Sometimes lectures were fun, engaging and apleasure to attend. This hadn't been one of them, Artair thought sourly. 2 hours spent frantically taking notes while the professor talked at a speed reserved for sports commentators. Even a nasty headache was starting to form and he was in no mood to deal with anything else at the moment. Squinting at the time on his watch, Artair considered just going back to bed. Maybe a walk and some food would brighten his day.

Heated voices brought him out of his reverie, sounding close and not friendly. They were coming from behind on of the university buildings and it sounded like someone was in a very bad situation. Rounding a corner, he saw a large group of people trying to surrounding someone. "Grab the little freak," shouted a rough voice, "don't let it get away." Great, thought Artair, this was only going to end well. When a number of the shabbily dressed people started to shout out anti-mutant slurs at the figure, Artair knew things were going to go bad, quick.

Artair needed to watch and wait. Jumping in guns blazing would get him and the focus of the groups attention killed. He had to get help and fast. Running through his options, he realised how limited they truly were. He'd either have to call the police or risk calling the number Serena had given him. She'd said he was trying to help mutants in trouble. Well trouble was happening, it was time to make a call. 

A few buildings away Devon stood outside talking. After class they’d started talking about what they were doing post graduation. Of course, they all joked how they knew what Devon would do – was doing – after graduation. They commended him and he joked on the loving favor of his family, his late parents’ inheritance that had been maturing as he had needed, but also the cooperation of some fine, wealthy individuals, some politicians, and more than a few dedicated civil servants.

On one hand he had Hadden’s Havens to help treat, aid, and mentor the individual and on the other he had Haven to empower society while rewarding those invested in doing so. Yes, mutants needed the most help right now and yes, that was at least his aim but there were many people in Haven, and many things it would do. Still, he didn’t talk up the mutant aspect of his focus only that of course mutants were included. He had no shame in that; they knew of his Sanctuary work and even a few encounters out in the public eye: METAs, the beach incident, and more.

Devon kept trying to turn it on the others. It was getting a bit much for him, honestly. Oh he was proud, sure, who wouldn’t be, but he didn’t want to seem like he was soaking up that attention. He genuinely wanted to hear what his peers were doing.

Then his phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number but it was local.

“Sorry all, see ya tomorrow,” Devon lifted his phone and smiled apologetically.

“Later Ralph Lauren,” someone teased him. How did they…

“Hello?” Devon asked, picking up the phone. “This is Devon Hadden.”

Ringing the number it struck him how absurd he'd sound. Here was a complete stranger basically asking for what was essentially help in a fight. He didn't have time to ponder this however as the call got answered quickly. "Hi Devon," he began, keeping his name low to try not draw attention. "This is Artair Hawke. Serena gave me this number." Not knowing how to proceed, Artair opted for bluntness. "I know this will sound crazy but I need help." He quickly explained the situation and where it was happening. Keeping an eye on the group he added, "Serena seems to trust you and I honestly don't have anyone else I could ask."

The group got his attention again. They were getting increasingly aggressive. They wanted blood. Artair got a better look at their victim. He levied every Gaelic curse he knew under his breath. Their quarry was a child. Their pale, blue skin marred with bruises and blood. "If you can help I need it now. This group wants blood and they'll get it one way or another." Maybe this was a mistake, asking this much from a stranger was mad, what sane person would say yes. He certainly wouldn't. But Serena trusted him for a reason, maybe he should too. "Either way, this kid doesn't have much time."

Few people had his personal cell number. Serena was one of them, and apparently that meant now Artair Hawke did too. Whomever he was, he sounded Scottish with maybe a touch of something else. Serena did know a lot of people; she had a lot of fans. Not all of them were European guys of course.

>> "Serena seems to trust you and I honestly don't have anyone else I could ask."

That sealed it. “What’s wrong?” he asked with growing concern. There were usually only two things: psychological issue/question or mutant problem. The low tones meant either something personal or he was somewhere he couldn’t speak normally.

>> "Either way, this kid doesn't have much time."

“Where are you?” Devon asked quickly and the minute he heard, Tempest took off. Darkness consumed his eyes and clouds immediately began to gather. An early spring storm was easy to muster with the conflicting cold and warm patterns and the abundant moistures. He fed the wind, urged the clouds… They were still building as Tempest was running.

The Artair guy was only a few buildings away, there on NYU’s campus! No wonder he knew Serena and she’d given his number away.

“Hey, no, don’t get up freak,” someone sneered loudly. There was whimpering. “You belong on the ground.”

“Or in it!” someone shouted and the others laughed.

Thunder boomed as Tempest spotted a red-headed gentleman carefully peeking around the corner as he pressed himself against the wall of the medical studies building. His dark eyes narrowed in on Artair’s and he gave a quick nod as he dropped his bag in a bush. He charged up alongside the corner, putting himself in the gang’s visible line of sight.

“Back away from the girl, now!” Tempest shouted as the rising winds rustled his hair and the loose wrappers of some trash casually thrown behind the building.

“Wow, look at his eyes, another mutie!” one of the kids shouted. There were four of them. Two drew knives and the others slid brass knuckles on. Maybe these guys went to NYU but Devon couldn’t be sure. They looked a bit rougher, like the hang around profiting from trouble at colleges crowd. Drugs, maybe?

“Correct,” Tempest replied before shooting a look at the girl, “Down!” and the wind howled between the buildings. With a thought Tempest sent one gust barreling through the group. Two fell back on the ground, one into a railing to stairs that led below the building. The last one had braced himself with sure footing. Tempest’s eyes narrowed. He hadn’t pushed too hard, but that one had some sort of training. Boxing maybe?

The girl had covered her head as the wind roared over her. Tempest could see his air currents and he had no need to send it hurtling at her. That didn’t mean it wouldn’t blow over her in part, of course.

The gang began to rise and advance.

Well, that was that. He'd have to trust a stranger, but he'd sounded sincere. In the mean time Artair had to wait, something getting increasingly harder. The group was going to kill this kid if something didn't happen soon. The thunder nearly made him jump. Had that been forecast? He looked up to see a storm forming. "Great," he whispered out loud, somewhat sourly, "Who doesn't want a  nice little fight in the pouring rain." Minutes may have well been hours, time dragging slowly, the abused child suffering more and more. Artair hadn't even realised how hard his hands were clenched when his knuckles started groaning in protest.

Movement behind him shot alarm bells through Artair. He turned to see, well frankly, a beautiful man nodding at him and chucking his bag to the side. This was Devon? Christ his backup was a super model. Nodding back he started to concentrate. He was brave though. He just launched into action as soon as arriving, getting the groups attention. Good, he had some seconds to pull out weapons. As much as he wanted to give them some lovely scars, broken bones would send a stronger message. Grinning he created a mace, before checking the group, seeing knives he added a shield for good measure.

Stepping out to help Devon, the wind caught him off guard as it smashed two of the group too the ground and sent the others reeling. He had to admit, that was impressive. Adding roughness to his accent he shout out "If any of you ugly wazzocks want some more, I'm sure my friend would be happy to oblige." He inclined his head at the man at his side. "For the rest," he swung his mace for emphasis, "I'd love a chance to crack some skulls." Some of the group faltered, exchanged meaninful glances and one of them reached towards the girl.

Artairs mace was flying out his hand before the guy could even think, slamming head first into his hand with a sickening crunch, before flying back into his waiting hand. "She," he growled, "Is off limits." This time he didn't even give them a chance to think and charged the group, laying about him and aiming for sensitive spots. Artairs mind was racing and he thought to himself, maybe today wasn't going to be so bad.

This friend of Serena’s valiantly stepped up beside him. Good, he was glad the man had called for help but to help. Devon wouldn’t have looked down on him otherwise, but seeing that he was a mutant capable of making weapons he at least expected one to step up for another. It looked like a flail, or no, a mace, but sort of indistinct and transparent. White energy seemed to outline it.

Magical mutant weapons made of force energy? Devon was impressed.

The accent really kicked up the mocking tone the psy weapon maker used. Devon wasn’t sure what a wazzock was, but it sounded like a derogatory Scottish thing to say. Offering to crack some skulls was even better. Tempest couldn’t help but pleased at the words, hopefully they were merely words. He’d have smiled if he wasn’t so angry and trying to focus that on this gang.

Tempest’s first gust was more dazing than anything else. The weapon maker tossed his mace at the one who went for the girl. What did they want with her? Tempest hoped it was because she could walk through walls or something, and nothing else. Oh it was good he couldn’t read minds. If he could have…

>> "She," he growled, "Is off limits."

Yes she was.

Thunder clapped to punctuate the statement as Tempest urged lightning to roll in the gathering clouds above. He wasn’t going to be able to pull down any easily, though he was starting to feel the temptation to. The winds however were gaining in strength as the fronts Tempest pushed together collided.

Then the Scottish guy went running in, weapons moving and striking at tender crotches, behind knees, and even collar bones. Devon’s black eyes widened. Did he really need help or just back up?

The one who had gone for the girl was ignoring one hand and advancing with a knife in the other. Tempest dashed a couple yards forward to see better and picked up a broke piece of wood. It’d been part of a picketing poster or maybe a picture frame? He couldn’t tell.

Tempest ran forward again and with an eager back handed wave, a gust of wind went with him, sending the knife-wielder flying angrily into the dumpster. The man grunted in pain. The stick was Tempest’s cane and it a weapon if you studied Baritsu. He flanked another member with the weapon master and cracked the stick against his target’s ankle.

Artair focused on the fight, bringing the mace down on anyone over extending and blocking the feebly attempts at blows the thugs tried. Each time and already felled person got back up, even if they were limping and cradling ribs, he was tempted to change over to a sword. No, he thought, they needed a stronger message. Cuts heal and the dead don't learn. Broken bones would last and niggle at them for years to come. He quickly punctuated the thought with a savage blow to one of the smaller thugs elbow, snapping it with an audible sound.

His flurry of blows and sheer fury had carried him over to the girl who cowered against the wall, shielding herself from the carnage. Keeping one eye on the fighting he talked over his shoulder at her, "Stay down lass and don't look. They cannae hurt you now." The winds surged again, a member of the group flipping out of his vision. The storm was raging stronger overhead. Whatever Devons power was, it was working.

A cockier member of the group tried to feint Artair, aiming to get around his shield. Rather than even bother with finesse, he just slammed his shield into the man, adding his weight behind it. The man hadn't quite expected such a blunt response and was sent skidding backwards. Without time to think another lunged across him, leaving a burning cut in Artairs shoulder. The knife wielder, however, hadn't moved away quick enough and got a dislocated shoulder for his trouble.

At point the group was in shock at the sheer speed of the violence happening around them. Clearly they'd not come for a fight, especially against trained opponents. Checking on Devon, Artair was impressed at his skill. Whatever fighting style he used it was damn effective. With only a broken of stick he was easily holding his own.

The girl was crying and whimpering behind him. Chances are she was in shock, unable to process what was happening. Artairs anger went ice cold, everything seemed clearer. He entered a balanced stance and waited, his eyes daring anyone to just try him right now.

Snap. Crack. Pop.

That was the elbow of one of the thugs. The Scot didn’t mess around. He really only had called for backup. Serena had good friends. The man was a well-trained or at least better fighter than he.

He told the girl to stay back, don’t look. That part was true, even wise, but they could still hurt her. Someone would always be out there threatening them. You couldn’t change everyone’s mind. Best you could hope for was changing what society as a whole seemed to allow, what was tolerable. Their government had made antimutant, antiglbt, antimuslim, all of it- It was the rule now, the norm. Oh they didn’t condone it they said, such violence was wrong, wasn’t Christian, but oh how the hatred and hypocrisy rolled off their tongues.

Artair didn’t fall for a feint and Tempest didn’t fall for their cries of pain. Give them an inch and who knew what weakness they’d tried to exploit, even call their moment’s refrain a weakness. Sorry, these were gang bangers doing who knows what to a small girl. This wasn’t schoolyard bullying.

With a whack to the third’s hand, Devon broke two fingers and his stick. The knife is his hand fell but the fourth with the damaged ankle surged. He hadn’t the full weight with the injured joint and Devon whirled to find enough of the stick to deflect. It wasn’t enough; the fourth’s brass knuckles caught Devon in the tricep. In the sudden pain, he dropped the remnants of the stick.

Tempest hefted his hand into the neck of the man and then jabbed into his throat before dropping and sliding his foot against the weakened ankle. The man fell and Tempest retreated, deep breaths drawing a rush of coruscating gusts around him. He neared the battle-stanced Artair and let the winds move to flow and encircle them both.

One clutched at an arm. The second held at his shoulder, wincing in pain. The fourth was gasping, choking, struggling to step back. The third glanced at the them and then the girl.

Thunder boomed as a bolt of lightning followed the sudden somatic of Tempest’s left hand. It raced down between the buildings and split the top of the nearby dumpster. Black, melted plastic flew through the air as the large receptacle jumped a few yards. He followed it with a challenging scream and a furious gust of wind, throwing the first three completely off balance into the air thanks to Artair’s attacks and the other tumbling after them. They landed thirty feet past the dumpster with only the third able to quickly stand.

Tempest glanced to Artair and slowly started walking forward. His dark gaze matched that of the Scot’s. Try it and you got fried.

Thankfully – for them – the gang took off running, some faster than others.

It was good to know he'd made the right call, Devon proved not only a very skilled fighter, his power was frightening. The pure black eyes certainly set a tone of  'Don't mess with me'. Artair had done well, but he was armed and shielded, random thugs just weren't prepared for that. But Devon? Devon had not just held his own, he was winning. Just the remains of a broken stick and he was slapping them about like children. Artair would have felt sorry for them, if he'd not seen what they were, what they wanted to do.

As much as he wanted too dive in, he was the only thing between them and the girl. He was under no illusions that they'd use her as a hostage, try to bargain with a life. His companion was more than holding his own, even a nasty hit didn't stop him retaliating immediately. Whoever Devon was, he knew how to fight. Also knew when to pull back, apparently, since he stepped back towards Artair. Good, he was thinking, bring them to us.

The thugs were hurt, one cradling his shattered elbow, another barely able to breathe. Any other group, any other time Artair would have pity, but them? They were scum. Pathetic cowards, willing to pick on the weak and defenseless. But two trained, well-armed men? They were wavering, ready to run. Maybe a wee bit of drama to finish them off, make them scatter. Before he could even think to try, Devon brought down the wrath of the gods. Lighting smashed down into the alley, following his gesture, near blinding Artair.

OK, he thought, that should do it. The wind just seemed a tad over kill after that but damn was it effective. Even adding in a menacing march towards. He moved with the man, letting an evil grin curl his mouth. Any last defiant thoughts clearly left the group and the broke, stumbling away at various speeds. Scattering his weapons he turned to Devon, "Cheers for the help, I really appreciate it." He held out his hand to Devon, "Nice to meet you, by the way."


The girl was silently rocking back and forth, she was in shock. No rest for the wicked, Artair thought idly, as he tried to tend to her. "Come on lass, the bad men are gone." Well, most of them, he'd been ready to kill them if it had gone further. He really didn't want to dwell on that right now. "I'm Artair, whats your name?" he asked gently, getting her to focus on something easy.

"I.....I'm Sarah."

Devon’s eyes remained black as pitch as the men ran. He watched closely. If they came back or tried to surprise them, Tempest would finish their attempt. Those guys were sick to treat anyone this way. The fact it was a child made it only the more terrifying and infuriating.

>> "Nice to meet you, by the way."

Devon noted the man could get rid of his weapons as easily as he summoned them. Impressive. “You’re welcome,” Devon smiled, shaking his hand in return, “But I’m not sure how much you needed the assistance. Still, I’m glad Serena gave you my number.”

They both turned quickly to the girl, clearly traumatized. Devon sighed, crouching down to her height, as his eyes became blue once again. He nodded as Artair said the men were gone and offered his name. “Hi Sarah,” Devon replied in as calm a voice as he could. “I’m sorry that was so bad. Those were bad men.”

The girl frowned, tears in her glassy eyes, as she nodded.

“Do you live near here?”

She nodded, “I dropped my backpack… They chased me…” Her eyes and fingers pointed in the direction the men had run.

Devon suppressed the growl in his throat and looked up to Artair then back to her. “I dropped mine too,” Devon smiled softly. “I think mine’s over there,” he pointed toward the bushes. “Can you help me find it please? I can help you find yours then. Artair will come with us too. He’s a nice man.”

“Okay, I can help you find it,” she smiled slightly.

“Oh thank you,” Devon smiled. “We’ll find them together,” he nodded, standing slowly. “Do you know your house number? We should call your parents.” She offered her hands and Devon took one, hoping Artair would take the other as they walked to get Devon’s bag.

“Yes. It’s just my dad and me,” she said. “Great, I’ll call him so he knows you’re okay and we’ll get you home soon.”

Devon took out his phone and texted back to the number that had last called him: Artair. ~You okay to help get her home? I can go. I can call her dad. I don’t know how she was alone but maybe school drop off or something. I want to call him before we call any police to report this. Any idea what her power was?~

Thank God Devon knew how to deal with children, Artair was a little lost when it came to interacting with them. He'd been bad at talking to them when he was a kid, how the hell was he supposed to now? At least the girl was coming out of her shock, much longer and she'd have been in hospital. But she was responsive, and knew where she was. She was going to be fine. Smiling at his thoughts, he knew how resilient children could be.

As Devon talked with her, he kept one eye fixed on the direction the thugs went. When his name was mention he returned his attention to the girl, trying to smile warmly. "Of course we can help lass, it's why we're here." As she stood, he noticed Devon take one of her hands and went to do the same. She clung to his hand hard, clearly still scared. Now, now he felt like the scum that had done this hadn't suffered enough.

"Someones a clever wee lassie then, remembering all that so quickly." He turned his accent up a notch or too, hoping to put her at ease. People here seemed to get enthralled by the accents from back home, he reason maybe she would too.

While they were retrieving their various discarded items, his phone went off. Frowning as he read it, it did seem weird that she was alone. There could be a reasonable explanation but something was feeling off to him. ~Aye, I can get her home safe. You make the calls, see if there anything odd about this. Somethings not quite right. As for her power, got no clue. Think they went for her just because she was mutant.~

Grinning at the little girl firmly attached to his hand he said, "Why don't I take you home, while Devon makes sure your dad knows that you're alright? I think there may even be an ice cream with your name on it along the way." If bribery with sweets didn't work, he would be very surprised. She nodded back to him and started to lead him forwards.

"I'll ring you when I get her back Devon, keep me posted if something comes up?"

~ Yeah, could be. They must’ve chased her, maybe. I’ll ring her dad and then maybe the police, depending. ~

Devon texted Artair back quickly, smiling as Artair posed the plan to the girl.

>> “…I think there may even be an ice cream with your name on it along the way."

Sarah slowly began to smile, “Thank you. Why do you talk like that?” Ah precious and curious too.

>> "I'll ring you when I get her back Devon, keep me posted if something comes up?"

Devon chuckled at Sarah’s questioning and nodded with the plan. He met Artair’s eyes and slowly nodded, “I’m going to go with you and call on the way actually. Don’t want to put you in a bad position alone. We can wrap this up quickly hopefully.” Like say the dad saw his daughter with a stranger and flipped? Or the police were already looking?

They started walking and Devon called the father. “Hello?” a man’s voice asked. It sounded tired.

“Is this Sarah’s father? She’s here with a friend and I, safe, and we’re bringing her home,” Devon said quickly.

“Oh thank God. Maggie said she hadn’t come by yet,” the man replied.

“I’m Devon. Artair and I will be bringing her by. Who is Maggie?”

“That’s our neighbor,” Sarah smiled.

“Ah the babysitter?” Devon asked, glancing to Artair.

Sarah nodded while the father said, “Yes. My name George. I’m sorry. I work double shifts. It’s just Sarah and I. Maggie watches Sarah after school.”

“Ah well there were some people after your daughter, George,” Devon said curtly. “We took care of ‘em. However, it would seem Sarah might benefit from a walk-home buddy.”

“Oh, I’d like that!” Sarah said excitedly.

“People after her?” the man’s fear grew to anger. “Who? What?”

“We’ll happily talk about it later,” Devon said. “Things are okay now.”

Grinning at the girls question, he was glad she was curious. She wasn't about to drop from shock and the event hadn't gotten to her too much yet. "Its because I'm Scottish lass. I came from across the ocean, from my home, to become a doctor." So he might have laid the accent on a little thicker than normal, but she was enjoying his strange, musical accent and he was more than happy to play it up. "I know it sounds odd to wee little lassies like you, but to me, everyone here speaks funny."

That was a good suggestion, actually. He hadn't considered how bad it could look from the outside if someone saw him holding the hand of a girl he wasn't related to. "Aye that's a good idea, the more the merrier." Looking down at the girl and smiling, he gestured forwards with both their hands, "Lead the way then lassie, you're the one in charge."

Letting Devon deal with the phone call, he kept on look out for any familiar faces from the fight. Even now they might try to follow them and find out where the kid lived. Artair was determined that wasn't going to happen.

Only half paying attention to the phone call going on, he spotted a little ice cream stall on the edge of the sidewalk. "So lass, what would you say is your favourite ice cream," pointing towards the stall. Her response was near instant with excitment, "Double chocolate chip! With sprinkles!" Laughing and guiding the group over, he considered only getting one, but now that he was here he kind of wanted one himself.

Ordering two of the most chocolaty ice cream cones he could he turned to Devon, "You want anything Devon? My treat." He did owe the guy after all and an ice cream seemed a good place to start. Once they dropped the girl off with her dad though, he was taking to guy for a drink. He was not taking no for an answer on that.

Artair was from Scotland. He was learning to become a doctor. It was a charming accent; Devon liked the Scottish brogue. It reminded him of his grandparents and extended family. His dad had grown up in Boston but there had been a touch of the Irish accent learned from his parents. It seemed to reassure the young girl too.

They walked, Devon talked on the phone, and Artair talked with the girl. Thankfully the father sounded genuinely relieved, but still guilty. He knew this was partly his fault. Devon also wanted to know why this babysitter didn’t already pick up the girl. How hard was that? A walk-home buddy indeed.

“Thank you, I’m home. Maggie and I will meet you outside. Thank you so much,” George replied to Devon’s assurance of Sarah’s safety.

“You’re welcome, we will be there soon,” Devon said gently. “Bye.” He hung up the phone as Artair was ordering. He took a slow breath, trying to figure out how far to warn this guy. Sounded like he was a single parent that needed help.

>>"You want anything Devon? My treat."

Devon blinked out of his daze, “Oh sorry.” His eyes scanned the menu posted above them. He bit his lip in consideration; what a whirlwind afternoon. Now here he was getting ice cream to help placate the young girl. Her afternoon had been far worse. “Sure, I mean. I probably won’t eat much. Maybe a small cookie dough?” he asked, glancing between Artair and the clerk behind the counter.

Hopefully they could drop off Sarah, talk quickly with George, and then Devon needed to talk to Artair. Tonight was best and preferably candidly.

With their various treats in hand and Sarah much more relaxed they continued on towards the girls home. It wasn't a long walk away and he was glad of the time to help sort his mind out. With everything that had happened and his own efforts to keep the young lass occupied, he hadn't had the time to deal with his own feelings about the events. Was he a bad person for not feeling guilty? Was what he'd done right? He didn't know, not anymore. All he knew is an innocent girl was safe now. At the end of it, maybe that was all that really mattered.

They were nearing her home and she was obviously more relaxed in the familiar environment, excitedly pointing out sites and facts to them. "How long have you lived here for then lass? Must have been a while if you're an expert on the area?" he added jokingly, her attitude infectious.

"Erm, as long as I can remember. Daddy's been teaching me all about it." He'd been doing a good job about it too, if the sheer number of facts and figures she came out with was anything to go by. It made Artair smile though. He could understand having pride in where you come from and where you live, especially in hard times.

Rounding a final corner, she would have bolted forward if he and Devon hadn't had a good grip on her. Seeing a figure standing on the sidewalk and her near frantic nature, he had a feeling they'd gotten her safely home. When she screamed "Daddy!" and pulled away from him, he let her go. She needed her dad now, her emotions finally getting hold of her, bursting into tears as she hugged the man tightly. Any doubts he'd had, any lingering questions about the people he'd hurt today vanished. This moment made it worth it.

Waiting awkwardly while the main attempted to calm down his daughter, he turned to Devon. "You OK handling the talking? I'm not too great at it and you've already spoken to him." Artair was good at many things, but a social situation like this was well outside of his expertise.