sugar, Mike could drink coffee. It was one of the few beverages on constant offer at work, and it was healthier than soda but offered the same caffeine pick up. Still, past the drink, he only really liked mocha ice cream, and that was the extent of his coffee repertoire.

Under the trench, the woman was dressed smartly, as if she'd just come from a business meeting. Or perhaps church. Mike didn't go on his own anymore, but had gone to various houses of worship in the past if it was particularly important to whoever he was fostering.

"Business?" Mike raised his eyebrows at the pile of papers, and smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, I don't know what section that is. I skip it." He chuckled. "I'm just a teacher. Mm. Must be in here somewhere." Ruffling through the stack, he found it. Since it was from the Burlington paper it was bigger than any section of the same would be for Pilot Ridge. Mike glanced at it briefly as he handed it over, but nope, nothing that meant anything to him.

[Lyn Ivchenko-Lewis]

Oh, a teacher, hm? That meant something a little different in this town, to the people who were in the know. Well, he could be a teacher at the local non-powered schools - best not to assume. "A teacher?" the diminutive woman asked, a flicker of interest in her eyes. "Do you teach at the Institute, or perhaps one of the more local schools?"

Taking the pages with a polite murmur of thanks, Lyn briefly scanned the first page while she waited for his answer. There was an article about a CEO that had moved from New York to Pilot Ridge in the last few months that caught her eye, mostly because she recognized the name "William Goldman" very readily. As for the rest, it was the usual stock prices, openings and closings of businesses, and a few ads for things in Burlington and Pilot Ridge both. There was a continuation of the Goldman article on page three that would give her more information, but she wasn't terribly interested in it now. Right now, she was more interested in figuring out what exactly the man before her did for a living.

Considering her dislike of teachers and trainers during her own days at Hammel, the feline half-shifter had a remarkable level of respect for them all now. After all, they dealt with people like herself far more often than people ever should have to.

[Mike Batista]

Since she brought it up, Mike smiled and replied in a friendly, if low voice, "At Hammel, yes. I'm a trainer there as well as an alumni."

Might as well get it all out into the open. He watched as she took up the business section, wondering if there was anything interesting there. For a small state, he doubted there was much going on, but then, he'd never been a businessman. As she scanned, he leafed through another circular and removed two pages with coupons to his small pile, while sipping his tea.

Though it wasn't overt, Mike watched her reaction out of the corners of his eyes. With PUSE all over town, he couldn't be too careful.

[Lyn Ivchenko-Lewis]

"Hmm," the lawyer answered, the tone interested as she searched his face. "A trainer, then. Well, you must have your hands full, I'm sure." Trainers, she thought, had one of the least appreciated jobs out of everyone on the staff, mostly because they were required to be employed and students often loathed them. She had held a certain degree of distaste for her trainers to the point of refusing to go to lessons pretty regularly until she was fifteen - she was much more comfortable walking around in her fur than shifting in any case.

Not that it was her trainer's fault, and when she started looking around at work and volunteering at the time, she finally started taking it seriously. If begrudgingly.

"When did you graduate, if I might ask?" Lyn was also a Hammel graduate, and judging by the man's looks they may have been in school together. it was possible that (like her) he didn't look his age, but more often she assumed people were younger rather than older than they seemed. She just happened to have enough stress in her work to tack on about ten years of lines and a whole lot of grey.

The tea should have been steeped by now, so Lyn poured some into her cup and took a small sip. Just about perfect, and more than ready to drink. Her scanning of the pages brought up only a few useful bits, but nothing terribly interesting that couldn't wait until she went back to the office. Besides, the conversation with the gentleman in front of her was a little bit more interesting now. She wasn't surprised or outraged by his admission of ability or workplace; merely intrigued. If the subject of PUSE came up at all... well, he would find her more than happy to tear into them without mercy.

It was a cat thing, she supposed.

[Mike Batista]

"Never a dull moment." Which was, sometimes unfortunately, true. Trainers held similar positions as physical therapists, the way Mike saw it. Meaning, the people who had to make use of them typically did not like them, often hated them, and only really appreciated them once they were no longer necessary. It was rare for Mike to have more than one or two kids in his roster every year that either liked their powers or liked training. Of course, the way he ran his sessions probably had something to do with it, as no one really liked doing laps, but it was a good warm up and showed him what his kids' moods and physicality were. Still, even with all the animosity and outright hate, Mike liked his job and liked helping the kids find their control. He was a necessary part of their time at the school, and he was ready to do whatever it took to get a kid competent, even if it meant being disliked.

"Arrived in '69, graduated class of '74," he said, raising his cup to her before he took a sip. "Came back to be a trainer in '87." He quirked an eyebrow. "Yourself?"

She hadn't said as much, but he'd try it. At the very least she hadn't voiced any negativity about it, and seemed to know what a trainer was.

Mike didn't know (and didn't care) whether he looked his age or not. But if he thought about it, he knew he looked at least fifty-five, if not older. He had the weathered look of one who spent time outdoors in the sun, the lines on his face were deep from smiling, frowning, and laughing, and his hair had lost the last of its black five years ago. But he was still in shape and in good health, with none of the usual signs of aging so many of his contemporaries had, like high cholesterol, blood pressure, or blood sugar. But his side effects were starting to take their toll, and Mike was cautious.

Smiling again, he held his hand out. "If we're going to be trading school dates I suppose we should introduce ourselves. I'm Mike Batista."

[Lyn Ivchenko-Lewis]

Lyn could believe it; even in the group classes, training had often been a chore for the kids. She could only imagine what it was like for the people that ran the events.

"Really?" So, he'd been at the Institute around the same time she had. Imagine that. "1971, graduating in '76," she replied, amused that he'd deduced that she'd attended she school for metahumans as well. Not that it was hard; she gave enough information for such an assumption. "Studied an practiced law in New York until early least year. Never really thought I'd come back here, to be honest, but times change."

Taking the hand and shaking it firmly for a small woman, the lawyer smiled. "Lyn Ivchenko-Lewis," she returned, "though if you'd seen me at school I went by Rose then."

Such a silly thing, really, mostly because of the hippie movement and her parent's own love of their daughter (and amusement at her personality). Still, when floral names backed out of style and a more professional tone was needed, it was easy to start over in New York with a simple nickname change. "Lyn" was a bit more intimidating that "Rose", and just between her and the court system, she could still pull out a confession if she shifted before an interview. Whether or not it was admissible was another thing entirely, but it still worked on young punks.

"What made you decide to come back?" she asked, sipping her tea as she watched her former classmate with curiosity. She'd never wanted to come back to Hammel for any reason and had left Pilot Ridge behind faster than she could blink. She still never wanted to teach at that school, but at least the quiet town was still giving her enough to handle in caseloads. Maybe she'd creep back into the school yet. Then again, probably not - former prosecutors make terribly aggressive teachers. And she wasn't quite the right age to be training people, even if she had the faintest idea of how to go about it. Shifting in her way was all she knew, and she couldn't think of a way to wrap her brain around the other powers, even physical ones.

So, yes; her respect for trainers had bloomed over the years. Even if it was still a shrinking violet among a bramble of thorns.

[Mike Batista]

Their time overlapped, but Mike didn't remember her. Given the years, it probably meant she was younger, and honestly, outside of his small group of friends, Mike hadn't paid much attention to other students unless there was something overly unusual about them in either power or behavior.

He smiled. "I didn't think I'd come back either. Graduated college in San Diego, became a gym teacher there."

Some of his family thought his divorce had something (if not everything) to do with his move, and they were not entirely wrong. Mike had wanted a fresh start after he'd finished paying his alimony, but hadn't anticipated moving all the way across the country to do so. But there were trainer openings, and Mike had a power uniquely suited to it, as well as having studied child development for his phys. ed. certification. The match had suited him, fit well, and even more than twenty years later he enjoyed his job.

He didn't recognize the name, but he smiled at her all the same. At home, his nickname stemmed off of his given name, Miguel, but he'd been christened 'Mike' at school by the other (non-Latino) kids when one of them had said that 'Mig' sounded too close to the girl's name 'Meg'.

"Hammel needed a trainer and I was looking for something new," he said. "What made you come back? Are you joining one of the firms here?"

[Lyn Ivchenko-Lewis]

"San Diego's nice," Lyn agreed, nodding to show she as listening as she sipped her tea. The oolong here had such a nice flavor. "Is that where your family is? Southern California, I mean."

That was the reason she'd stayed in New York so long. Boston really wasn't that far away, so she could visit her parents regularly. Not to mention that her best friend Maggie Donovan lived in New York, and that woman gave her the joys of children when she couldn't have any of her own. It was something the prosecutor only lately began to regret, but she was glad for the opportunity while she had it. She still called Maggie and the kids every weekend, just to keep in touch.

"Oh no," she scoffed lightly with a chuckle. "I'm not a defense attorney. The city is just becoming a younger game, and I thought it was time to take a step back and go somewhere a little less hectic. I work for the city court and occasionally travel to Burlington for a case, but there's more luck training new prosecutors than being a relic of the court."

Not that Lyn was old, nor was she saying she couldn't do her job. She just knew when it was time to add a protégé to the list of things to consider.

[Mike Batista]

"My family's originally from San Diego, but my siblings and their families are all over California now." Julio was still in San Diego, but Dominico was in San Bernadino and Consuela was in Los Angeles. 'Suela wanted to move back to San Diego, but not till her youngest graduated college. He didn't mention his ex-wife, who was also still in San Diego. They had a good relationship, but Mike thought part of that had to do with the distance between them and their infrequent contact.

While Mike wasn't unintelligent, he knew very little about lawyering, and he didn't understand the reason she gave for not joining the local firms, as a defense attorney. But he could more than understand downshifting a career due to age and experience. He didn't have as many students as he'd had even ten years ago, though he had a decent crop and didn't shirk his duties. The powers that came in tended to dictate the trainer, and since he didn't have anything to do with the mental set his trainee roster fluctuated from year to year.

"So is Pilot Ridge treating you well?" He shook his head a little. "I remember coming back, seeing it as an adult. Slower. Kinder. Quieter. But after New York? It must be like having your ears stopped up."

Taking a sip of his tea, he thought for a moment. Given the range of years... "I take it you remember Sean?"

He didn't mention the surname. If she knew him she'd know exactly who he was talking about. In Pilot Ridge, Dr. Neville had more single name recognition than Cher or Madonna (or whoever else was running around these days with one name, Mike couldn't keep up), some of which had begun during his tenure as a student.

[Lyn Ivchenko-Lewis]

The younger woman nodded with a smile. Families were like that when they were large enough - branching out all over the place, seeing new places and bringing new experiences to the record. Considering that her own family was very small (she'd never even met her mother's family across the water), Lyn was the 'adventurer' of the set. And the last of the line. Technically.

"It's definitely slower paced than I'm used to," she admitted, though not unkindly. "But I came here the first time from Boston, which is enough of a shock on a city girl, so it's very close to how I remember. More people now, more shops, but still a quiet little place in the mountains." Granted, that's exactly what she'd been hoping for when she came back - the city dweller in her was still adjusting, but the feline shifter felt more relaxed now that she could walk around outside in her alternate (and more natural) shape.

At the mention of the (now) psychiatrist, Lyn gave a brief snort of amusement. "If I didn't, I would have to check myself for dementia," she replied dryly. "Man only dated my best friend for the majority of my years at the Institute. Fortunately, he and I are on much better terms these days, though I swear he hasn't changed a bit."

The jibes were, of course, made in good jest even if they sounded biting - New York humor. She found the tall man to be quite good company nowadays. It was a good reminder of the past, like Maggie, without being too locked away in memory. Time had gone by, things had changed, but as much as things changed they stayed the same. Pilot Ridge was just one of those places.

"I bet you see him more regularly than I do, given your position," the small woman added, looking up from her tea again. "Unless students are much less trouble now than they were forty years ago." Hah - unlikely. She'd been working with the district courts for decades now, and it seemed like first-time offenders were getting younger every year. But there was always some hope to be had for the students in that secretive little school. Some.

[Mike Batista]

As far as he knew, Mike was the first Batista to go to Hammel since the school's founding, though he knew his in-laws had had a few metas in their families as well. That made him the first of his family to travel so far from home as well. The furthest the next closest had come was Ohio, for Oberlin College. There were extended relations in Mexico, his father's family, but Mike had never met them.

"The town's slower, but the school's wilder," he said with a smile. After teaching regular high school, Hammel, with its wider range of ages and meta abilities, was never boring. "I don't think Pilot Ridge has changed all that much in the time I've been here."

Though he wouldn't object to a few more proper ethnic restaurants. Hispanic, maybe a sushi place or a Vietnamese, or some Indian. They did have UK and Jewish, which was probably bucking the trend for small towns.

He smiled wide when she said she knew Sean. Of course she did. "I was older than him when we were at school, but I knew of him. Who didn't?" Mike exhaled and took another sip of tea. "Man's a rock."

The trainer didn't see Sean every day, but he saw him several times a week and often in the staff lounge getting coffee. Sometimes he stopped by his office for a chat or to speak about a student, and he'd had both the psychiatrist and his partner over for meals quite often over the years.

"They're... about the same, but the trouble they get into has changed. Forty years ago we didn't have a bowl of condoms outside the counselor's office." But past that, since Mike had come onto the staff, there were still pranks and fights and vandalization and kids trying to sabotage The Talk.

Though he wasn't in any hurry, he found himself checking his watch and chuckling. Looking over at Lyn he smiled. "I have a pair of foster kids. Late sleepers. They're probably still sleeping."

Mike was an early riser, but had had kids sleep till one in the afternoon on weekends.

"Have you been to Honest Abe's yet?"