Her mind was enrapt; there was so much she needed time to think about. First and foremost the fact someone was trying to eliminate mutants by the sound of it, Where do I stand in this?, Then there was the more complicated matter of what the enemy was. Machines had been mentioned, yet she had absolutely no experience in this area and so was in the dark. She was torn: to search for more answers, or to digest the information she had. She opted for the later, the draw of solitude winning as it always did. Currently she was wandering, and having not paid attention to where her feet were leading her, she didn’t have the slightest clue in concern to her current position. Sterile white walls - well therefore I must be practically anywhere in the entire complex! She had to find some time to learn the labyrinth’s secrets, think about all the time I would gain from not getting lost. Not having any other option to her disposure, she carried on wandering, but this with at least a small part of her mind actually aware of her surroundings.

Stairs: might as well see where they led since I might not find them again. Carrying on in this manner, she was drawn higher and higher, until at last she was on the top floor, and was faced with a door. It sat above a few stairs, bulky and metallic, but it had a rather nice ‘Authorised person only’ sign. A sign which was also rather nicely ignored by Nox. She didn’t know why she went through, but there was just something about heavy door, with warning signs on, at the ended of dark corridors. They just had to be opened. The open sky stretched out above her, and the city before her. Perfect. There was something about roofs, they way they allow you to stare unseen down upon the world. The way they allow your thoughts to mull silently, undisturbed by others. Roofs, in her opinion, were absolutely glorious, and sitting on the edge of one was just what she needed. And so she did so, letting her legs hang over the edge, letting her mind loose into the oblivious sky, letting any concerns and worries drown in world of silhouettes.

((ooc: Continued from "A visit to Doc Jimmy's Gingerbread House".))

Slate, buddy, you're starting to give me a headache.

So help me, Doctor Ingram, if anyone in the world deserves a heart attack, it is you. Have one. Right. Now.

...Seriously. Slate, that was a half an hour ago. He tricked us. Please. I get it. Stop.

Collapse over whatever horrible construct you are currently working upon, and die.

...Slate, oww. Owww....

Calley wasn't quite sure where he was, only that he'd randomly been choosing between every corridor and every turn and every door that came his way. Because this was getting freaking ridiculous. A half an hour ago, they'd gotten their collar upgraded for upcoming missions. This had involved having their necklace of persistent-death-threats removed, temporarily, and the good doctor had instead fitted them with a zapping bracelet, Registration-style. Or at least, that's what he'd said.

All I desire in this world is your death, Doctor Ingram. It is not so very much to ask for your withered black heart to stop beating.

Turned out that had been a blatant lie, and they'd just let an escape chance pass by. Also turned out that Slate was reeeeally good at holding grudges. Calley was willing to forget. Slate was giving the rest of their mind a freaking headache of remembrance, though, and until they found something to distract him, he'd probably keep going.

It was really hard to focus on finding something distracting when your split personality had cannibalized the focused part of your mind for the sole purpose of giving us a freaking migraine. Slate! Stop it!

...Aggh. So, apparently, they were on the roof now. ...He wasn't quite sure how that had happened, but there was a random person up there with them. A random person had potential to be distracting. Calley walked casually over, wincing slightly as Slate finally got around to cannibalizing all of their knowledge of swear words, as well. He was, as one could expect, surprisingly uncreative about stringing them together. Really, it didn't even bear repeating.

Calley slumped down next to the charming rooftop individual, laying himself out on his stomach with his hands crossed under his chin. "Hello, lovely person. How are you on this ever-lovely day? Done anything lovely?" He put an alarming amount of enthusiasm into those words, and gave an accompanying grin. It was about then that he recognized who he'd put himself next to. "Oh," he said dully. "Miss Stabby. Great. Oww." He rubbed at his temples. He should probably flee this area quickly and leave the nice knife-welding woman alone, but he was really having trouble with thinking right now, and standing back up seemed like it might involve an alarming amount of thinking.

Okay, Slate, seriously: A) "zuccinni" is not a swear word, and B) stop it!

Lovely. Not a common occurrence in her language, in fact it tasted rather foreign on her tongue. It was the boy from the Black Talon, the naïve youth who seemed to have a knack for disturbing her thoughts. It was unfortunate though he had caught her at a rather awkward moment, since her thoughts were still galloping around in the sky. Her mind was therefore considerably more open, and far less cold than normal. Which lead to her not immediately proving for once and for all that she didn’t like company. In fact her normally frozen emotions were thawing slightly – Damn his timing – and so she was willing to tolerate his company she supposed as long as she didn’t have to call back her thoughts, she needed this time just to let them roam.

Her thawing emotions found it rather amusing to be address as lovely person, her logically mind told her to hit him. Was that what it like to be greeted when you had friends? For the other person to actually seemed pleased at your presence. The following “oh”, was what she was more accustomed to. But though she was more comfortable with it some part of her, which should be frozen, rather longed for the simple pleasant “hello” of friendship. Dream on. That was her rational mind, it took control of the situation again, and silenced the trances of emotion.

Due to the sun rays it was easiest for her to look straight out in front of her, that was if she actually wanted to see more than a white haze. So she did so, and followed the movement of a mundane sparrow on the electricity line. It has a simple life, hoping here and there, flying if it really wants to exert the energy. Just chirping and eating, none of the worries of some unknown enemy trying to eliminate your race, nor the complication of the rest of humanity fearing you to the extent of loathing. Sparrows had it easy she concluded. “A sparrow now there’s a creature who understands how to cheat the complications of life” It took her a few moments to realise she had shared her conclusion with her companion, and with that discovery she vowed never to let her speak to anyone on while on a roof again; she was too open. More to bury her earlier statement in other words than anything else, she continued talking, this time a relevant question. “Do you know what the stalkers are like? I only just learnt about what has happened, and so I’m still practically in the dark.” That was a bit better, still not cold but at least it was relevant and not about sparrows. Sparrows of all creatures, why sparrows? She then supposed if there had been a hawk she would have watched it, so it was simply down to New York’s bird life in that case.

Calley was mildly surprised by two things. One, she hadn’t randomly stabbed at any of his body parts yet. Two: she actually seemed interested in holding a conversation. Or, at the least, she was speaking. By default that he was the only other person up here (baring invisible mutants and split personalities), he figured she really was talking to him. Then again, she’d started out talking to him normally the last time, too. Then she’d stabbed a knife alarmingly close to his fingers. Calley rolled his head to the side, and didn’t make any attempt to hide his suspicions behind that stupid habitual smile of his as he stared up at her profile. His head hurt too much to start slapping on smiles.

“Hmmmmm...” He drew the noise out, “I think I’ve done this scene already. Randomly start conversation pretty lady: check. Have pretty lady ask me a question: check. Now I just need to try ‘n’ help you by answering, so you can get to the threatening-me-with-a-knife part, right?”

—Let it begin with a tingling sensation in your left arm that slowly and inexorably crawls its way upwards to your chest cavity—

Slate, you suck.[/i]

He stuck his hands out over the ledge into thin air, and let his fingers wiggle. Wiggle-wiggle.

“So I’m guessing you work for the Scary Boss Man, now. That’s... great. Good for you. Sure.” He was even less coherent than usual, and he knew it. “It wouldn’t have killed you to buy me that drink. Would have made my night better. And sparrows? You know how many things eat sparrows? They’re bottom-of-the-food-chain.” He’d eaten quite a few in his own time. They were stringy but flavorful, like a sort of brown-gray spice. “And I know a ton about the Stalkers. But the last time I tried to illuminate you on a subject, well, I refer you again to the stabbing issue.” Calley was clearly hung up on the stabbing issue. He turned his head to stare up at Nox again. “Why did you do the stabbing thing? I do not understand people like you. You, and Hunter, and Kaz, and all you ‘let’s abuse the stupid one’ types. What’s with you people?”

—heart attack. That was a very unwise thing to say.

...You done?

Yes.

...Just like that?

Would you like me to continue?

...No. No, that’s fine.

Calley went back to watching his fingers wiggle. His brain felt a little abused. Slate switched his attention to factoring quadratics in the back of their mind, Doc Jimmy’s health apparently no longer worthy of his focus. ...Well skippidy-do-dah. Maybe that meant his headache was going to go away soon.

An incoherent flow of words gushed from him, and it took her mind a moment to separate the sections; his mind seemed to be all over the place. In a feat of ingenuity she managed to separated the relevant sections, and thus process in turn. He seemed to resent her, not an unusually response for her to bring out in people. From what she gathered it centralised around her stabbing her knife between his fingers. Would it have killed her to buy him a drink – No. Would it have killed him – Yes. Such was life. Sparrows, he had got slightly the wrong tilt, she had been aiming more for the ideal of their simplicity, their lack of thoughts, not that it mattered. More resentment, clearly this issue was going have to be resolved before anything of any use was going to be emitted by him.

‘Whats with you people? All you ‘let’s abuse the stupid types?’ Bottled up anger it would seem as well. Hunter, Kaz, and her, well why do we hurt people? Psychoanalysing yourself, however, did require the majority of your brain to be paying attention, which is why she reluctantly allowed her thoughts to return. With the flick of her wrist she brought a blade out, and moved it between her fingers. It gleamed in the sunlight, to her its gleaming steel was rather beautiful to others it was menacing. She thought as she watched they blade move, why was violence so often the answer? Simple, it worked. But she knew there was more to it than that. They say it allows a person to felt it control, so maybe it was that. After the world screwing around so much with her life, maybe she wanted to gain some measure of control. Unfair, but then life was. But really it was down to one simple issue: survival. “There are a lot of people out there who have it in for you, give them half a chance and they won’t hesitate. You can’t go around presuming everyone wants to be your friend unless you want to be found in the gutter the next day.” The knife continued go back and forth across her hand, but now she turned and looked at him. “Why do I do the ‘stabbing thing’ because its the only way I know how to survive, to insure I’m not the one found in the morning and if that’s means someone’s found in my place I don’t care. Great for you, you’ve found an answer to violence, but guess what, one day its won’t work, and it’ll be you who’ll be paying for your naivety. Life’s tough, you just have to used to it.” Once more she flicked her wrist and the knife disappeared to its concealment, “And I’m not going to stab you” Well at least not now. No she needed him to talk sense, not just a resentment tainted babble

Calley watched the knife out of the corner of his eyes, inconspicuously drawing his hands in so that they were under his shoulders, and tucking his feet against the ground. In short: if that knife came anywhere near him, he was very ready to be over the edge of the building. It was the quickest way away from her, and probably the escape route she’d least expect. They were pretty high up, here: that gave him plenty of time to wiggle his way around to land on his feet, in tiger form. Slate could deal with any broken bones, and then they could disappear back into the Labs. From there, he trusted his many wanderings around the hallways to have left him with a better internal map of the place than she had, even if she bothered to track him down. He didn’t think she would. The only one who would put that much effort into hurting him was Hunter.

The knife disappeared. “And I’m not going to stab you.” He didn’t technically relax, but he didn’t throw himself off of any buildings, either.

Care to fill me in, Slate?

Here.

Thanks.

Slate directed him to the appropriate memories, and he caught up on what she’d been saying whilst indirectly threatening his existence.

He was ‘naive’? Huh. He didn’t really think of himself that way, but he could see where she’d get it from. Silly her, though, saying that ‘one day’ he’d be paying for it. Heh. Been there, done that, got picked up by the throat and ended up wearing borrowing the Boss Man’s T-shirt.

He glanced over at her, his fingers curling and uncurling against the ledge of the building. “You’re kind of a sad person.” He wanted to say more—a lot more—but there was no time like the present to start practicing their impulse-control. Instead, he moved on to the topic most likely to forestall any retractions of that ‘not going to stab you’ statement. “The stalkers...”

His body relaxed as he turned inward, trying to grab the bits of clutter which held all the relevant information. What did he know about the Stalkers? Rather a lot. He’d personally witnessed both the Mansion and Sanctuary raids, after all. Report time. His voice became a bit more distant.

“They move like animals. Have you ever seen the Aliens movies? They’re like that—they’re robots, but it’s like they’re feral. They’re smart. Either they’ve got great AIs, or they’ve got humans controlling them from a distance.” He hadn’t seen any sign of humans controlling them from up close, that was for sure.

“They’ve got something that can make them invisible, but I don’t think they can hold it while they’re attacking. Very fast, very strong, very hard to kill, very persistent—they can get limbs ripped off, and they’ll still be going for a person, like it doesn’t matter. I’m not sure about weapons—I saw mostly hand-to-hand and hand-to-tail fighting,” he used ‘I saw’ carelessly, and something in his mind got very uneasy about it. But it wasn’t like they were giving away Hunter’s secrets. Seriously, if anyone on the Kabal didn’t know that Calley was the Boss Man’s spy, then they’d figure it out at the upcoming meeting when he sat with the Mansion residents and played dumb about knowing any of them. In short: that little uneasy feeling got told to shut up by the rest of their mind. “They probably have other weapons, but people seem to get overwhelmed with just them when they attack, so they haven’t had to pull them out, that I’ve seen. I haven’t had the best visibility, though. Any individual mutant seems to have a really hard time defeating them, even if the mutant is really good at fighting, normally.” Like Issie. That was really weird that they’d beaten Issie. Too bad, too. No more movies for awhile.

“Weaknesses: they don’t work together, at all. They might enter a room together, but they fight individually. They don’t try to protect humans—they just go for the mutants, and let the humans get slaughtered. Maybe if they got tricked into causing a lot of damage, the government would take them out of the picture. Since they’re robots, probably electric users or technopaths could take them out quick, or extreme heat or cold could do it slower. They might have shielding for some of that, though. I couldn’t tell.”

He gave a shrug. “That’s about it.” Calley rather liked hording information. He especially liked telling it to other people. Report finished, he looked up at Nox, half-hoping for some sign that he’d done good. Maybe he was him being ‘naive’. So? Everyone liked to get a little recognition, now and then.

He momentarily paused before responding. A sad person, ay? Well that was certainly not the worse insult that’s been directed at me, not in long shot. Before she had time to ponder the true implications behind the remark, her mind quickly latched on to a single word – Stalkers. And so she truly listened, memorising every word, for in all likelihood it would come in useful some time in the near future.

He became serious, his voice distant as his mind delved deep in order to stir up memories, and the report began. Smart machines that moved like animals - dangerous. The matter about whether or not there were controlled directly by humans, she stored away, since if directly controlled then there might be a radio signal sent out which she would be able to track. Invisibility? This got more interesting by the second. She listened to the next bit before concluding that the smart, fast, strong, possibly intelligent and invisible, hard to kill machines might possibly be a challenge – Well life’s finally getting that bit more interesting. She had noted that his mentioning of witnessing some of the fighting, he didn’t quite seem the in-thick-of-it sort. But once again her thoughts were moved on as he continued speaking.

A possibility of weapons even. As their advantages pilled up, she began to understand why so many had been overwhelmed; this was no easily defeated enemy. Taking in account for their inability for teamwork, working together with everyone’s power was the only way it seemed anyone was going to overcome them. Them? It funny how quickly its associated with a nameless enemy. Lets plot against, and hate ‘them’, it happened within seconds.

“Extreme temperatures you say? Useful” At least there was a weakness she could use, that and anything that ran on electricity, say a machine, could have its heat channelled on one rather important wire say. Shield or no, that would work. Her mind whirled there was a lot of new information, but at least now she had some idea of what was going on. Information was always good, and the boy was surprisingly rather precise when giving it, experienced even. She nodded at the conclusion of the information, “You seem to know an impressive amount. What was your role in the past events? You don’t quite seem to be the fighter type.” It wasn’t meant as an offence, just a statement, he complained about violence, didn’t like knives, and was scrawny, those characteristics don’t make a warrior. As he had proved he was able to detail somethings very well, but its funny how often people clam up when speaking about themselves.

Calley rolled onto his back, crossed one arm behind his head, and used the other to waggle a scolding finger at her. “Extreme temperatures might work. But those things might have shielding against it—it’s not exactly unheard-of technology. They don’t move like they’re shielded against everything we could throw at them, but that doesn’t rule it out. Don’t go rushing off to attack them and blaming me if you end up in the camps.” He let his finger drop, before it tempted her into stabbing at it. “Is your mutation temperature-based, then?”

He tried to look as if her ‘you know an impressive amount’ comment hadn’t puffed him up like a well-fed tomcat, but he couldn’t help a little smile. Unlike every other smile he’d used around the woman, this one was real. Tiny, but real. “As for me, my mutation’s useless: I’m a tiger-shifter who doesn’t know how to fight. But for some reason,” he shrugged dramatically, making his face a perfect mask of total and completely exaggerated innocence, “people don’t tend to take me seriously. So I go where the Boss Man points, and bring him back souvenirs. Like run-downs on the Stalker bots.” Since Hunter seemed to like telling everyone and their mother on the Kabal that Calley was his little spy boy, Calley was figuring that wasn’t classified information. Just as long as nobody knew about his true mutation, he wasn’t even compromising his position by point-blank telling what he was. Or, you know, by talking pretty and rather obvious circles around the issue.

When she wasn’t randomly projecting malice at him, Nox wasn’t all that terrible to talk to. He wondered, idly, how long that was going to last. When he was going to have to skitter the hell away from her. But that was the difference between her and him, right there: Calley knew people were going to hurt him, and he talked to them, anyway. It might not make him the brightest bulb in the city, but he liked it better his way than her way.

His seemed to be scolding her with his finger, within the context it rather amused her. Amused, however, if upheld for too long can lead to irritation. And that would probably not bode well with the boy’s health. Luckily, however, the finger was shortly dropped – a wise move. Her mind, now it wasn’t provoked, went over his words. It didn’t matter if the Stalkers had shielding; they would produce heat as machines and that would be inside the shield, it was that which she intended to use. Rushing off to attack? Would she do something as reckless as that? - Yes. This time she had, however, decided to attend the meeting first, and then act. Plus, she always found emotionlessly calculating to be more useful in a fight than emotion ridden and wild, which is why when she rushed off it was far more precise, and never careless.

She almost missed the small smile that tugged at one side of the mouth, it seemed to mean more than the earlier childish grins had; for once it seemed to reflect him. But her mind soon became busy with more important matters than smiles, as he explained about his power. Tiger-shifting, hmmm, it didn’t quite seem to fit. Honestly if she had to associate him with an animal it wouldn’t have been a tiger, in fact probably more along the lines of a Cheshire cat. As he explained about his ‘souvenir habits’, it became clear to her, that his role in the Kabal was probably not based around combat what so all, which made far more sense. He was the spy, he had practically told her just not in so many words, it would suit him more, and it explained his experience with reporting.

And what had his earlier question been? Ahhhh yes the question of her mutation had arisen yet again. Except this time an explanation that both satisfied his interest and her secrecy had made itself available. “And yes, I can manipulate heat. Channelling it in order to cause freezing or overheating, both of which can do serious damage.” That should suffice. As much as she hated admitting it this conversation was turning out to be far more useful than she had first imagined. And though the boy talked, it had mostly been useful information and it wasn’t excessive.

A gust of wind wrapped itself around her, the otherwise unbroken peace was thrown into turmoil. It hammered itself against her bare arms, causing her hair to stand on end as Goosebumps arose. Her nerves tingled and she felt alive, as the wind wiped her hair in front of her eyes. Her lips parted and a rare smile shone through.There was the promise of challenge to come, she was sitting on a roof, and the wind was tumbling by – she couldn’t ask for much more. “Nature’s power still never fails to amaze me, but then maybe that’s just something you get when you grow up in the wild. But what about yourself, where do you come from?” She had turned and spoke to the boy, she didn’t quite know why she just felt inclined to do so, and though his past may have some relevance to the future she wasn’t really interested, so why she had asked was beyond her, she just had. Clearly the fresh air was doing terrible things to her common sense, luckily it would only be temporary she mused lightly as another gust of wind lunched its attack.

He tucked that little tidbit of mutation-related info into his memory, right along with everyone else’s. He rather liked knowing about the people around him. Whether they were on his side or not didn’t make a difference—information was information, and he was an information hoarder. It was what made him think of ‘spy’ as a job title, even before he got employed by Hunter. He’d actually been planning to be the Order’s spy boy. That seemed like a very long time ago.

He curled his knees up to his chest, rolled himself into a seated position, and scooted himself around so that his legs were dangling over the edge with hers. He kicked them out slowly, and absentmindedly.

“I’m a city boy,” he replied lightly, as the wind combed through his own hair. “Just from over in Jersey. New York’s where the action’s at, though. Plus I’m a little disowned at the moment.” He gave a little shrug, his habitual grin sliding over his lips as he watched his legs. “That ‘grew up in the wild’, thing—where are you from? Just to ask--you don't have to answer if you don't want--did your folks freak when they figured out what you were, too? 'Cause that'd be too bad.” He glanced her way, tilting his head slightly. “Then they wouldn't know that you grew up to have a pretty smile.” He wasn’t hitting on her; he wasn’t that stupid. 1) She would kill him. 2) Issie would kill him. It was just the truth. He was pretty sure he knew the answer to his question: most little girls didn't grow up to stab people because they'd had a great home life.

He looked back out over the edge of the building, his eyes closing slightly as another gust of wind hit him full in the face. He sniffed the air, but in human form, he didn’t get much out of it. “Smells like winter, today.” He glanced up at the sky. “Clouds might be right for snow later. Doesn’t seem cold enough, though. What do you think?” Two years of living as a stray cat had gotten him better than most city boys at predicting the weather, but he doubted he was a match for Miss Wilds, here.

He copied her, and let his legs dangle over the edge, childish in his manner as he kicked them, yet there was something nice when your feet were suspended in the air. Not being supported by the ground, it somehow let you feel as if you were less bound to the rules of the earth, to the rules of rationality. An illusion of course, but a pleasant one. The wind continued to test the visitors to its lofty domain, as the boy began to speak of his origin. A city boy, now there was a surprise, her sarcastic mind answered. Living by yourself with only your wits between you and death gave a person something, a certain survival ability, a toughness, he didn’t have this in any amount. She didn’t doubt he was adept at what he did, otherwise he wouldn’t be here, but that gave him a different advantage.

A little disowned? She had yet to meet a mutant who had a caring family, it was something we all just have to live with she supposed. “Abandonment seems to come hand in hand with powers, there is nothing any of us can do; their scared of us, and relationship built on fear never last.” Yes, it was bleak, but until proved otherwise her mind held onto it, its was after all truth in the majority of cases. And what of herself? “I don’t have any faces to associate with ‘parents.” The word ‘mother’ and ‘father’ were empty to her; they say never knowing something you can’t miss it, they were wrong. There were many a times, as a child, she had lacked which everyone took for granted. An open embrace to fall back into when you life was looking down, an unquestionable love. She had never felt it, and nor did it matter to her any more, and so she continued in a tone that was utterly without emotion. “They didn’t have the chance to throw me out because of my powers. My mother died in child birth, my father left me soon after, I was hunted out of the village after a certain incident in which my powers unleashed. I spent the next years wondering Europe, I learnt how to survive, and how to control my powers. I was happy. I found my way here, not quite sure how that happened but it did.” She wasn’t as worried at revealing her past as her power; it was irrelevant, personal yes, but it would serve no use.

His next comment took her off balance, it wasn’t that it was unpleasant simply off-putting. In one conversation the words pretty, and lovely had been associated to her, it was a rare thing indeed. And one, which if it was repeated might end in the loss of a tongue. That being the only sure method of insuring that those such comments weren’t continued which she knew of, with that in mind she ignored it this time, if it happened again her knife would answer.

The air certainly carried with it the crisp scent of winter, but it wasn’t near cold enough for snow. Wood smoke, that was what was missing. Winter to her still carried the implications of a roaring fire, radiators didn’t quite seem to give the same atmosphere. The heavy grey clouds, were indeed correct for snow, but with the earth still retaining some of the sun’s heat, there was little chance of snow. The only certain thing one learnt from living under the open sky was that nature was unpredictable, and so for that reason she wholly trusted her instincts when it came down to weather. “Snow is unlikely quite yet, it’ll come soon but not quite yet. We’ll have rain to live through first.” To her the weather topic seemed exhausted, and so with nothing else to go on she enquired further into his life. “What binds you to Hunter’s service if you don’t mind me asking”. She knew it may be personal and wasn’t one to go prying into other’s lives; she knew herself how much inquisitive eyes weren’t appreciated, yet knowledge is power, so she had asked regardless.

Calley absorbed the information on her past like he absorbed all information: he listened, and tucked it away. Information was information. Even really depressing information. It sort of surprised him that she was willing to say that much about her past. He nodded at it—he wasn’t the best at responding, especially when people said things, and especially especially when people said heavy things.

Her assessment of the weather was dead-on to what he’d been thinking, so that made him feel rather good about his city boy skillz.

And then the kicker: “What binds you to Hunter’s service if you don’t mind me asking.”

Calley stood up on the ledge and, with arms outstretched like an air plane, started walking slowly along away from her. He made it look a lot more precarious than it actually was. This ledge was about twice as wide as the balance beams he’d been practicing on in human form, and five times as wide as the branches he was at home on in cat form. Plus he was bare-footed, as per usual, so there was nothin' but the building and the pads of his feet. Good grip. It was really tempting to fake-fall and catch himself, just to see what she’d do. But... maybe he should save that for someone who wouldn’t look disappointed when he didn’t splatter.

“The Boss Man,” Calley said cheerfully, watching his feet move, “finds me useful. So I,” he concluded brightly, “find myself alive. What about you? I’m guessin’ you joined him ‘cause you wanted to... but why? If I may ask.” He spun on his heel, and started balancing back towards her, still watching his feet.

He simply listened to her past, that was best, comments just made things awkward. Someone tries to sympathise yet their words are empty; they haven’t experienced it, how can they know what it feels. Silence was the best answer, as it often was. People assumed that an answer was needed to everything, and so they rush in with fake emotion, and over spilling empathy, fake as well, and they honestly for some reason thought that their words mean something. They don’t, and they never will, in some cases they were just infuriating. Great, they have good intention as their motive, but that doesn’t mean the action itself is good, or helpful. A pleasant and appreciated silence stretched between them for a moment.

She watched out of the corner of her eye as he performed his little circus trick, he is a strange one indeed. He walked, in a tightrope walker manner, on the ledge away from her. The reason for this was beyond her, clearly he was acting on some whim. He seemed to do fine though, but then it wasn’t that narrow, though a false move could end up rather messy. Well clearly he wasn’t afraid of heights, and nor did he have appalling balance, which was nice to know, if a bit unnecessary. The temptation of pushing him, was restrained with the fact that Hunter would probably not approve. So all her hope now lay with the wind, unfortunately, however, he seemed somewhat skilled in the matter, and so the hope dwindled.

He then began to answer her question, it was his word choice that interested her: “So I, find myself alive”. It suggested rather clearly that under certain past situations he wouldn’t have made it out if it hadn’t been for his ‘skills’. So when it came down to the boy's life it all hung it the balance of whether he was still useful, not an unusually situation she admitted, and one which normally turned out to be rather effective. Why? Why was she here? This one at least she knew, and so her thoughts needed only a moment to gather themselves. So she turned and watched him for awhile as he balanced back towards her before answering. “To challenge myself, for the promise of fights, and not just fights, interesting ones. Working for Hunter I get that, the money means northing to me and so do the reasons behind the missions, I do it because I want to….because its all I have.” Most of it that was routine, she knew why she was here, the last comment, however, that had sort of just come out. She recognised how sad it was, yet she wanted it this way, this was what she was meant to do.

“Hmmmmm,” Calley replied, reaching Nox. He hopped a step behind her, then hopped to the ledge on the other side of her, and resumed balancing away from her. “That’s not so good. The interesting fights bit is covered—you’ll get those with Hunter, no problem. But we,” he turn on his heel, and faced her again, “need to find you some hobbies. All work and no play makes Nox a dull mutie.”

He reached her again, and sat down. “So, what do you like to do? Besides playing with knives, and fighting.” He grinned at her. Clearly, he was over the stabbing issue. ...Maybe he was over it a little too soon, but that was a matter of opinion.

Hobbies?? And if dull meant spending her time fighting and training then she wasn’t all that opposed to it. Hobbies, he wanted her to get a hobby? It was an alien concept to her, survival, training fighting they all meant something to her, but a hobby? What did he expect her to take up needlework, cookery, maybe an instrument? Some part of her mind laughed at the thought, before the entire concept was disregarded as folly. Normal people have hobbies to fill their free time, she was neither normal, nor was her free-time lacking anything; it was full of training, and wondering, and sitting on roofs- Nothing wrong with that.

Deciding to play along with idea, at least until it stopped amusing her she seriously considered his question, and so answered, well after a slight expression of her thoughts on the while matter: “Hobbies?” A slight snort followed. “Well, I like knife-throwing… fighting generally…” They don’t really count, do they? Namely they had been excluded in his question. Right then something else… “and I suppose I like hiking and climbing, I haven’t really done anything else.” She shrugged it meant little to her, and it wasn’t as if anything was actually going to come of this, but while it still amused her she was willing to entertain the subject. On another note, however, the boy was getting cocky, and if he wasn’t careful their conversation might come to a rather swift conclusion, and there was such a well placed fall. She wouldn’t act yet, but if he become worse, then she would, even if he had been rather useful in concern to information