Don't believe in no-win scenarios

There's an awful lot of commotion going on in the tower. Sounds like Ixis has his tail in a knot over something or another. It almost sounds like he's arguing with someone. Guess he's going to head up to his quarters and sulk for a good while.

Typical, right?

Except 'Ixis' isn't upstairs at all. He's looking around the entryway on the ground floor, scowling at everything he sees with equal contempt.

"Well, this is just great." Honestly? Jim doesn't know what to do. He's got his phone in one of the magi's pockets. He supposes the first thing he should do is text Verity and see where she's at. Being all but herded to the ground floor before Ixis went storming upstairs hasn't left him with any more answers than when this whole fiasco started.

Wow, trying to grab his phone with his claw hand isn't going very well. He's just standing there like a doof.

Guess who's back in the Nexus. Well, mostly back in the Nexus. Jim is standing outside his world's door and calling Verity's phone.

What? Genius level repeat offender remember? He bought a phone in the Nexus and got her Number from Clint's phone a while ago.

It's the morning of October first. The Nexus' resident lie detector is getting a call from an unknown Nexus number. Does he have to leave a voice mail message?

New York circa 2013 isn't such a bad place, Jim has decided. There's so much to take in and watch that he's certain he could be kept busy for months on end just trying to learn everything he could. Clint had explained currency to him today--Jim knew what it was, just not how it all divvied up. He'd done a bit of research on a clunky old machine Clint had told him the name of and Jim had subsequently forgotten. Some kind of ancient PADD device on an obsolete web browser.

Some girl had shown up hassling Clint about something or another a while ago, and the archer had assured Jim he wouldn't be gone long and left. She was too young for Jim to pay much attention to, and Clint didn't need Jim tagging along for every babysitting job he ended up getting drug off to. Or it was a neighbor asking him about a leak in their ceiling, in which case Jim was just a jerk.

Wooden stairs creaked in protest when Jim finally left the apartment building, being careful to lock up with the spare key he'd gotten from Clint that was stowed safely in the pocket of his purple sweatshirt he was borrowing. Eggs again for the third day in a row didn't seem appealing, and Clint had given him a bit of money, so Jim is heading down to the corner to grab a bite of whatever awesome smelling food was being sold by the vendor he'd been watching from the window for three days now.

"Bro, look! At the corner by the falafel stand bro!"

There, at the corner, was a scruffy short haired blond in a purple sweatshirt and sweatpants, fumbling in his pocket for the correct change to pay for his order. Truly, an easier target would never happen. He didn't even look like he'd had his morning coffee yet. (Jim hadn't). The next thing Jim knows, his delicious smelling food is strewn on the street as a couple thugs in tracksuits drag Jim off into an alley trying to beat the shit out of him.

"What the hell?!" That was his breakfast, assholes!