Ifreet had been in New York for a few days, and the hotel and food were eating through his savings pretty quick. Standing on a Brooklyn corner at two-AM with a Gray's Papaya hot dog in one hand, orange juice in the other, he had maybe a couple hundred bucks left. He'd need to figure out some way to get a job without a permanent address. Something under the table, which he didn't savor. He inhaled both juice and dog, adjusted his sunglasses, and stared at the tip of a Winston Red till it popped into flame and he started smoking. No one really noticed his personal little magic trick, and no one cared.

He'd of course have to get in touch with the local Mutant Rights scene eventually, but basic survival was his focus right now. Later, he'd hit Craig's List for either a writing gig or some cook work. Right now, he was going to get acquainted with his new city.

It was late, and Blaine was tired, though it didn't really bother him as much as most other people. His mutation meant he felt tired, but he didn't get any of the aches and pains that went with it. Walking down the sidewalk, he pulled the zipper up on his leather jacket because other people seemed to be cold, and he didn't want to stick out like a sore thumb.

Well, no more than a guy with a recently bloodied nose would normally stick out, anyway. It was that it'd happened recently--less than an hour ago--in fact, and his knuckles showed that he gave as good as he got--if not better. His long brown hair sort of blew in the wind, and he found himself wishing for the love of God that he could actually feel it. But on the other hand, if he felt the breeze, then the rest of him would hurt like hell, and he'd rather not have that.

Lost in his thoughts, his shoulder bumped some guy with a cigarette, but Blaine really didn't seem to notice as he kept walking, just trying to get home.

Lost in his thoughts, Ifreet didn't see the scrapper heading his way until it was too late. Dude slammed into his shoulder and sent a half smoked square flying through the air. Before he could stop himself, he reflexively barked out, "Hey, watch it, punchy!"

Curious, Blaine stopped and turned around, quirking a brow at the uh...gentleman. Punchy? That was a new one; he had to give him credit for that. Instinctively, he found himself sizing the guy up from a distance. After all, he'd just gotten done with his....alternative source of income, so he was already a little on edge. But fighting did that to a guy, and really, after the incident--what was it ten years ago now?--he couldn't get a job as an up-and-up fighter, so...he did what he had to do.

"Sorry about that, man," he said calmly as he walked back to the guy. "Didn't see ya there." He sort of stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets; his way of saying he wasn't necessarily looking for trouble.

From behind mirror sunglasses, Ifreet's slit eyes went unobserved, "Not a problem, man. Just keep an eye out, yeah?" He pulled his hard pack out, shook out another smoke, stuck it in his mouth, and flicked his thumb like a Bic. He held the small blue flame to the square to light it as his eyes softly glowed, "Name's Ifreet."

"Won't happen again," he said simply, relaxed yet alert. After all...not too much good walked the streets after midnight. And then, the guy used his thumb for a lighter, and Blaine gave a low whistle, a small grin finding its way to his mouth. Some guys have all the luck," he thought to himself. Sometimes he wished he had a mutation that could be shown off. While technically, he could, there was no way to do it without being weird.

"Neat trick," he said with a nod. "You can call me Painkiller." He was pretty certain Ifreet wasn't the guy's real name, so Blaine decided to use a nickname as well. Occasionally, he looked over his shoulder as the cool night breeze blew through his long hair, his blue eyes almost thoughtful as he did so.

"Painkiller? Thought I smelled family," Ifreet bluffed. Of course he had no idea this guy was a mutant, but Painkiller didn't know that. His eyes glowed brighter, and the small flame sprouted arms and legs, started dancing across his knuckles. He took a deep drag off the Winston, exhaled, and the sprite disappeared in the cloud.

Blaine had to admit he had trouble reading this guy, but he wasn't known for reading into jokes or bluffs. The only psychology he was any good at was getting into some guy's head before and during a fight. Okay, now the guy was really showing off, but he had to admit, that was an interesting power he had there. He did make a note of the sprite's appearance; that would make a neat sketch for later.

"Some of us aren't able to show off as easily," he replied somewhat dryly. "How long'd it take ya to learn that, anyway?" he asked, somewhat intrigued. He kind of wondered what the flame felt like to Ifreet, but he figured that would be a weird question to ask, let alone explain.

Ifreet smiled, "Guess it is a bit flashy. Never really thought of it like that." He took a few more puffs, cupped the filter in his hand, and incinerated it in a small white flash. He thought about Painkiller's question, "Few years I guess. Give or take. That was after I learned to not torch anything that made me jump."

"Hey, at least you have some control over yours," Blaine noted. "Mine never turns off." Taking a breath, he figured he should at least explain what made him a mutant. After all, by now it was only fair.

"I can't feel. Pain, temperature, not even the wind that's blowin' right now...Actually tried to use it to become an MMA fighter. Did damn good too, til I got stuck on the wrong side of an armbar that snapped my arm in two and I didn't even flinch. I went on to win by knockout, but by then everybody knew I wasn't exactly human. Through everything out the window." He gave a chuckle. "But I held that broken arm as high as I could and wore the biggest ****-eating grin I could muster." He didn't always get to tell that story, but he sorta liked when he did. After all, Painless Blaine Sinclaire never became a household name, and someone had to spin the tale.

"That'd be handy. I can't feel heat or burn, but that's it. Hell, even my clothes if I'm not careful." He shook his pack, nearly empty, put it back in his jacket. He pushed his hands deep into his pockets and shivered as the breeze passed, "Of course, I feel the hell out of the cold."

"Never been a huge MMA fan, but I've known some guys. Think I remember them saying something about that fight."

"Yeah, it has its perks, but it sucks sometimes, too. I can't feel heat, but it'll burn the hell out of me still. There's no feeling, but it still does its job." He gave a chuckle. "My only question is...which side of that argument were they on? Mutants having an unfair edge, or just let the kid fight?" He had to smirk at that one; that fight was about twelve years ago. In fact, if they'd have let him in professional fighting, he'd probably be getting ready to retire by now.

Ifreet shook his head, "Oh, they weren't fans of mutants. Which meant they weren't fans of mine," he took off his mirror shades, revealing bright, almost glowing, orange eyes. He put the glasses back on,"Be glad of your invisible gift, friend."

He gave a small shrug. "Figures," he said dryly. "Few people have ever heard of me, and even fewer are fans. I won a fight with my arm snapped clean in two. How much more badass could that have gotten? But I guess you can be pro-Mutant or pro-MMA, not both." He gave a small laugh at his joke, and then Ifreet removed his shades to reveal his eyes.

"I am, for the most part, but damn that looks badass..."

A small grin formed, and he looked around, making sure they were alone. "Watch this," and he removed his glasses again. His eyes started glowing in earnest, brighter and brighter until they literally caught fire. Bright orange flames licking his hairline. Huge smile, coffee stained teeth on display. Ifreet's eyes died down, and he replaced the shades.

"How many more mutants have you run into? Want to keep in touch? I'm new here, could use all the contacts I can get."