The night air was clear with just a tang of cold - it was finally that time of the year when it was pleasant to be outside even during the night. This particular street wasn't one of New York's main attractions, with just a few dingy restaurants and bars spread along it. A few people were out here tonight, looking for food and entertainment. One of them didn't seem to be walking somewhere particular, though. Chris was standing a bit to the side, weighing from foot to foot while looking at the people who passed him by. He was waiting for someone. Someone who didn't seem to be in a rush, who wasn't walking with a group, who wasn't talking on the phone. He noticed a man just standing on the sidewalk some distance away from him, oblivious of the mutant who was watching him. As Chris looked, the man lit a cigarett and took a drag. Chris himself took a deep breath and decided to approach the man. 
"Sorry to bother you, but could I ask for a favor?"
The man looked over his shoulder, seemingly a bit annoyed at being approached by a stranger, and jumped when he caught sight of Chris. The young mutant knew that most people found his appearance disturbing, with grey, clammy skin, pale yellow eyes, flat nose and sharp teeth. His constantly dank clothes that looked (and smelled) like they'd been lived in for a good chunk of time didn't really help. So before the smoking man could brush him off he stuck his webbed hand into his hoodie's front pocket and fished out a handful of crinkled dollar bills, holding them out to the older man.
"I was just wondering if -"
But the smoking man would have none of that, and instead shook his head and started to walk away quickly. Chris started to following him, the draft of the brisk pace blowing some of the dollar bills out of his hand.
"It's just a quick favor. Please."
"Sorry pal, can't help you there."

Chris stopped following him and instead went back to pick up the money he'd dropped. He'd been trying this for some time. At least one hour, maybe more. He wasn't ready to give up, though. Tonight, he was a man with a mission. 
After stuffing the money back into his front pocket he started to look around for another person he could ask. As luck would have it he caught sight of a person standing close to the railing, looking out over the East river and the skyline on the other side. The dim light and Chris's bad eyesight made it hard for him to pick out any distinguishing features from that far away; he couldn't even tell if it was a man or a woman. He approached the person carefully, stopping a few feet away so the person wouldn't feel being snuck up on. Plus, Chris always choose to have a few feet between himself and a stranger if he could help it.
"Hello, I am sorry to bother you. I was wondering if you could help me with a thing? Please."
His voice was low, polite and hopeful - maybe the 37th time would be the charm?

((Feel free to jump in!))

Emily had been back in New York City for about forty eight hours. She had gotten her job back at the funeral home and had set up her room the way she liked. She spent the rest of the day wandering the streets of New York. The undead girl had bought a scarf for four hundred dollars and took in an off-Broadway play. She admired street art in predominately Puerto Rican streets and then Jamaican. Emily stood in a cemetery as a body was laid in the ground. She watched a couple fight and make up. Overall, she was glad to be back in the city.

Emily looked up from her thoughts and wondered where she was. Her eyes saw river and skyline. She would have to take a taxi back to the funeral home. Or she could continue to wander. It was getting late. Maybe she could find a place playing jazz or a local band with a good beat.


"Hello, I am sorry to bother you. I was wondering if you could help me with a thing? Please."

Those without homes had been asking Emily for coin all day. She was glad to help with food, but she didn’t want her money spent on spirits or drugs. So she insisted on buying objects for the needy, not give them money. She had been cussed at a few times by those who just wanted cash. Emily turned to see who was addressing her.

There wasn’t much light and the man was a few feet away, so Emily couldn’t get a good look at him. But he looked thin and he seemed to be hunched over. His clothes looked like they hadn’t been washed in a while. She assumed that he smelled, but it had been decades since she had enjoyed that sense. The Southern Belle thought of getting closer to the man, but she didn't want to scare him or come across as threatening.

“What can I do for you, shuga?” Emily had been in New Orleans, her home town, and the Louisiana area for the past two years fighting for mutant rights. Some Yankees may have trouble understanding her accent. She’d have to work on toning it down again.

The person turned around, and now that he was closer he could see that it was a woman. She had dark, wavy hair, a long skirt and a scarf around her neck. She didn't seem to be annoyed by him, which was a promising start.
"What can I do for you, shuga?"
Chris crinkled his nose at her choice of words, not out of annoyance but out of confusion. He had been called a lot of things, but this was the first time someone had called him "sugar." At least that's what he thought she'd said. Well, her polite tone was definitely encouraging, and he decided to ask her before she lost her patience.
Chris pointed with one elongated, webbed finger to one of the restaurants on the other side of the street. It was a quite small restaurant; just two windows and one door was facing the street, but through those windows you could see that the restaurant's interior was stretched out quite a bit inwards. The restaurant was dimly lit, as opposed to the countless fast-food joints in the area that always drenched their interiors in as much light as possible, and you could just make out the Japanese-inspired decor inside. There seemed to be a couple of guests, though it was by no means full. The green neon sign above the entrance read Wasabi Palace.
"Do you see the restaurant there? Could you go inside and buy as much sashimi as you can get for this?"
He was speaking hurriedly, as if she'd walk away if he was too slow explaining what he wanted. As he spoke, he dug through his hoodie's front pocket again and fished out a handful of dollar bills. They were crinkled and a bit moist after being held in his clammy hand; all in all, it seemed to be around 30 dollars. He took a step towards the young woman and held out the money towards her.
"Anything is good, as long as there's no rice in it, but preferably raw tuna, eel and shellfish. No vegetables. No wasabi."
His voice slowed down a bit, and he gave her an apologetic look.
"Sorry, I know it's a bother, and I can't pay you for it. But I'll owe you a favor."

Emily followed the man’s finger as he pointed. It seemed longer than most people’s appendages. A shabby Japanese restaurant sat on the other side of the street. The brunette had never had the chance to partake in the eastern cuisine, but it looked beautiful. The noodles, the fried foods, and especially the sushi looked appetizing. It was an art form to create such colorful and exotic dishes.

"Do you see the restaurant there? Could you go inside and buy as much sashimi as you can get for this? Anything is good, as long as there's no rice in it, but preferably raw tuna, eel and shellfish. No vegetables. No wasabi. Sorry, I know it's a bother, and I can't pay you for it. But I'll owe you a favor."

Emily wasn’t sure what sashimi was. But on further explanation it seemed to be raw seafood. That didn’t sound tasty at all. Why did this man want such food? The man handed her some cash and she realized why his appetite was different than most.

The man was a mutant. He had no nose or ears. He reminded her of a frog except his skin was grey. The money he handed her was crinkled and had a sort of slime on it. Emily looked down at the money in her hand and then back at the hooded mutant. How long had he been waiting out here? How many people had he asked for help? Had he tried to go in and they refused to serve him?

The undead mutant hurried across the street. If she had stayed any longer she would have wrapped the man in a tight embrace. She wanted to feed him till he couldn’t eat any more. She wanted to give him a hot bath. She wanted to take him to Disneyworld and ride “It’s a Small World After All”.

Sashimi wasn’t cheap. Two dollars could buy you three bite-size pieces of tuna. Thirty dollars could buy a decent meal, but it wasn’t enough. Not for Emily. She bought fifty dollars’ worth of sashimi to the requirements that the grey mutant had requested. She looked out the window to the man across the street as she waited for her order to be ready.

The young woman took his money and headed off towards the restaurant without a word before Chris even had the chance to say "thanks." Chris felt his empty stomach growl with anticipation. Getting food for himself was usually not a problem since he was good at hunting and fishing... but today he wanted to be hungry. It would be his first sashimi since he got back to New York, and had he looked forward to it with a fervor. Raw fish and fowl usually tasted pretty much the same, but the different flavors a sashimi plate offered... there was no comparison. He enjoyed hunting, but sashimi was one of the things he enjoyed eating.

It also held a deeper meaning to him, one that went back to his first days in New York a couple of years back. He'd been terrified of the city. He had found exactly everything threatening, from the way the buildings towered above him to the constant stream of cars and curious passer-bys. His first meeting with two other mutants, Meld and Mongoose, and the sushi dinner they'd invited him too had been the first thing he'd enjoyed in New York... except that it all had ended in a vicious bloodbath, mostly thank to Meld's way of responding to threats with extreme violence. He could still remember the human group's screams as she had... shredded them.

Chris turned towards the restaurant to see how the woman who had decided to help him was doing. It was taking some time, but he had waited long enough getting someone to help him. He had no problems waiting a bit more for the food.

How long could it possibly take to cut up pieces of raw fish? The mutant looked around the restaurant as she waited. A Buddha with a smile on his face sat on the front counter. A cat figure with a moving paw waived at those who passed by. Music played over the loud speaker, but it was in English. It sounded like that “pop” music people kept talking about. She glanced at the raw fish behind the sushi station’s glass. How long had if been sitting there? Was it being kept at the right temperature?

Emily paid in cash after they handed her two styrofoam containers in a plastic bag. She grabbed a fork and a pair of chopsticks on the way out and left a tip for the sushi maker.

Emily crossed the street to the awaiting mutant. “Sorry about the wait. Who knew it would take so long?” The girl handed the plastic bag over. “Bon appetite!”

Chris turned around at the sound of the opening and closing door. The young woman was approaching again, and she was holding a plastic bag with take-away. The sight of it made Chris's face lit up with a genuine smile, but as she got closer, his smile started to falter a bit.
A part of Chris's mutation manifested itself in altered senses of sight, hearing and smell. They were all greatly improved underwater, but on land his sight was worse than a regular human's while his hearing was about the same level and his sense of smell was a bit better. The woman smelled of some perfume he didn't recognize. It was fresh without being overwhelming, but... there was something else under it. He couldn't really place it, but it felt... unsettling.

He accepted the take-away bag as she excused herself for taking so long.
"No... no trouble at all. Thank you so much."
He was surprised at the bag's weight - it felt like they'd thrown in an entire tuna in it. He hadn't expected that he could get so much for 30 dollars. Either he remembered it wrong or the Wasabi Palace had some seriously low prices. Not that he was complaining, though.

Chris turned his attention back at the woman to thank her one last time, and there it was again. The feeling that his hair would have stand on end if he'd have any. He might be awful at reading social cues, but he had good instincts... and right now they were telling him that there was something a bit off about his helper.
"Sorry for asking, but are you alright, miss...?"

“Sorry for asking, but are you alright, miss…?”

Emily felt fine. She had just helped an adorable, froggy mutant. Southern Belles loved to help people, especially when helping people involved food. She wondered why he had asked such a question. He did seem bothered by something. She casually reached up to check her new scarf to see if it was covering her neck scars. She knew her sleeves were covering her shoulders. What had the grey mutant spooked? “I’m fine. Mighty fine. Why do you ask?” A fly landed on her face and she killed it quickly. Man how she hated flies.

The woman did everything that she could to seem alive. Her makeup brought life to her face. She remembered to blink most of the time. She took care of her flesh, checking it for breaks or signs of weak spots. She wore perfume to hide the faint smell of decomposition. Others close to her had told her about the smell. Someone would have to put their nose pretty close to smell anything. Did frogs have a keen sense of smell?

“I…I’m a mutant.” Emily wasn’t quite sure what had the man worried, but maybe it had something to do with her mutation. She wasn’t sure how much information she should share with the man. He seemed trustworthy, but dead things spooked most people. “And there’s nothing wrong with that. I mean…I’m alright. And I’m a mutant…who sometimes makes…other’s feel uncomfortable…” Why was this so awkward? She spoke about her mutation several times before. Maybe it was because the man in front of her had such a distinctive mutation while she had the ability to hide hers. Was she ashamed?

When she said that she was fine and wanted to know why he asked, Chris looked to the side. He didn't know what to answer to that. He didn't have a good reason to ask, except for a hint of something he couldn't really place. And if there was one social rule he'd learned it was that you never commented on how people smelled. Or, rather... he'd heard how other people sometimes complimented each other's smells and it seemed to be appreciated, but when he'd tried telling someone he thought they smelled good he was usually just met with an awkward silence. Weird, that.
The girl killed a fly that had landed on her cheek without flinching. Impressive reflexes.

When she said that she was a mutant, Chris relaxed a bit. He always felt more comfortable around other mutants, except the crazy ones who'd tear people to shreds just for fun. Well, at least this one hadn't shown any signs of craziness yet. She didn't say what her mutation was, which was alright by him. Some mutants loved showing off their abilities, others didn't. And people like himself had no choice, but he'd accepted that by now. So he just nodded and gave her a small smile.
"Ah... yes. We sometimes have that effect on people."

Suddenly a worried look came over him. There was one kind of mutant he couldn't stand being around, even if they had good intentions.
"Are you a psychic?"
The idea of someone being able to peek into his skull made his skin crawl.

"Are you a psychic?" The grey mutant seemed worried. It was true. Mind manipulators could be worrisome. The brain is such a powerful thing. Emily was sure it was the only thing keeping her alive.

“No no,” shaking her head with a smile, “I’m no psychic. But if you give me your palm I can tell you your future.” Emily had some training in palm reading from a few of her friends in New Orleans. She actually did believe in such things, but she wasn’t born with the gift. But she could read the signs. Anyone with a good eye could read the signs. “But you’re probably starving! Go ahead, finir son assiette! Eat up!”

Several feet away, Emily noticed a bench in an even darker part of the sidewalk that sat next to a rather questionable building. She motioned the other mutant to follow her and walked daintily to the wooden seat, one heel at a time. She sat down and patted the space next to her. “Viens ici. By the way, my name is Emily. Please to make your acquaintance.”

Chris was relieved that she wasn't a mindreader - those just completely creeped him out. However, he didn't know what to make of the palm reading. Superstitions were really confusing to him - he had a very practical mindset, and had a hard time wrapping his heads around anything he couldn't see, touch, hear or smell.
"I don't see how my hands have anything to do with my future," he admitted.

It was true that he was starving, though. The mutant woman was mixing words from a foreign language into her sentences. French? He had noticed her unusual accent earlier, and if he had to hazard a guess he'd say that she was from New Orleans. Chris was not particularly well-traveled, but even he recognized that unique blend of speech patterns. Although she was speaking in a very old-fashioned way... but maybe that's just how they spoke down there, he'd never been to New Orleans so he couldn't really say.
When she patted on the bench he just looked at her. Then he slowly walked towards the bench, sat down beside her and pulled up his legs under him. 
"Chris. Nice to meet you too."

He opened up the bag and took a long look at the assortment of raw fish inside. The darkness of the corner where they sat made it hard to tell the different pieces of sashimi apart by look. Chris ignored the fork and the chopsticks and instead picked up one of the pieces delicately between his thumb and index finger. He breathed in the smell of it and then finally took a small bite. It was tuna, but miles away from that canned atrocity you'd buy in the store. This was vibrant, fresh, tangy and absolutely delicious. He devoured the rest of it in one bite.

While he was trying to decide on the next treat, like a kid with a bag of candy, he glanced over at the other mutant. Emily.
"You're not from around here. Why did you come to New York?"

Emily smiled as he began to eat. She loved it when people loved food. She loved it more when it was her food, but she doubted she would ever make sashimi. The girl envied the man. How amazing it must be to eat something you love. But Emily could not smell or taste. And consumed food just sat in her stomach going nowhere until it rotted away. Oh how she missed the pleasures of eating.

"You're not from around here. Why did you come to New York?"

“I first came to New York, mmm, Fall 2011. An old friend of mine was quite ill so I decided to come visit her. Before that I was in Nawlins. Well, the bayou near Nawlins. Two years ago I went back to Louisiana. Found out they were planning on passing a law that negatively affected us mutants. The law passed, but with enough lobbying and protests, we were able to repeal it.” She sat a few seconds remembering all the hard work she had accomplished. Decades ago it was for equal rights for all skin colors. Now it was equal rights for all people, no matter their genetics. Would humanity ever change and find peace with itself? “I just got back from Louisiana two days ago. I feel like this is where the Lord wants me to be. How about you? Are you a native New Yorker?”

Emily took a moment and watched Chris take another bit of his fish. “You make that look mighty tasty. What’s it like? Isn’t it slimy?”

The grey-skinned mutant now felt more at ease. There was something so calm and collected about Emily, but there was warmth underneath. She was patient, and seemed genuinely interested in what he had to say. In a way, she reminded him about Casey. The vague smell was still there, but it wasn't noticeable enough to be disturbing. Besides, Chris had no illusions about his own smell. If you were an amphibian mutant who slept in a tub of still water and never washed your clothes (except for the occasional swim in a body of freshwater) things had a tendency to get a little... rank. If anyone should complain it would be Emily, but so far she hadn't.

Chris leaned his back against the wooden bench and listened to her story while swallowing another piece of raw fish.
"Nawlins. New Orleans," he repeated quietly, just to try out the unfamiliar pronunciation.
He wondered a bit what the law had been. Chris had been trying to be more aware of the political scene, but then he'd spent two years in the woods, cut off from civilization. He always had problems with grasping the bigger picture. Many people he'd talked to chalked it off as ignorance, but it had more to do with his inability to see the connection between the official decrees people wrote down and what went on in real life. Still, he was at least trying to get a better grasp of the situation.
"What was the law?"

He shook his head as he answered her question.
"No. I'm from Wisconsin. My grandfather raised me, and I basically grew up outdoors. Hunting, fishing, swimming..."
He let one of his fingers track the bench's metal arm rest.
"The first time I came to New York I was seventeen. I like it here. It's like... you never know what's going to happen when you wake up. Who you're going to meet, what you're going to see. You can just... go where you want."
He paused and added in an absolutely deadpan voice:
"Except to buy your own sashimi, apparently."
Chris lack of comedic timing made it hard for people who didn't know him to tell when he was attempting to make a joke, but he still tried.

Speaking of sashimi... just as Chris took another piece - a smokey long strip of unagi eel - Emily asked what it tasted like. 
"You never had sashimi? Most people like sushi better, it's also raw fish but with some sort of sour, sticky rice."
He hesitated, not used to describe food or flavors.
"It's fresh. It is... raw, but not bloody. You eat it in one piece, and every sort is different. Some are more mild and almost melts in your mouth, others can be overpowering. Strong, salt, a bit smokey."
Chris frowned. His description didn't really convey the incredibly different yet still subtle range of flavors, or how just the smell made your tastebuds tingle with anticipation.
"It is hard to describe. Here, try a piece," he said while stretching the bag towards Emily.

"No. I'm from Wisconsin. My grandfather raised me, and I basically grew up outdoors. Hunting, fishing, swimming..."

Emily loved to get to know people. There was something therapeutic about sharing life stories. It keeps memories alive. Sometimes memories are all you have. “I did a bit of hunting and fishing in my time. You been noodling? Mm, that’s fun, thrilling, gets your heart racing.” She smiled sweetly at the mutant and patted him on the leg. She continued to listen.

"Except to buy your own sashimi, apparently."

The Belle let out a musical laugh. It was funny. There was humor in injustice. People had to find humor in it, or the anger could consume you. Emily enjoyed this mutant’s company. He was a little awkward, but there was a sweetness about him. He offered her a piece of fish. Emily shook her head. “Sorry, I’ll have to decline. I don’t eat.” She used her fingers to push her hair behind her ear.

There was a commotion behind the bench. Emily turned her head to see what could have made the smashing noise. The building was one story with white siding. Most all of the windows were boarded up, some of the glass smashed out. But there was a faint light coming from the building that wasn’t there when the two had sat down. A scream shot through the night air. Man, woman, animal? Emily couldn’t tell, but it had come from that building.

She asked if he'd ever been noodling, and stretched out a hand to pat him on the leg. Chris didn't shy away, like he might have done when he was younger. Instead he gave her a confused look. He still didn't get why people needed to touch each other when they were talking. Always hugging, shaking hands, giving a pat on the shoulder or on the arm or, in this case, the leg. From what he could tell, this was supposed to be a friendly, reassuring gesture. Was he supposed to pat back? When people shook your hand they expected you to shake back, so it just seemed logical to do so.
"I've never tried it," he answered while reaching out to give her a quick, singular tap on the leg. "It might be similar to what I do, though. I catch fish by hand, but I've never tried using myself as bait." 

When he offered her a piece of fish her answer seemed a bit... off. Chris waited for her to finish the sentence with I don't eat fish or I don't eat meat. Instead she said that she didn't eat, period. He'd probably misheard or misunderstood her, though. Everybody had to eat.

He was just about to ask her for clarification when a sudden noise behind them startled him. Chris was up on his feet quickly, his fast reflexes making him turn around to face the sound almost before he was aware of it. The source seemed to be the building behind the bench. Chris squinted to see if he could make out what had made the crashing noise, and jumped slightly at the sudden scream. Unsure what to do he glanced at Emily.
Right now he was battling with his instincts, who were telling him to get as far away from the commotion as possible. That would mean leaving Emily behind, and doing that seemed as a poor repayment for helping him out earlier. He decided to stick around to see what she'd do, at least until the situation would get too dangerous.
Maybe it was nothing. Maybe he was overreacting.
"Do you think someone's in trouble?" he mumbled, still trying to get a glimpse of movement behind the boarded-over windows.