MetLife, Didn't Like Him

The early evening was Gina's favorite time of day to fly. Though the setting sun made visibility less-than-favorable, it was by far one of the prettiest sights to see. Most New Yorkers were commuting home or settling down for the evening, to preoccupied with their own lives to turn their gaze skyward. From here, where the smog didn't choke her, where the noise could barely reach, and where none would notice her, Gina found sanctuary. She lingered over rooftops, letting an unseasonably warm thermal carry her wherever it chose. She barely beat her wings, spare the occasional tilt here or there to readjust her position.

Gina squinted her eyes against the light, relishing the warmth that washed over her face from the sun's light. It was nice to get out of the Mansion-- it wasn't that she didn't love Xavier's, it was just that, after a while, any walls began to feel like a cage to her, which made her feel like she had to get out. For the most part, she'd simply walk around the grounds, or the neighborhood, but there were occasionally times where she'd take off and let her wings carry her over the city. This evening was such an evening as that.

She'd gotten more adept at recognizing buildings by their roofs, having come to familiarize herself with the city little-by-little over the past few months. However, Gina's confidence wasn't so great that she would dare to stay out past sunset. It was much more challenging to navigate in the dark. She drew close to the MetLife building, which she knew to be said building by its heliport. Many buildings had their own pads for helicopters to land on, but she knew this one to be MetLife by the surrounding buildings. The helicopter was not home this evening, its pad instead occupied by a man who was watching the sunset.

"Funny place to watch a sunset," Gina murmured, cutting to the left so as to opt for a different route. She wasn't used to seeing other people up here, and thought it funny for a human to be standing on the roof, watching the sun set. But, however strange it was for a man to be on the roof, it was even stranger for a gargoyle to be flying over the city. Since Gina didn't want to startle him into a stupor, she began to redirect where she was flying, making the careful attempt to stay out of sight.

Gina was about to turn her attention away from the man when something about him took a hold of her attention once more and wouldn't let it go. Where the nondescript man had once stood, a strange mass now grew, rippling out from around him. A mutant man? Gina turned, retracing her path towards MetLife once again. When she was just over the heliport, she swooped down and suddenly veered upwards before settling on ground that was unclaimed by... whatever that purple stuff was. A small breeze kicked up around her, announcing her presence as she landed.

"Good evening," Gina called out, her voice a few notches below a holler as she approached the man. She only drew within three feet of where the purple matter was, as she was uncertain of what it was or what it would do to her if it touched her. Either way, it looked gross, so even if it didn't do anything, she didn't want it on her feet, "Lovely sunset, this evening."

Come to think of it, she didn't know the man, either, but there was a certain community in amongst mutants. Even mutants that were mentally pretty far gone or downright evil still treated others of their kind with a grain of a humanity, at least in Gina's experience. She was sure that there was a mutant, somewhere, who was just a butt to everyone. Well, if the man that she now addressed was any such man, she could just as easily jump off the roof and return home, without so much as a second thought.

The man turned, studying her with an unreadable gaze. Gina held her arms clasped behind her back, still skirting the edge of the purple mass that surrounded him. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, forcing her gaze away from the gunk as the man spoke. His voice was no more than a growl, as if it were a rusted hinge squeaking under the strain of disuse. It was very difficult to hear.

'First one I've seen... in seven years. It hasn't changed.'

"Seven years?" Gina echoed, almost floored by the idea. Inside, for seven years? She went crazy when she was inside for a matter of days, the idea of being stuck inside for a week terrifying her. Seven years was inconceivable, "That's a very long time." She could imagine that, after not seeing the sky for seven years, the sunset would be quite beautiful, "I'd go crazy if I was stuck inside for seven years." She was quiet as the man seemed to speculate for a moment, as if attempting to work through what to say next.

'Trenchfoot,' he said simply, before returning his attention to the sunset.

Gina tilted her head in confusion, arching her brow as she attempted to piece together what the word meant. Trenchfoot. She gradually came to figure that was his name, or what he opted to go by.

Surveying her surroundings, she noticed that there was a wall encompassing the perimeter of the roof, a wall that was both unclaimed by the purple gunk and wide enough to perch on. She fluttered over to the wall and curled her feet around it for balance. Teetering as she went, she wobbled her way along the unclaimed wall until she was within about two yards of the other mutant, Trenchfoot. She then plopped down, adjusting herself so that one foot dangled off of the roof's edge, and the other was tucked up under her.

"Gina," she replied, "Nice to meet you, Mr. Trenchfoot." She wasn't sure about his age, as the stuff that covered him made it difficult to perceive, but she assumed that he was older than her. Though humans would react with a knee-jerk unease, or perhaps fear, at such drastic mutations, Gina was more intrigued. From this new position, she had a better perspective at which to give to give Trenchfoot a once over. His face was human, but his skin was covered in a coat of the purplish, greenish-reddish gunk. She returned her gaze from his skin to his face again, perplexed by the contrast of the humanoid flesh on the distinctly inhuman skin. His eyes were interesting, though, which is where Gina directed her gaze. They were almost hazel, but with a sicklier tint.

"Is the purple stuff dangerous?" she asked hesitantly, glancing down at the ground below them. If some of it got on her, she wouldn't fuss, even if it was quite the sight to behold. However, it was dangerous or corrosive, she'd be certain to avoid it. Even if Trenchfoot didn't seem all too threatening, she didn't want to be the victim of an unintentional purple-gunk attack.

The goop retracted following her question, retreating back under Trenchfoot's attire. It retracted with a strange crawling noise that made Gina's skin crawl. She rubbed her arms, pushing the goosebumps down. She wore a couple of camisoles which, though unseasonable for most, was perfect for her in this kind of weather. She also wore a hoodie, which was fastened around her waist, and a pair of jeans with tattered hems. It didn't feel very cold but, if it was, she'd use that as an excuse for the shivers of her skin.

'Not dangerous. Just living.' Gina nodded to show that she comprehended. Okay, then-- if it wasn't dangerous, then it wasn't any concern of hers. She turned to face him, swinging around so that both feet were on the roof-side of the wall and her tail now hung over the edge. She clasped the wall with one hand and leaned to the side, allowing for Trenchfoot to literally "pull himself together" in silence.

When the gunk had finally, fully retracted, Trenchfoot stood up, much in the fashion that Gumby would stand, curling away from the ground. From this new stance, she was able to see him fully. He furled and unfurled his hands, before turning to Gina inquiringly.

'Is this your domain?' he inquired, 'Do you make your 'eyrie' here?'

"You mean, do I live on the roof?" Gina reiterated, snorting back a laugh. For a moment, she questioned if the man was being literal, but his expression showed that he was quite serious, perhaps even concerned, with the idea of intrusion. She was more amused than offended, any potential for annoyance quelled by the fact that, hey, this guy hadn't left wherever he had lived for seven years. He was bound to say something ridiculous. She stifled the laugh until it faded into silence, hoping that her reaction hadn't embarrassed him.

"No, sir," she admitted, "I make my 'eyrie' at Xavier's. It's a mutant school, off in that direction-" she pointed past a sea of buildings, in the direction from whence she'd come, "I was just taking myself out on a little evening excursion and happened to notice you, so I thought that I'd investigate." She smiled at the notion of living on a roof. She'd often fantasized living on a hilltop or the top story of a skyscraper, but never the roof-- she did have some grain of civility, after all, contrary to her appearance.

"Don't worry yourself," she assured Trenchfoot, still wearing a humored smile, "You aren't trespassing any more than I am-- I'd never live on a rooftop, particularly that of a... hospital? It's far too exposed to the elements, and I'd rather not get crushed to death by a wayward helicopter."

'Exposed. To be seen. What was the term... Squeaky wheel... gets the grease? More appropriate... visible infection... Gets the cure. Amputation. Harumph.'

Gina smiled patiently, allowing Trenchfoot to work through the idea on his own-- he seemed to be understanding what she was saying, at first, but then he completely missed the mark. Gina had meant that, if she lived on a roof, she would get wet when it rained, frozen when it snowed, or fried to a crisp when the sun was atrociously hot. She hadn't though of it in Trenchfoot's respect. She didn't correct him, though, seeing that his attempt to find the right words was bothering him. She simply nodded and agreed, "Yeah, sort of like that."

He continued to struggle with his words, though, his struggle for clarity only becoming more and more confounding.

'No stripes... no camoflage for us. To look... is to see the Mutant.'

Trenchfoot shook his head then, as if he wasn't quite sure of how he'd phrased things. Gina, however, understood quite well what he was getting at now.

"That is quite true," she agreed, bobbing her head, "We are what we are."

'What is a Mutant School? You are... taught how to be... what you are?'

"Kind of," Gina explained, looking for the Reader's Digest version of what Xavier's was, "It's a boarding school, with all these normal classes, for mutants, as well as a safe place for people that have nowhere else to go, and a place where you learn how to be a mutant, too, I suppose." She undid the Scrunchi that had drawn her wild hair against her skull, running a pensive hand through it before refastening it in a tight ponytail once again. She wasn't certain of how to explain it simply, but her "clear as mud" explanation was as good as it was going to get. She couldn't figure out how to word it differently.

"I'm just there for school, though," Gina explained, "Homeschooling was much too... boring." Gina let her feet swing absently in front of her in a fidgety, distracted sort of way. She was originally going to opt for the word "lonely", but recalled that she was talking to a person that had been locked away for seven years.

"What about you, Mr. Trenchfoot?" Gina countered in an "enough about me" kind of tone, standing up to stretch, before plopping back down, "Where is your domain?" Gina simply had to know, especially since he hadn't seen the sun in seven years. Her blindly bleeding heart bled for Trenchfoot, an image of him being forcibly hidden away arising in her mind. If it was his decision to hide, so be it, but if he needed a different place to stay, Gina would propose Xavier's to him. It was simply the kind of person that she was.

'My domain,' Trenchfoot echoed, the gears obviously at work in his head, 'Do not have a Domain. Do not want to... be in an institution. Not my... style.'

Gina held up her hands placatingly. Her brows furrowed, and an apologetic smile touched her face, teeth peeking through her parted lips as she gave such an uncertain smile. Sheesh, ask one question, and he turns it into something all personal, Gina thought.

"Hey, I wasn't going to invite you unless you needed some place to stay," Gina said defensively, letting her hands drop to the wall once again, "I was just asking because seven years seems like an awfully long time to stay... wherever you were. I assumed that you either liked it there, or that you weren't there because you wanted to be." Gina gave Trenchfoot a purposeful stare, her face settling into an offhand expression, "But if you're alright with where you are, I'll leave you be-- just trying to make small talk, is all."

She was trying to be patient, desperately, for she really wanted to learn more about this man, but his social skills made it difficult for Gina. After all, she was a fourteen-year-old, and had a fourteen-year-old's patience for somewhat difficult people.

"Let's try a different question," Gina said quickly, "How old are you, and how long have you been a mutant?" They were pretty simple questions, pretty noninvasive, or so she thought, and were relatively difficult to misinterpret. Very to-the-point, just as Trenchfoot seemed to be.

Trenchfoot worked his way through the math of his age, announcing the year in which he was born, and when he'd gone underground because of his mutation. He turned and approached her, reading the conclusion that, 'I should be... twenty-eight. Have been Me since... twenty-one.'

"I was born 'Me'," Gina offered in reply, even though Trenchfoot had not asked, "I'm fourteen." She was half his age, and had been a mutant twice as long. Funny, how things worked like that. She watched Trenchfoot remove his shoes, quietly pondering how life might have been for him, had he been born into his mutation. She could only imagine how his parents might have reacted to him when he was born as "himself".

'I think that you are... the first other... I have met, Trenchfoot informed her, before breaking off once again, and then shifting the conversation into a slightly different direction, 'Other than... your place to stay, are you alone? Just you in the skies?'

Gina stared down at the pavement, gaze pointed towards, but not nearly at, Trenchfoot's stubby little feet as she sank into speculation, sort of taken aback by the sudden question. It wasn't invasive, but it gave her something to think about.

"I've never met another gargoyle," Gina ratoionalized hesitantly, after pausing to interpret what Trenchfoot had meant, "So, I'm kind of alone, I guess. But, there are other mutants,-" she twitched one of her shoulders in a faint shrug, "-There are definitely other mutants that can fly, but I've never seen another gargoyle." She imagined this meeting, meeting any other gargoyle, be they male or female. They would be instant friends, she was sure. And if it was a guy... oh, baby... Gina smiled at the notion of a gargoyle guy, though she knew the chances of finding another just like her was slim-to-none in a probability of occurring.

She then shifted to the idea of having a parent with the same mutation as her-- but, had her biological parents, or at least one of them, looked like her, they probably wouldn't have surrendered her at a fire station. Was she really the only gargoyle around? Was she alone? She had friends, and a foster family, but were there other gargoyles? Or, was Gina truly one of a kind? Part of her wanted to glow with pride at the notion of being unique, but another part of her was a bit uneasy at that idea. She couldn't be the only one.

"What about you," Gina inquired, "Are there others walking around, underground?"

Gina gave pursed her lips sulkily at the notion, but then laughed as Trenchfoot said the thing about gushing water. With a sigh, she replied, "I don't gush water. Perhaps drool, from time to time, but never gush water."

Trenchfoot then stepped off of the ground and onto the wall, teetering on the edge without any real fear in his eyes, as if the height didn't bother him. Gina went silent, watching him very closesly. What the Hell is he doing? Doesn't he know that isn't safe? The other mutant quoted something, but Gina had hardly heard him. She was more preoccupied with what he was going to do, and less worried about what it was that he was saying.

Suddenly, Trenchfoot leaned forward, his head leading the rest of him over the edge. Gina scrambled to her feet with a shout, adrenaline and fear bolting down her spine. Everything seemed in slow motion as Trenchfoot folded towards the ground, which rested quite far from the precarious drop.

"My God," Gina gasped, peering over the edge. Trenchfoot had suction-cupped himself to the side of the building, by virtue of a more dominantly yellowish gunk. He was suspended there quite awkwardly, but how long would the gunk hold his weight? How long would he let it?

Gina teased the potential of going after him. She probably wouldn't be able to bring him to a dead halt, unless he weighed only one hundred pounds, but she could slow his fall until he reached a lethal speed. Gina listened as Trenchfoot talked about the sewers in which he'd lived in an eerily placid voice. His voice trailed off in the wind, so that it was only a whisper to Gina's ears, but she still heard it. This guy is friggin' crazy.

"Mr. Trenchfoot," Gina adressed the man in a motherly tone, which was tight but betrayed no fear, "Please don't drop yourself off the side of the building. It would be an awful waste for you to have come above ground for this, just to throw yourself off a building. There are many other things to do."

She curled her claws into the roof, and leaned over the wall, using the lower half of her body as leverage. She extended her arms, lest he hadn't the strength to righten himself, and said, "Come on, Mr. Trenchfoot. We could find something else to do."

Something less dangerous than free-falling off of skyscrapers, Gina added on in her mind, grimacing at the thought. She wasn't certain that Trenchfoot would accept the offer of her outstretched hands, but Gina didn't care. She was more preoccupied with where the guy now stood, and gave almost no thought to the fact that, by taking his hands, she'd be touching the purple goopy stuff.