Out of hand (Gina)

Rattling and loud laughing - when you're not part of the party anyway - would easily get onto someone's nerves, and that group was really pushing it by the looks of the young waitress. This mattered little to Enzo, though; he had just found a nice and relatively fresh shelter, capable of shunning the Inferno outside. Plus, his skin wasn't really that good; one would expect something else from someone raised in Italy, but his father's genes brought him extra solar sensitivity. Not that he didn't push his luck with the sun every now and then, but that was really of little importance.

Waiting, he glanced around, noticing a young girl reading a book on a table safely distanced from the bothersome group, at least physically - there was no escaping the noise. He thought there was something weird about her, but before he could focus that strange sensation people have when they feel someone is looking at him made Enzo broaden his gaze. However, he did not any confirmation about what he had felt.

When the waitress returned - on her left hand a promise of sweet refreshment, on the right the glass to pour it into - Enzo's eyes locked onto her, and he mimicked the act of eye rolling. The woman understood what he referred to and smirked, pouring the coke in a slightly improved mood.

"Grazie" he thanked in Italian. Purposely or not, small details or actions of this sort could always be expected from him, specially when engaging with strangers. Arguably, it was a way for him to know people, attract them, or simply to lighten their mood. Yet, the consequences of more Italian in that particular place promised to turn his day. Just as he was going to grab his glass to refresh himself, one of the team player's - a guy with shoulders twice as broad as Enzo's - turned him around, his face with a serious expression. A trivial thought about the man's handsome features briefly occurred to him, but it didn't seem the most urgent thought for that moment.

"What do you think you're doing?" this person asked bluntly.

Enzo raised his right eyebrow in incomprehension.

"What do you mean, man?" he asked, avoiding his usual "ragazzo" for guys; somehow, he felt it might get him in trouble.

"Don't pretend you weren't trying nothing with that waitress over there" he answered, seemingly more aggressive "Sylvia's a nice American girl, she doesn't want anything from skinny foreigners like you"

"What the hell?" Enzo thought. "I'm American, man, and I wasn't trying anything with anyone"

Tension had grown a bit, but things seemed like they would get into place; while that brief exchange of words occurred, some of the players had gotten up to calm their friend down and the waitress seemed to be going to intervene herself. Yet, at that precise second, an itch started forming around Enzo's left eye, starting from his face and ending just above his eyebrows: his power had activated, coloring that area with a sickly green. The man jumped back, alarmed, and he shouted "He's a mutant! He's going to attack me!"

What was it with the general IQ of the random people surrounding him? A few nights ago, a pair of gorilla-looking thugs (although, measuring their intellect, this might offend the gorilla population) had tried messing up with him for having a purple eye. Now, hell was breaking loose because some idiotic jock saw Enzo's facial area changing color and assumed he was readying some sort of mutant attack.

The truly fact disturbing about the unfolding events was how your normal day-by-day people inside an unremarkable coffee shop could turn into this seemingly aggressive crowd. It all seemed like a stupid situation to get into, and Enzo was seeing no way out of it. Fists clenching, more itching sensations around his body, occasionally revealing more new colors spreading like spilled ink through revealed flesh.

Just when the clash seemed imminent, a short figure broke the human wall formed around the two men. Because the space was tiny to the point of claustrophobia - everyone standing amidst tables and chairs, trying to gaze at the spectacle - Enzo did not immediately recognize this person. However, as she gently pushed him with a clawed hand, he was able to guess who she was by looking at the side of her head. "Another mutant female, what are my pheromones doing? he thought to himself; more, this girl seemed determined to end the fray just as Agnes had. It was a true deja vu.

"Now, go sit back down and mind your own business, before you do something stupid." she said to the dumbstruck fellow, whose eyebrows were as arched as they were trying to clench together, redoubling his similarities with a primate.

Things could've ended there; the girl turned her back to the situation, believing it disclosed. Enzo was still not fully aware of what had happened, a pretty smile sent to him as some sort of invitation to follow. Obviously, the jock - already high on testosterone and adrenaline - didn't feel like letting things go. After a swift horrified gaze at the girl's tale, his body bent forward, revealing the intention to move. Perhaps he had thought that the physical mutations on the girl were enough to justify any violence towards her? Perhaps he was just going to try and talk to her?

Enzo would not risk it though. Also driven by a series of emotions - his despise for idiotic jocks, fear for the girl, remnants of the fear he had felt - he moved forward. Someone shouted the jock's name, but it was too late: an Italian-raised fist connected with the left side of his face, the impact pushing it to the opposite direction. Indescribable pain shot through Enzo's knuckle bones.

"]You coward, going for a girl!" he shouted. The mistake had been clear, though. The passive crowd had it's own interpretation of what Enzo had done, and already some of the jock's friends - and the jock himself, half dazed - were raising their bodies with an aggressive stance, apparently bent on making the teenager pay for what had looked like a cowardly attack.

Heart racing, fists clenched. There was an intense heat on his right knuckle, associated with a pulsating sensation. That was it for him, the jocks were bound to overwhelm him and if he was lucky he'd wake up in a hospital bed with God knows how many nasty different varieties of injuries. "I'm an all you can beat bouffet." This thought occurred to him, drawing a masochistic smirk on his face handsome multicolored face.

Focused as he was on his not so bright future - tense muscles, eyes cautiously observing his opponents - it took Enzo a few seconds to realize that there was a new strong voice shouting orders. It took him even longer to understand that these were not along the lines of "I'm gonna kill you, you stupid mutie." His heart rose to the bottom of his throat choking him with hope just as he understood that that was his chance to escape the raging jock mob. It must've been the waitress's doing, calling that man. Good girl.

"Dio,saved by the bell" the thought crossed his mind just as his feet followed the young mutant girl's lead past the now annoyed crowd. Dazed by this unexpected intervention, the people standing in their way was easily swept aside even before they realized what was happening. The entrance door teased him, promising release from that tight unfriendly space.

At last, they crossed the threshold, having to push past a bunch of curious people who had probably been trying to get a closer look at whatever it is that was causing such a ruckus. Enzo and the girl were once again embraced by the smothering heat, which seemed to mock their return with a "compared to that I'm not so bad, am I?"

Stopping seemed like a terrible idea though. Not only were the jocks bitting at their heels, but Enzo was a chameleonic beacon screaming for the attention of any color-sensible eye and had no idea how to stop doing it. At times his skin with flash a bright white that could hurt unaware eyes.

Of course since he had only a vague idea of where he was, he really couldn't lead.

"Where to, ragazza? Fast" through the corner of his eye, distinct agitation marked the approaching thugs, and he really didn't want to be close when they got outside. Odds where they had a lot more running resistence than the mutant duo, so the quicker they evaporated from eyesight, the better.

Surprise, confusion, conflict. The girl's facial expressions caught him off-guard as they succeeded each other, exhibiting what could be clearly comprehended as plans left behind due to a new element on the equation: Enzo. However, the anxiety that followed was also clear - she would not simply abandon him to whatever it is awaited him - and his heart soothed a bit with what one could call selfish relief. He had thought about telling her to leave him if that was his intention, yet fear latched itself onto his heart, it's smothering embrace somehow stimulating the pulsating organ.

"Somewhere crowded, yet public. No shops or stores, or anything like that."

She was as lost as he was, that was clear. The clear sensation of selfishness infuriated him. He could've led the run, but he feared for her speed.

They were wasting time. He started to walk hurriedly, as if taking the head of the run. As he did so, he spoke with unexpected authority, thoughts darting with possibilities; she needn't depend on him, and was probably bound to slow him down. Yet, he could still use her help...

"You can fly, can't you ragazza?" the boy shouted over his shoulder "You needn't this trouble, but I ask you this: follow my trail from above, and if possible help me find some sort of secure shelter, somewhere, as you said, crowded. I am going to run. If you can, please, help me"

And with that, he started running, knowing she was perfectly safe with her abilities. He heard voices from behind him, and was unsure if he was being followed. A look over his head showed him jocks pointing at him. That was Enzo's cue, really. Sprinting, he took a left away from their sight over the first corner he could find, heads turning to look at this strange new colorful sight without quite understanding what they were gazing.

Voices behind him. Really, they were following? Had they nothing better to do on that blasted infernal day?

When you run, there are many things you must keep in mind. First and foremost, breathing: it must be under control, and never be excessively fast. Second, concentration: if your mind becomes too obcessed with the pain shooting from your muscles, that pain will seemingly increase, exponencially shortening one's ability to endure that strenuous activity. Finally, one must understand that there are certain tempos to the body, key points when the muscles will complain from excessive exhaustion.

Enos, of course, knew nothing of this. He did exercise at home, but that was mostly for body maintenance, so he didn't really do anything that would increase his resistance. This explained why, even with fear pumping adrenaline into every section of his body, a part of him seemed ever closer to giving in. His legs hurt from each movement. His breath was choked out of his lungs as he gasped harder and harder for more. The heat seemed to redouble the demand for a little bit of that precious oxygen, and his colorful skin glistened with all the sweat cascading from various points of his body.

The jocks did not seem to be having most of these problems, of course. Although a few had decided Enos was not worth the trouble, reason slowly returning to their hot heads while they called for some of their friends, there was still a group of three that seemed a lot more prepared to handle all those harsh running conditions than the italian teenager.

"Dio, things aren't looking bright."

That's when the girl's voice came, somewhere over his head. To Enzo's ears she sounded just like a guardian angel powerfully announcing the demise of his foes. Or, at least, the means to leave them well behind him.

"There's a park up there, follow my lead, okay?"

It was as if she had breathed life onto him once more. His legs no longer complained painfully, rather they joyfully followed the mutant girl's seraphic presence. He did not even care to look back anymore, sure as he was of the imminent victory.

"And victory goes to the good ones!" a confident smirk was drawn into his full lips, just as he saw what lay ahead.

The park: bright green gates flashed in the horizon, contrasting deeply with the surrounding cement and gloom, promising shelter at last. Nearly trampling an old man, he entered the place at once, eyes trained on the girl and her lead to any hiding place.

It seemed like that was one of those days when you have nothing better to do than try to mob a boy who punched you on the face. Enzo needed all the distracting thoughts he could, and, with the other girl's presence drawing close to the floor, mentally insulting the trio of goons seemed like the best way to help him survive that seemingly endless run.

She disappeared into a corner, which he expertly covered, seeing her on his level at last. His skin felt like an endless war zone of mosquito bites drenched in hot water, begging for him to tear it apart with as much scratching as he could. However, - since the victory promised by the park had not been attained yet - he did not stop his legs, nor did any of his nails come into contact with the colored skin.

Still, it was an enormous relief, to gaze upon that girl who not only had helped him inside the coffee, but also decided he was worth the trouble of flying around like a lunatic in search of a hideout she did not quite need.

"Your best bet would probably be the trees. I could keep flying and mislead them, and circle back once we've lost them well enough... how are your tree-climbing skills?" she asked. He nodded, not yet ready to waste any of his hair on words.

Time demanded he find some.

"I don't..." he gasped "I don't think I'm in any...condition to do...it" he paused just a bit, gasped - nearly choking on hair - feeling his muscles relaxing. That was really not what they should be doing! Nervous, he proceeded speaking in a bit of a frenzy "Your idea is good.. If you distract them, I'm sure any of the bushes around here are high enough for me to find cover. It's been a while, their bound to give up." he nodded again, tensing his tired muscles "Thank you for the help."

A wink from his eye and he was off to find some coverage. He did not see her lift off, yet there was a sound that hinted she had done so. He sprinted, feeling twice as tired as he was when he had been running. Stopping had not been the best option, of course: each muscle believed they had finished their job, cooling down and relaxing after that intense activity. Not, it was like trying to work an engine without any oil to smoothen the activity.

And yet, it felt like a game. Terror had been replaced by some childish sense of victory and opportunity to just joke around. It felt like those stories you would tell your friends and family for years to come "...and then I punched the dude in the face, and of course that was not a good idea..."

He tried to be as subtle as possible. There were people around, their attention divided by the running colorful male and the winged female flying around the park like some sort of heavenly herald. Enzo found a nice niche, scaring some kitties away as he hid behind it. The foliage was thick, requiring him to look around it in order to see what was happening. He decided his head popping from some random location was not a good idea.

His body dropped onto the grassy floor as if death had taken hold. He was a huge heart, beating acceleratingly, feeling the blood running free inside his many crevices. Slowly, lungs began sighing with full relief, resuming their activity. And every muscle - from the neck to the legs - melted with a relaxed crescendo. A chuckle formed itself on his chest, demanding release. Instead of voicing it, however, the Italy-raised teenager let out a stifled snort.