No Peace for the Hungry (Effigy)

Cursing under his breath, Mat looked up at the buildings that loomed above him, trying to find some clue as to just where the hell he was. A landmark to guide him back to where he was going. Anything! As far as he could tell, he had been circling the same few alleyways and streets over and over. Frustration starting to set in, Mat swore once more and hugged his arms around himself, trying to ward off the cold.

He usually had a good sense of direction. Once he had spent some time somewhere, the location usually imprinted itself into his mind. Living on the streets, one soon learned how to navigate themselves around a city. Problem was, Mat hadn't been sleeping. And when he didn't sleep, he got tired. And being tired made him less observant. Made him stupid. Hearing the rattle in his pocked, Mat pulled the bottle of caffeine pills free, opened the top, and chewed on a few, spitefully. The whole reason he had gone out tonight was to buy them, his last batch having run out. Seemed that recently he was going through them like they were candy. They just didn't have the kick they used to have. He briefly considered looking around the city for something...stronger. Quickly, he dismissed the idea. He had left all that behind after meeting Bloom, and Trip and the others. It was probably unwise to go back to it.

So he kept walking, and hoping that he'd find where he was looking for soon.

Mat had met up with several other denizens of the street, after spending most of the money he had. Business in the world of selling art on the streets having been slow the last few days, and the nights having grown colder, his new acquaintances invited him to share the residence they were currently squatting in. Some burnt out apartment that had been lost in a string of arson attacks. It wasn't the safest building in the city, or the prettiest, but it was dry at least, and relatively warm. Now, if only he could find it again.

Entering some alley, the smell of fish and chips lingering in the air, Mat's attention was grabbed by the shrill cry of somebody yelling 'stop'. As he tried to gauge which direction the cry had come, a scream, this time more urgent, came from around a corner. His curiosity piqued, Mat went to investigate further.

Three thugs were grabbing at a girl, blocking her from all directions. Another guy, two backpacks at his feet, stood apart from them. The girl was struggling to get away from the group, visibly afraid. Not that Mat could blame her. He noticed the clothes she was wearing. Patchy, torn and threadbare, and visibly filthy. Signs he recognised. Signs of a street kid.

Mat hesitated. It would be easy for him to walk away. He hadn't been spotted yet, and it would be easy for him to slip away and forget that he had seen anything. It was a dog eat dog world, right? Bad things happend all the time, especially if you were not careful. Especially if you lived on the streets.

He looked at the girl once more. She was younger than he first realised, only a teenager. A wave of disgust washed over him. She reminded him. Of another time, a different life. Of a girl with grass for hair.

“Oi! Tough guys,” Mat yelled, stepping forwards before he could stop himself. “What the f*#k?”

The thugs stopped what they were doing, turning to face the newcomer. One of them, a male with an ugly sneer plastered on his face, strutted over to Mat, stopping a couple of meters from him.

“Fool, what the hell do you want? Keep walking before you get yourself hurt.”

Mat turned his head and spat on the ground, a sneer on his face. During his years on the streets he had come across all sorts of punks who put on the tough guy act. In front of their friends, more often than not. Mostly it was empty threats and big talk, but every now and then there would be the ones who went that step further. Packs made big men out of cowards, and seeing a lone, scrawny hobo tended to make them even more arrogant.

“What're you gonna do, mate?” Mat taunted. He kept the smirk on his face, showing the thug that he wasn't afraid of him or his little gang.

The thug stared at him for a brief moment, disbelief on his face. Then he reached behind his back and pulled a handgun from his pants. Pointing it at Mat's face, he took a couple steps forward. “Whatcha think I'm going to do?”

Oooooh, right. America. Guns. Second Amendment. The right to bear arms, and all that.

Sweat began to gather on the back of Mat's neck. During his time on the streets, Mat had had a knife or two pulled on him, but never a gun. Gun control laws in Australia meant that he had never really had to worry about them before. And if there was one thing that made a coward braver than a group of accomplices, it was a gun.

Mat raised his hands, showing that he wasn't a threat. He flicked his eyes to the barrel of the gun, to the thug, then to the ground. Chances were he would only have one shot at this. He brought the image to mind, ready for what he had to do.

As quickly as he could, image ready, Mat stomped on the concrete ground. As soon as his foot hit the pavement, he could feel the reaction begin. And as quickly as he could, faster than he had ever done so before, Mat willed the matter at his feet to spring to life. Almost instantaneously, a concrete fist sprouted up from the ground and drove itself between the thug's legs. Hard. A concrete uppercut. The thug's eyes bulged. There was a clatter as the gun fell to the ground, and man dropped to his knees, wheezing and spluttering. Mat allowed himself a smirk of relief.

The right to bear arms. And fists.

Mat's gaze drifted to the remaining two thugs, who stared at him with jaws dropped. He gave a small shrug, to them, and to the girl.

No point worrying about it now. Now, he was committed.

One down, three to go.

Mat turned his attention to the remaining men. One of them had grabbed the girl, twisted her arm behind her back and hid behind her, shouting orders to the other two. Sure enough, one pulled a knife and the other picked up a piece of wood. Both were now advancing towards Mat.

Glancing down at the ground, Mat swore under his breath. In his hastily made decision to use the concrete, he had failed to put enough force in to the stomp to create a full golem. And in doing so, had exhausted the most abundant and easily accessible source at his disposal. It would be hours before he could use the ground at his feet again, the duplication process negating any further attempts. The concrete hand now all but useless, Mat commanded it to leave it's middle finger raised, and broke the mental connection. He hoped the sentiment wasn't lost on the rest of the thugs.

Judging by their scowls and the way the pair began advancing towards him, weapons clearly brandished, they had gotten the message.

Glancing around, Mat looked for another source. The wall on one side of the alley was brick and mortar, the separation of the bricks making it no good for anything large. The other side had been rendered over, leaving a nice smooth surface. Nice and solid, perfect for what he wanted. Problem was, there were now two armed men standing between it and him, the thugs having circled around in an attempt to trap him against the brick wall.

One of the thugs stopped short, while the other continued circling around to flank Mat. Once they were in position they started to close in. Mat's eyes flicked from one man, to the other, then over to the girl. She was struggling against the man holding her. Mat bit down on his bottom lip, and hoped that he didn't have a weapon on him. While Mat applauded the girl's bravery, he was worried about her safety. His attention focused on the two thugs in front of him, as well as the girl and her struggle, Mat failed to pay heed to his surroundings. Stepping on white paper bag full of food, it slid away, causing him to lose his footing. Falling to the side, Mat smacked his head against something hard. His head swimming, his senses muffled, Mat swore he heard someone scream something out, though his mind was too shaken to decipher the words.

Mat reached up, grabbing hold of something, and pulled himself unsteadily to his feet. He was vaguely aware of a buzzing noise that had begun to fill the air. Another scream now mingled with the buzzing, but this one was lower. And much more frantic. Like the panicked screams of a man.

As the world started to cease spinning, Mat noticed the two men rushing in to take advantage of his fall. Glancing down, Mat saw what he had grabbed onto in order to lift himself, and a grin broke out on his face.

A rubbish skip. A solid metal rubbish skip.

Balling his hands into fists, Mat pounded on the side as hard as he could, the impact running up his arms. Once. Twice. Three times. Hopefully, he hadn't left it too late.

Two things managed to buy Mat some time. Firstly, his banging on the dumpster caused the thugs to hesitate slightly. They knew he was a mutant, and they had a rough idea of what might happen. That was enough to stop them in their tracks, even if only for a brief moment. Secondly, with a sickening thwack, the girl whom Mat was attempting to save cracked the thug holding the knife over the head with a pipe. Mat watched in amazement as the man dropped to the ground, and the girl hit him once more, shouting her hate and venom at him.

My hero?

While the remaining thug was caught, unable to decide who to attack, Mat willed his golem to life. Arms grew from the side of the skip, and the golem pushed itself free from the surface, dropping onto the ground. It stood, shorter than Mat would have liked, being limited to the amount of material available. Still, it was large enough to do some damage. At around 4 and a bit feet tall, it was shaped like a short, stocky man.

With a mental prompt, the golem ran forwards, metal feet clanking on the ground. The thug, who had been expecting something, obviously wasn't expecting this and stood rooted to his spot like a deer in the headlights. As the golem approached, it drew back a fist. The man, his wits returning to him, swung his piece of timber into the steel man. Had it been capable of feeling pain, the golem may have stopped. As it was, the 2x4 simply splintered in two, and the golem drove it's metal fist into the man's shin. A loud snap echoed through the alley, and the man fell with a scream.

The threats neutralised, Mat let out a long breath and slumped back against the wall behind him. He could feel something trickling over his ear. Gingerly inspecting his head with his fingers, they came away bloodied. He must have opened himself up when he hit his head against the skip. Ignoring it, he glanced over to the girl, still clutching her pipe.

Not exactly the way he had intended the rescue to go. Still, they were both relatively unharmed.

“You alright?”

He pushed himself upright and began to make his way over to her, when he spotted the man he had practically neutered earlier behind the girl. The thug had managed to push himself to his knees, and was holding his gun up unsteadily. Without thinking, Mat commanded the golem to run. It grabbed the girl around the waist and roughly spun her around, placing itself between her and the gunman.

A shot rang out into the night.

The bullet ricocheted off the golem and the girl finally stopped struggling against its grip. Not that Mat couldn't understand. People didn't tend to take kindly to small metal men holding them against their will. After the shot was fired the girl glared at the thug, her face turning an angry shade of red, and regurgitated a swarm of insects.

That was the only way Mat could describe it.

The buzzing he had heard earlier filled the air once more. The girl opened her mouth and the insects flew from her parted lips, straight at the man. He screamed as the swarm stung at his entire body, unable to escape it. Mat looked at the girl once more and saw the expression on her face. She was smiling, a tiny malicious smile that showed how much she enjoyed making the man suffer. Mat couldn't blame her. He probably would have done the same thing.

With the thug now well and truly taken care of, she turned to Mat and asked him to release her. With a small grin Mat commanded the golem to let go. It took a couple of steps backwards and held its hand to its forehead, in a salute. Mat broke the connection and the golem froze in place. In the distance, sirens began to fill the air.

“We should get out of here. Cops tend to investigate gunshots, and in my experience don't take all that kindly to mutants.”

He had initially stopped to help the girl because she was a street kid, but now that he knew she was a mutant as well he felt that he had made the right choice in stopping to help. Without waiting to see if she would follow, Mat turned and began back down the alley. Street kids tended to be skittish at the best of times, unwilling to trust strangers, unsure of any ulterior motives. He understood that. He had been there himself. He had done what he could to get the girl out of trouble, but she had no obligations to him because of it. Now, if she so chose, she was on her own. But you helped out your own, whether mutant or homeless. That's simply how it went.

She would follow him, or she wouldn't. That was all there was to it.

>>>“Hey, wait up...”

The echo of footsteps gradually grew louder as the girl jogged to catch up to Mat. He smiled, glad she decided to follow him instead of disappearing into the night. Soon, she caught up to him and fell in step, giving Mat an awkward smile.

>>>“Um...thank you. For back there. You really helped me out of a jam.”

“No worries,” he replied with a smile of his own. “Thanks for smacking that bloke with the pipe. I may have gotten in a little over my head.” He laughed, still a little embarrassed that he had to be rescued by the person he was rescuing.

The end of the alley lay ahead, opening out onto the street. Before they got there, Mat paused and reached into his pockets for the bottle of caffeine pills. He took two in hand and dry swallowed them. Not that he particularly needed them, but it was a habit, something familiar. He took the time to inspect the girl closer, now that all the drama had died down. She was a scrawny little thing. Mat wondered when she had last eaten. His own stomach gave a tiny, sympathetic growl at the thought. There was also the smell. It lingered around her, a smell he himself wore at times. One he was familiar with. It told a tale of dumpster diving and living in whatever filth you had to. A smell of survival. He didn't wrinkle his nose, didn't screw his face up, made no indication that he had even noticed it. The girl was obviously living hard, and he was in no position to judge.

“You know,” he began, after debating whether or not to reveal this, “if you were just some regular citizen, I probably wouldn't have helped you.” He didn't say this to be cruel, or to make himself out to be some champion of the helpless. It was a fact, plain and simple. He wasn't a hero, not by a long shot. But he was prepared to stand up for those like him. Those without a home, those who lived on the extreme fringes of society.

Those no one else would bother sparing a second glance.

He sucked some air between his front teeth and made his way onto the street. He checked the damage to his head once more. The bleeding seemed to have slowed. Probably meant it wasn't a serious wound. He would live.

Sticking a hand in his pocket, Mat fished around for any cash. He felt a couple of crumpled up bills and a few coins. He was sure that he had left enough cash for a few more meals. Soon though, he would have to sell some more sculptures.

“After all that excitement, I'm pretty hungry.” Mat stopped and nodded towards the fish and chips store they were standing in front of. A sign hung over the door, reading Fishy Joe's. Not the most appetising name in the world, but when you used to eat from bins you soon learned not to be too picky.

“You want anything?”

>>> “Thanks...but no. I have plenty”

The glance the girl gave the restaurant did not go unnoticed. Mat had been on the streets a fair while now. Any shame he once felt about his situation had passed. Indeed, he even felt a sense of pride about being a street rat these days. Despite the cold, despite the hard times and the lean times, to Mat the streets symbolised the freedom he so desperately sought. He wasn't tied down to a mortgage, or to a landlord. Bills were of no concern. No need for him to waste his life away in the faceless anonymity of the 9-to-5 crowd. Money was not a concern for him. Apart from needing to eat, Mat honestly had no real need for money. He could find, or failing that, pilfer anything he needed. As long as he had enough to not starve he was okay. He was completely off the grid, unencumbered by society's expectations. He wore his homelessness as a badge of honour. So it was easy for him to forget that other vagrants didn't always share his sentiments.

The poor girl was probably too embarrassed to go inside.

>>> “My name is Agnes.”

Agnes. An old fashioned name. Mat gave the girl a friendly grin as he took her hand and shook it. “Nice to meet you Agnes, I'm Mat.” He glanced through the window of the store. There were several customers inside, but no one waiting in line. He released the handshake and wandered to the door, pausing before he went in. “I'll only be a sec, if you wanna wait out here.” She had chosen to follow him rather then go off by herself, so it was safe to say that she would stick around. If she bolted, then that would be that. But Mat knew that trying to force someone like her to stick around was an invite for her to run. By giving her the option to make her own decisions, Mat hoped that she would realise he wasn't trying to force her into anything.

He pushed the door open, and immediately all eyes turned in his direction. It was a common reaction. The general public often couldn't believe that a street person would have the means or the inclination to enter their domains. His very being was often an affront to their delicate sensibilities. Instead of shying away from the staring eyes, and twisted looks of disgust, Mat put on his winning smile and strode forwards, head held high. Every gaze he met quickly turned the other way.

As he approached the counter, he saw the serving girl struggling to put on her service smile. He widened his own smile and looked up at the menu trying to decide what he wanted. “Hi, can I get a box of fried prawns, two serves of chips, and...two cokes.”

“Um...sir? You're, uh, you're...”

“Bleeding?” Mat finished for the girl. “Yeah, I'm aware of that.”

The girl scurried off to place the order, and Mat fished out the money from his pocket. There was less than he originally thought, but still enough to cover the food. He had ordered more than he was planning to eat. Agnes may have declined his offer for food out of pride. If so, the option of 'helping' him finish his own meal was always on the table.

Just because she was homeless didn't mean she couldn't enjoy food from a kitchen, rather than the garbage.

As he waited for the girl to get his food, Mat glanced back at the entrance. Agnes was still standing outside, waiting for him. That was good, she hadn't run. He supposed that she may have been shaken up about the attack, and he couldn't fault her for that. If the slight tremor that had sprung up in his hands were any indication, so was he. More than likely the adrenaline of the fight was wearing down.

“Here you go sir,” the girl behind the counter chirped. She handed him a plastic bag with his order in it, and Mat handed her the money. With a smile, and a thank you, Mat grabbed a handful of serviettes from a dispenser and strolled out of the shop. He briefly considered leaving a sculpture in his wake, just to mess with the clientele a little. However, figuring it would bring too much unwanted attention, Mat decided against it.

He stepped out into the cold night air and saw Agnes eating from an crumpled old bag of fries, most likely fished out of the bin he had hit his head on during the fight. He remembered her screaming something about the thugs interrupting her dinner, while she was pounding the crap out of one of them with her piece of pipe. She was probably scavenging for food when they came across her.

“Here, have a chip while they're still fresh,” Mat offered, holding the bag out to her. “I think they gave me too much food, there's no way I'm going to be able to finish all this.” He gave Agnes a wry grin, to show her that he wasn't offering out of pity. Even though, he kind of was.

“I guess my eyes were bigger than my stomach,” he smirked.

There was something about this girl. A timidness, a bitterness at the world, a sadness. He had seen it often on the streets. Downtrodden kids who had nowhere or no one to turn to. Betrayed by those who should be protecting them. He wondered about Agnes' parents, and whether they knew that their daughter was living in the streets. Maybe she didn't have parents. Or maybe her parents were the reason she was here and not at home.

Unbidden thoughts of Bloom suddenly entered his mind. When he had first met her, she was so scared and alone. So clearly a mutant, she had had nobody until the day Mat met her. The first mutant he had ever met, not including himself of course. Likewise for her. It all seemed so long ago. Another lifetime. Mat pushed the thoughts away. This was not the time, nor the place.

Still, he couldn't help but think that the only reason he wanted to help Agnes so much was to make it up to Bloom. For failing to protect her.

“So, know any good places we can stop and eat?” Again, if he gave Agnes the choice of where to go, chances were she wouldn't feel threatened.

Patience, then trust.