I come from a land down under. (Open)

The mansion door opened and revealed a young woman, brown skin shining beautifully in the sun in that way only black skin could, straight caramel hair hanging down her back. Cafas, who had no concept of beauty and suffering from a broken heart still mending after two years, stood from his seated position, jogged up the stairs and onto the level with the girl then opened his mouth to respond, however he was cut short by the girl's disbelieving expression. "Please... please tell me you were not the one that did that..." The statement struck him as odd so he turned to follow the girl, Arielle's, eye line to the still rather bent looking gate. " Well, I'm C.J. and I regret to inform you that was me, I can fix it if you like." He wasn't quite sure why he opened his mouth, probably some sub conscious will to be accepted. It didn't matter, he had said it, and any possible harm that could be done had been walked right into, like a brick wall. He was kind of ticked that he hadn't completely repaired what he had done, but it didn't really bother him to have another go. "And I'd like to apply for residency here, I've got no where else to go, and I was rather violently chased from my home for reasons I'm sure you'd be able to guess, so I came here."

'Yup, way to make it all worse for yourself.'

After all day listening to the New York city accent the Arielle's voice was like music to his ears, although his accent, whilst not traditionally aussy, like the crocodile Dundee guy, was very apparent to him, despite Sydney being to the outback as New York was to Alabama accent-wise, but he wasn't here to discuss accents. On the flight over C.J. had celebrated his nineteenth birthday with true style, in a turbulent plane's cargo hold, amongst all the strapped down luggage and other odds and ends. Not a comfortable birthday party by any stretch of the imagination. He had completely forgotten his birthday at the time, but he liked to celebrate. Perhaps he would celebrate better here. Damned American drinking laws.

'I didn't drink anyway. New life new habits? No, bad, we'll stick as it was!

The institute seemed to be outside the range of the perpetual smog cloud of the city and for that C.J. was grateful. He was feeling rather good in fact, well, as good as he could after a rather tumultuous flight, no sleep and a day in New York. Yup, just that awesome. His arms ached, his legs were barely holding him up and he was having a lot of trouble keeping his eyes open but he refused to show weakness to this woman he had just met. Or maybe he would. Barely two seconds after he had spoken C.J. dropped to the ground again, face first onto what he was going to assume to be marble steps, he in reality had not idea, but they were nice and cool.

' Hmm legs do not like almost forty eight hours of activity, who would have guessed.

From his vantage point on the ground C.J. could see nothing but for the pool of red expanding from his now sufficiently grounded nose. It wasn't broken, just bleeding, however it was almost impossible for him to move under a bag of solid metal weaponry. Next to his eyes he caught sight of his suitcase but it swum in and out to much so he gave up on it before he vomited too. It had been a tough couple of days and C.J. was ready to go to sleep. He didn't, after all, he most likely had papers to fill out, but he was ready to. "Not to be a burden or anything Arielle, but could you grab the camping bag off my back, and the shield?" She seemed nice enough, but he wondered, could she lift the thirty kg the bag weighed?

'About to find out I guess'

'Well, this is fun'

C.J. allowed himself to be pulled into a sitting position and watched his stuff get dragged inside. Aside from a blood-nose he also had a split knee, he could see his jeans soaking the blood into the fabric and sighed. He had about three pairs of pants total packed, and the jeans were so far the only pair not patched, restitched or crudely repaired in some other way. Realising he had been spoken to he waited for the girl, who had been struggling with his weapon supply a second ago, returned and replied. "I probably do at that, hell I don't remember a time in the past two years that I slept under a proper roof. Fair bit of an upgrade I suppose. So about these papers?" He enquired as she helped him to his feet and slipped under a shoulder for support. Pinching his nose he offered a smile. Even after all this time he found it hard not to be friendly to people who talked to him, so long as he didn't have to make the first move. Politely slipping out from her support he made his way in, walking slightly off balance, but he was sure that would pass, all he really needed was to get the bag off.

' Urgh damned back, even after all this time the effort of carrying that stuff all day hasn't reduced.'

Once inside the doors Cafas straightened out, hearing the telltale cracks in his vertebrae, those ones that said 'it's been a while since I didn't have to carry thirty kilos' Walking now at the full six foot two he was, without straining his back with a soldier's posture, no he stood pretty easy, not slouching but not rigid. He unclipped his sword from his belt and placed it on the pile of, now that he looked at them, rather destroyed bags. Walking over to a desk, still with unfinished papers on it, C.J. waited. Turning to Arielle he spoke again, another question. " If you don't mind me asking, who's in charge around here?" C.J. picked up the nearest pen and hoped there wasn't too much stuff to write, he was tired, hungry and truth be told sick of having to fight to survive. Perhaps he could get a job at the mansion? Nah that sounded way too boring, maybe he could get one in New York City. Way too much hassle. Possibly he would go the mansion, heck it had a pool, what more could he ask than safe haven, somewhere to float and read and food? A library, but he was sure they'd have one.

'Oh man, I could really go some real food, none of this fast food junk. Potato bake sounds nice, like... like mum used to make'

A tear wanderd its way down C.J.'s face, through the grime to disapear in his stubble. followed by a few more, and two years of pent up emotion poured itself out.

'Note to self, shave, and stop making a scene, mummy doesn't love you any more. That was supposed to stop the tears not make you cry harder!'

"It's obvious you've been through some hard times, but I promise you made a good decision by coming here. Just think of it as a new start. You'll be alright. I'll make sure on that personally. And don't be embarrassed about crying. It shows that you have a soul..."

'Just a few you know...

"It's been so long since I've been anywhere safe," he said, wiping away a mixture of snot and now congealing blood, "I haven't thought about my life before this in quite a while, my mum and dad always seemed liked they loved me to the ends of the earth... I guess I was wrong." He stemmed the flow of tears and breathed deeply. He didn't come here to sob all day, perhaps later he could let it out a bit better, but he had to get through all the official stuff first.

'I really need a place to stay, and be safe, perhaps I can help, at the moment I have no other real choice, although that metal woman seemed to have somewhere good enough to live. Never mind, here is where I stay.'

Arielle’s kindness only served to further his determination to stay at the mansion, after all, if everybody was that nice it would be more comfortable here than he had thought. A veritable oasis of acceptance in the desert of alienation he had come to expect. Running a finger over the wood of the desk he marvelled at the grandeur of the mansion itself, and decided if he was going to stay anywhere it would be here, until he had good reason not to.

'Although I must stop that whole falling over on the stairs business'

"Do you guys have a specific administration office? Or can I fill in al the papers here? Also, is there anything I can do around here to help, I've become quite adept in my time as a blacksmith if there's any call for one. I don't know really. Also, how much do I have to pay around here to keep myself housed?" The room smelled faintly like all upper-class places do, that almost corky smell, it hung in the air like some status banner, but C.J. highly doubted everyone in the mansion to be of high breeding, in fact, he doubted anyone in the mansion was, although, that was only due to the fact that he never could quite picture an upper-class person needing a safe haven.

'Never know, the upper class may be more strict on mutants within the family than the lower.'