Xaviers!

After her own experimentation with GloozeTM the previous day had left her spending hours at the bottom of a hot tub, amusing herself by blowing bubbles and watching them jitter to the surface, Robin is out on the streets of Mutant Town. She's torn, because all in all it hadn't been a terrible experience and something she could do for fun if it normally wouldn't bore her too much to lie still. But was that true for people normally less malleable than her? How addictive would this be for someone who couldn't just replicate the effects at will? How harmful to their body? Was this Super-Weed or something worse? For Ryan's sake she was kind of hoping for the former. Or for how she wanted to think about Ryan? She liked her. Why'd she had to pick the wrong side of the law? And not in a productive way. So annoying!

Bottom line is she had to know more. Both about Ryan and the whole Glooze situation. And what better way to do so than go undercover. Her Dad probably would have already done so and instead of stealing a vial just disguised himself as something in the drug bag and get carried along. Robin had never been good at that kind of stuff. Sure, turning into an innocuous object and absorbing into something was easy enough. She'd done that hundreds of times as far back as she can remember, playing with Dad. But she'd also never been as goo at it as him. Sooner or later she always got restless, unable to really put herself in that zen-like state of mind of just being something. So her approach would have to be more straight-forward. Ryan knew she was a shapeshifter, of course, but she'd just have to accept that risk and trust in her ability to work around it.

So she's taller than she normally is, skinny to the point of not-quite-eating-enough and walking with a kind of defiant anger in her step. After participating in the riot demo in Paris and seeing coppers harass folks in Mutant Town it comes easier than she first anticipated. She's got a ragged denim vest on and metal-studded wristbands, shorts and shin-high boots. She'd considered some kinda mohawk situation for her hair but decided that would be a smidge too obvious, so it's just kind of tousled and shoulder-length with remnants of neon-blue dye on the lower third or so in the process of growing out. She'd spend quite a bit of time mulling over this, making sure to include the kind of little imperfections that she usually wouldn't bother with. Freckles that don't fully compliment the look she's going for. More noticeable pores, a hint of hair-stubble on her legs, couple dings and minor scars, sprinkling of birthmarks and a couple small moles. She'd have to be careful to keep track of this stuff and make sure they wouldn't drift or come and go but really, who kept that close track of somebody. It was more about the larger picture of selling a real person as opposed to one who'd look obnoxiously perfect if she didn't also move like a cartoon character half the time.

And so she's wandering the shadier parts of town, on the look-out for people hawking Glooze.

Rather unfortunately, no one had a big "Come get your illegal drugs here!" sign out front, nor were there any catchy jingles urging kids to try the latest party drug out there. And nothing would scream 'COP!' more than the equivalent of 'hello, fellow kids, do you know where we can make a big score of a hip good-time pill?" Fortunately, the Stanton gene wasn't that strong, so Robin wasn't a total idiot.

A little research -- by which we meant slowly and painfully navigating through the 'YouTube' (how did these troglodytes live?) for recent shots of people doing a variation of the 'Glooze Challenge' or something had led her back towards Lambeth and Mutant Town, away from the river. In this part of town, the Thames served more as touristy stuff than the industrial warehouses you'd get further East, and even if that's the way Ryan was running when she got away, the idea of 'go east by the river and maybe you'll find something'? That could take days. Months, even. "ts no good.

Instead, her search took her deeper towards Brixton -- more densely packed, with a lot of housing estates -- big, brutalist, 1970s concrete slabs. By Robin's time, Brixton had been hailed as one of the big success stories of the Mutant Regeneration; the efforts of the University and public opinion (and, quite frankly, the funds and effort that the University had put into the place) had helped where the government hadn't for generations. Robin didn't know the full history of the place -- what was she, a sociologist? -- but by her time "Braxton is Britain" had almost become a joke of a cliche, the mixture of ethnicities and the powered and non-powered alike creating a melting pot of ideas and concepts and faces and bodies and colors that more progressive members of the government liked to point out was showing just how Britain had pulled itself out of the suspicion and xenophobia of the past -- the riots and subsequent lack of response in the Thatcher era, the Sus laws, the Skrull refugee scandal -- and into a new, brighter future. Was everything just fine and peachy by Robin's time? No, of course not, and debates continued and swelled about regeneration versus gentrification and the issues with highlighting 'good' people and so forth. But it was nice! Legitimately so.

You could see the early signs of it now -- the Village Market, a multicutural explosion of food and clothing and art, was much as she would remember it, even if the specific individual shops and stalls were different. But a lot of the area was rougher, and certainly less playful and friendly than the street fair area -- this was the kind of place people who hated mutants would highlight; poverty breeding violence and various 'undesirable' types. And it was here that she found herself underneath a graffiti-covered underpass of a train line, standing by a locked gate that warned of 24-hour surveillance on the alley next to the trainline, complete with keypad entry and obvious, obvious bollard for hopping right over the whole thing. This was where her research and wanderings had led her, at any rate.

Robin has to resist the urge to simply ooze through the gate like a less-metallic T-1000. She's undercover so she better get used to acting the part, regardless of how true the claim of surveillance is. So she simply clambers onto the bollard and, hand on the top of the gate, hops over with the ease of a perfectly fit body. It still feels stiff to her anyway but that claim would sound ridiculous to anybody actually watching the young woman clear the gate. She lands with slightly more oomph than she likes and actually lets out a huff of air. Stupid joints and bones. She needs to remember she's not as shock-absorbent as she's used to.

The alley smelled vaguely of piss and stagnant water, as alleys are often wont to do, and Robin would have to tip-toe around some puddles of dubious origins as she walked down behind the buildings, the elevated tracks above her to her right rattling as a train raced by -- the overground part of the underground and all that. To her left was a lot of the back doors of buildings, locked tight to prevent curious onlookers from curiously onlooking, and then an allotment, and then a lot apparently used for fly-tipping. The scenic part of the city, for sure.

But her search was not in vain, because a little while later, in the back of what looked to be a gym, there was a small cluster of pretty obvious young mutants clustered, in club gear, scrolling on their phones and waiting.

Lovely. At least she could temporarily rid herself of her sense of smell, being as firmly flesh and blood and bones as she can be right now. She still catches herself instinctively reaching for her Engine to ping the people ahead. It wouldn't do much, even if she was still back home. Considering the reason why people are likely here they almost certainly would have set their profiles to private and actually trying to look would almost certainly make them think she's a cop. She might not be versed in criminal activities but that much is obvious to her. Don't be that casual with a group of people buying or selling drugs. But a ping would still be the thing to do to inform them of her presence. Instead she has none of the technological crutches to approach a social situation she's, frankly, very unfamiliar with.

Ultimately she opts for a non-committal, borderline gruff "Sup." coupled with her head tilted in a half nod. And to make sure they recognize her as a fellow mutant she lets one of her arms elongate and smooth out, splitting into four matte-blue tentacles with a pale underside. She lifts it up as if to wave and twists them back together to meld back into a regular arm.

At least one of the people gathered was a non-mutant -- or at least, it seemed that way, considering the second and third glance he shot at Robin as she did her whole arm-tentacle thing. Still, she got a few head nods and then went mostly ignored by the rest of the group as she stood there, awkwardly waiting. The best response to social awkwardness being quietly hanging out and all that!

Fortunately, Robin didn't have to withstand that for too long. Within about five minutes of her showing up, the back door to the gym opened up. A muscle-bound man with bright orange liberty spikes, a white wifebeater, and wraparound shades came out, glancing around. He made eye contact with the crowd, including Robin for a moment, and then nodded, ushering them in.

"Afternoon gentlemen, ladies. We all experienced riders here, or do we have any first-time passengers with us today?"

So far, so good. Although she's uncertain if the guy is anything but a door-man.

"I'm good, but I do got a question." she starts, hoping this doesn't turn out to be a terrible idea. She has no clue what kind of stuff they'd be on the lookout for to spot a nark. "You guys, uh, do any bulk discounts?" she asks, scratching the side of her neck. "I got a bunch of the college kiddos feeling adventurous but they're not gonna have the nerves to step this far outta their nice little school. I don't wanna step on no toes or anything, just figgered wouldn't hurt to ask, yeah?"

"Oh yeah. We even got a rewards program set up, with frequent flier miles," the man said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Look, you wanna throw a party, we can talk, but the goody two-shoes can walk their asses down here with the rest of the riffraff if they want to get a taste, you hear me?"

Robin has to try hard not to laugh. What can she say, he's got a point and she kinda walked right into that one. A stifled snort does actually manage to escape her.

"Hey, I ain't looking to open a franchise or anything, just figured there could be an untapped market and I ain't gonna rip you guys off by reselling to a bunch of rich kids on my own. I ain't that stupid."

"But a party's worth is a start."

Where she would get the actual cash for this proposed transaction is currently under consideration as a problem for Future Robin. Near-Future Robin. But she'll figure something out. What's the worst that could... okay Ryan might know at least a little how to disable Robin should her disguise get busted buuut she also let her go - with her drugs - the other day. Unless Ryan's not in charge. Of course all of that is assuming Robin will manage to wiggle her way up the chain to begin with here, but how bad could missing crucial and even not-so-crucial steps in the shifters 'plan' really be.

"Yeah, you want to sell with the surveillance 'bot running that place, you're gonna end up in one of her secret cells, out of sight and out of mind," the spikey-haired guy said, with a bark of laughter.

"That's all you're here for, huh? Getting your hands on a stash?" he asked, the tips of his spikes glowing a brighter orange as he looked Robin up and down.

Her gut reaction to the revelation that folks think Ashlie is disappearing people is to tell them to not break the law then, but that'd be a terrible idea for obvious reasons. Even her second urge, to try and correct that assumption... well maybe if she packages as her being cocky about it.

"Pretty much, yeah. And, I mean, not like I'm gonna set foot in the school. Besides, you can avoid cameras, even if it's tricky. I bet you've had a lot more problems with that flying lion-chick." she says. It's not 'her' Nailah but it still feels a little shitty throwing her under the bus using the knowledge that she's almost certainly precognitive in some capacity. Enough to take a stab in the dark that she's caused people inexplicable head-aches by being in the right places at the right times. It's what she does, be it as an aloof professor with a knowing smile or the impulsive spitfire she seems to be here.

"Well, when it comes to the bird, it helps to fight fire with fire, y'know? We're not totally incompetent," he said, his spikes still glowing.

"And you're not here to use, are you?"

She really hopes this guy isn't some kind of precog or telepath and she's already boned. But if she is there's really no changing that.

"I mean I'll have some if it'll set yer mind at ease but I wasn't planning on puddling out. I was hoping to trade some intel for a discount, but if you're already handling her just fine..."

"I mean, if you can't pay, then you can't play," the man said crossing his arms.

A beat.

"...What sort of intel?"

She smirks a little. "Only so much I can tell ya without some promise buuuut I'm pretty sure I know what her actual power is that's always putting her in the right spot at the right time. Dunno if you've fought her personally but I bet nobody's landed a hit on her that didn't turn out to come at too high a cost. And that mes--fucks with your head, only making it worse. Am I getting close to what you mighta been hearing? Cause I know how to mitigate if not outright beat it."she says, which is at least a partial bluff but she's practiced with Aunt Nailah a couple of times and it's an infuriatingly frustrating experience. Stands to reason that this Nailah is at least in the general area, if not worse. She can't imagine the kind of menace her precog aunt would be if she actually wanted to be a proper fighter.

"What, you some kinda wanna-be tough or somethin? Messing 'round with the X-Men in your spare time?" he asked, the orange spikes glowing even brighter as he eyed her up and down.

"Maybe." she says, her smirk widening into a grin. "But it ain't always about the brawn." she says, letting both her arms unfurl into tentacles. And then, imitating the way an octopus changes color and texture, she does her best to blend into her surroundings. She can't account for the perspective without fully turning into a section of wall and giving away the extent of her power, but other than that her camouflage is perfect. And she maintains it as she lets more of herself 'collapse' into octopus and crawl up the wall. Finally returning back to normal, safe for the tentacle arms still clinging to the ceiling and making her dangle.

The orange spikes on the man's head glowed brightly, and then faded, as he watched her clambor around.

"You don't want to throw a party at all...or you didn't when you came in here at first, did you?" he said, narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms. "You wanna meet the boss."

Oh, shit. Had he seen right through her? Was her cover blown so quickly? Quick, what were the escape routes and the fastest way out of here...

"You're local muscle wanting to go big time."

"Busted." she says, raising her hands in surrender. "Figured it don't hurt to try and hell, I do wanna stock up for those Uni kids. So, like, I wasn't liein'."

"Well, we're not dragging a supply on campus, beacuse we're not crazy. We can deal with the cops 'round here; we're not dealing with the X-Men," he scoffed. "No need to piss in our own milk."

He paused and looked Robin over. "You want to meet someone today who can make that kinda call, we can make that happen...if you use. Or you can round up your gang of college freshmen looking for a good time, bring 'em here tomorrow, and someone could be here to look 'em over. Impress 'em by bringing business in, and all that."

"Hey, if it sets yer mind at ease then I'll stop the world and melt with you." she jokes.

"Let me get the others going here," he said, lifting a duffel bag like the one Ryan was carrying, and then a second box not like one Ryan was carrying. "Then we'll get you sorted, and then we'll take you to see the Wizard."

Heh. The wonderful wizard of glooze.

"You got it, bossman." she says, giving him sloppy two-finger salute.

If Ryan was just running a bag like this maybe she's just caught up in this in the middle somewhere. Unless she was handing it to the gargoyle dude. Fuck, she shoulda tried talking to him first. Still, maybe her friend isn't instigating this and just... what, willing to go along with dealing drugs? And why does she even want her to not be the bad person she so obviously is? Just cause she liked her enough to get tricked by her? Some dumb notion to save her from herself or prove she wasn't a complete dunce to trust her?

Giggling and tittering came from the other room as explanations were given and money and vials exchanged hands. Several of the people who Robin had been awkwardly waiting with outside walked back out, though notably fewer than who had walked in with her. The whine of some machinery revving up could be heard, as well.

Orange-Spike came back out a few minutes after, carrying a couple vials. "Whattdya want, cherry? Lime? Blue raspberry? I got a few others 'round here..."

"Hit me up with some lime." she says, trying not to be too disconcerted by whatever the hell is going on int he other room. Keep it cool, snoop around later.

Orange-Spike tossed a lime green capsule to Robin, and tucked the others away in his duffel bag. From the box, he then pulled out a brown drinks tumbler, poking in the straw and taking a long sip.

"Coolbeans." she says and dumps the contents of the capsule into her mouth. A mouth she's made sure to turn into a plastic container to catch the Glooze and close off before sinking down into her body harmlessly.

Instead she musters what she remembers of the physical effects and sensations of the drug and loosens her body into the kind of translucent blob the drug did previously. Only green because she hopes that that's the only difference in the 'flavours'.

Orange-Spikes took one more sip from the tumbler, popped off the cap and shook it upside down a couple times.

"Right. In you go."

Robin gives him a thumbs-up. Or rather lifts one droopy arm and makes the vague shape of a thumb on top of the lump of her 'hand', following after Spike-Head.

Orange-Spike held out the tumbler, expectantly, tapping his foot.

It takes her a moment to actually figure out what he wants from her, then slaps her amorphous shape of a forehead and goes to climb into the tumbler, compressing herself down to fit all of her in.

Orange-Spike screwed the lid back on and briefly shook the tumbler, making sure it was closed tightly and Robin wouldn't spill back out.

"Right, good and comfy in there? You just bliss out for a bit. Gotta couple things to finish up first, and then I'll take you to see the Wizard," he said, tucking the tumbler with him as he began to lock up this back room.

The only sight Robin would have is out the straw hole; enough to tell when Orange-Spike was going from room to room but not much else. She heard the sound of whatever machinery that was getting louder as he apparently went into that other room briefly, and some changes in the pulse and rhythm which maybe indicated he was messing with some settings? That took maybe 10 minutes. Then it was outside, down the alley, and towards a bike, where Robin's tumbler was placed in a water bottle cage, mounted to the frame, as Orange-Spike began to ride.

Keeping the capsule of Glooze contained while crammed down into the tumbler proofed more difficult than she would have liked, making it hard to do much else but as they pass through the room making the odd noises she has to try and snake a tendril out of the straw-hole and form an eyeball at the end of it.

Orange-Spike at least doesn't immediately notice that, giving Robin a chance to spy the room which was...just a storage room in the back of a gym. Some disused exercise equipment, a bucket and a mop, boxes of towels. The fun and exciting world of manual labor.

Oh, and then there was the machine making all those sounds; that was probably worth noting. There was so much noise from the gym itself that no one would probably hear this thing in motion, but it was certainly whirring in here. It almost looked like a medical centrifuge, except with random polymer tubes twisting outwards from a central drum. And by random, we're talking different colors, shapes, and sizes -- narrow ones, wide ones, corkscrews, and the like. Vaguely, through the tubes, she could see something moving inside. And, since she hadn't seen everyone come out of the back room, presumably that was someone, or someones, mid-Glooze, being pumped around and shunted through the tubes before re-entering the central, spinning basin.

...Huh.

Robin's first thought is 'rollercoaster'. Some extra effort (for presumably extra pay) to turn a mellow drug vibe into something more exciting. Her second thought is some kind of science non-sense that somehow extracts more Glooze from it's users? Or worse, but that seems far-fetched, right? She's 90% sure it's a thrill ride.

She does keep her eye stalk just inside the straw-hole to occasionally pop out and get a better look at her surroundings to maybe figure out where they're headed. If he's trying to keep it from her it must be at least somewhat important.

Robin might have to keep her eye in the bottle at least part of the time because, y'know, it Orange-Spike would presumably notice an eyeball popping out of the straw of the things he was holding. Plus, the angle the bottle was at meant that her best view would be of Orange-Spike's calves pumping up and down on the pedals. But occasional peeks? That she could do.

Complicating things somewhat was that Orange-Spike wasn't exactly riding along the touristy parts of London, or the historic parts -- the parts that had looked more or less than same for hundreds of years and would look the same in Robin's time as well. He was going northeast, through areas that, in the coming decades, would see substantial renewal and improvement. That's not to say she didn't recognize anything -- they cut through what must have been Burgess Park, just from the timing, and the occasional street furniture indicated they were in Bermondsey. It just would have been easier to track the dang thing had Orange Spike taken the tube or something. Lousy workout freaks.

The bike ride ended in what appeared to be...an industrial park. Well, that was disappointing -- if she was going to have a sexy serious rival, they couldn't have a secret lair under a waterfall or something? Or at least something post-modern, rather than a bunch of warehouses, spiky fences and...hey, that was an old gasholder, which will at least give her something to go on later. Hurray for London being slow taking down some of their old infrastructure! Even if Robin wouldn't know where exactly this was now, it'd be notable enough to be able to search for later. Cool beans.

What it wasn't was somewhere obvious and important. Which probably meant it was something secretive and important! Score one point for Robin getting brought into something like that, as Orange-Spike unclipped the bottle from the bike and headed towards one of the buildings in the park.

Robin really wants to just pop out at this point, but that's just because she's restless. Not bored, this is exciting after all, but that excitement has nowhere to go as she's literally bottled up. So annoying. She does try to wiggle her weight around some to maybe indicate to Spike-Head to hurry up.

"What, you didn't get enough of a dose? Man, you Gloopheads are insatiable. Just a minute, just a minute."

Orange-Spikes popped the top of the bottle, and poured Robin out onto the concrete floor -- away from the drain, very thoughtfully. The floor itself was a little tacky to the touch, though that might just feel more sharply like that due to the gooey consistency Robin currently held. This was some kind of warehouse, that's for sure. Twelve-foot ceilings, exposed beams, pipes running in crooked lines along the walls. On one side sat a rolling garage door, with dead leaves and fluff indicating it hadn't been opened in some time. The door further in was chained shut from the inside -- no one was just barging in there without some serious force. Or permission, one supposes.

The smell of sharp chemicals and overripe fruit could be discerned even from here -- something sweet, something corrosive, something that prickled the back of the throat. Maybe with the faint hint of mildew, indicating that maybe wherever this was wasn't exactly up to code. There was a low thrum, a wet glorp, a hydraulic chuff, a faint slosh coming from further inside, where Robin couldn't yet see. In here, though, there was a battered steel wash station, some plastic tubs stacked in one corner, and a single security camera dome hanging from the ceiling -- though whether it was operative or not was anyone's guess.

"You got the shakes or somethin' already? Cause, like, we're here."

Robin mostly reforms herself but keeps a little bit of a translucent goo vibe going.

"Hey man, shit hits different when you can shift a little yourself." she says as she glances around to take in that not-so-abandoned warehouse.

"Sure, that's what they all say. You ask me, I bet you don't have any friends at all for yer 'party', right? Want it all to yourself? This is why you don't mess with what you're dealing," Orange-Spike said, shaking his head as he knocked on the door -- an odd pattern that Robin could try to memorize.

The door opened, and Robin was ushered inside. It was humid in here, like stepping into a warm sticky wall - chemical-sweet, tinged with the metallic tang of overheated machinery. A couple people in some kind of odd-looking hazmat suits were moving between some mixing vats and some...boilers, maybe? Large, stainless-steel cooking vessels next to stainless-steel work tables, some big industrial-sized freezers, loads of plastic barrels and drums, some sort of compressed gas cylinder? Heck, they even had an eyewash station. All very professional, all very industrial. All very large scale, honestly...probably larger than what they needed at the moment, at least from what Robin had seen.

But Robin wasn't being led towards any of that. Instead, Orange-Spike was headed to a small, cordoned off office next to it. "Giancarlo! Giancarlo, there's someone here who wants to see ya. Wanna-be tough girl from the university; says she's got intel and buyers."

Giancarlo -- a greying man with a dark olive complexion, in a dress shirt and tie, immaculately pressed, looked up for a moment. "Michael," he said, simply, acknowledging Orange-Spike. "You have brought her here, so I am assuming she is clean.

You are?" he said, turning to Robin, businesslike.