It is a somewhat dark but dry day in Belgium for a change. In its capital city it has been busy as usual as lots of foreign people come and go there while waiting to catch a new plane to their final destination. It has been 3 days since Bjorn's father had finally kicked him out of his home just because he was a mutant and eventually Bjorn too found his way to the Brussels as he traveled trough the alley's mostly not wanting to hear any anti mutant comments because he wasn't sure if he could keep himself from not reacting aggressively.

He sighs as he wonders what he had to do. He had little money left and whiteout a job or a place to stay he would surely get into trouble. And it wasn't easy already to stay unnoticed. Besides being dressed in his usual metal style that already wasn't that subtle he also had his long hair, teeth and even nails that had changed into metal because of his mutation. As he was listening to his I-pod he hummed along whit the song and shrugged. He would see what happens further. He smiled as he walked out of the alley and swinged his backpack that had all the stuff he had left better on his back and wandered in the busy street now.

((ooc: Sir, I accept your challenge: I have found a way to get my character to Belgium. ))

The cafe was quite nice, as was the weather. The clouds overhead made the day seem later than it was; outdoors, on the little patio, a few lights normally reserved for night had been turned on. They set an interesting atmosphere. This was Slate’s first time in Europe. He was trying to keep his tourist staring to a bare dignified minimum.

His notes sat in front of him on the little table, next to a half-finished sandwich. His table being quite near to the street, these papers were attracting curious attention from passersby. All of his notes were in English. Though English it wasn’t a truly rare sight, particularly this close to the university, it was certainly not one of the country’s three most common languages. More curious still, the notes he was making into the little tape-recorder in his hand were being spoken in perfect French. It was a somewhat odd situation, for anyone who paid attention to details.

He had been invited by the Université Libre de Bruxelles to speak, on the subject of the cloned heart Mondragon Labs had recently unveiled. More specifically: Doctor Ingram, the researcher in charge of the project, had been invited. Ingram not being the most social of men, however—and Ingram’s exact words in his refusal not being repeatable in polite company, unless polite company was above the age of eighteen and had a medical dictionary on hand—Slate had offered to take his place. The University had graciously obliged, shifting the lecture topic from a simple speech on the heart to a round table on the role mutants would play in the days to come, in all areas of business and science.

Thus one could find, if one read English, the word “mutant” liberally peppered over Slate’s papers. And coming from his lips in French, as he tested how his words would sound in that language:

“—with no disrespect intended, I do believe that mutants are the future. Just as gifted humans excel, so do I believe that mutants will. That is, of course, if we factor out the effects of fear.” Fear: it was a leading cause of mutant deaths, in many areas of the world.

((ooc : Thanks i never taught that anybody would ^^))

The streets grew more and more crowded whit people the further he got to the center of the city. If it wasn't for his I pod that was playing Bjorn would realize that he drew quite some attention to himself in that crowd. But because he got used to all these commends over the past few years he decided just to ignore them before he lost his temper.

Instead of focusing on them he taught of more important Mather's at hand. He didn't had much money and he needed a new place to stay. He sighs as Finley arrived in central Brussels after quite a trip on foot. He looked around to see where he could find something to eat now.

Quickly enough he found a little cafe that still had a free table outside. Even tough it was getting rather dark already for Belgium this was pretty good weather since it didn't rained all the time as usual. As he went to the table he noticed that the person on the table next to him was rather busy as his table was scathered whit papers and notes. He could see the words mutant on it and figured it would be one of those anti-mutant researches again.

Sighing a bit he gave his order to the waiter who was staring at him the whole time as if he couldn't believe what he saw. Bjorn shook his head annoyed making his ponytail of metallic hair a bit fling around. "Whats wrong ? Never saw a mutant before ?" He smirks as the guy seemed a bit uncomfortable at the sight of his metallic nails and teeth "Don't worry, i don't bite." The waiter apologized for his behavior and walked away to get it when Bjorn turned his Ipod off.

As he looked at his side he could hear the man talk in French now and smiled a bit surprised at what he hared and after quickly taking a look at the notes he knew he was wrong. This guy was totally not against mutants like he initially guessed.

Fear came in two primary forms, from Slate’s observations.

There was instinctive, primal fear: the fear of the unknown, of the monster who might or might not be in the darkness. This was a fear that everyone had. Everyone blessed by Darwin, in any case. Having a reasonable fear of the unknown was a perfectly healthy thing.

The second was cultivated fear. It did not come naturally: instead someone, somewhere, decided that it was a good idea to teach this fear.

>> "What’s wrong? Never saw a mutant before? Don't worry, I don't bite."

Slate set down his tape record, a small frown on his lips as he looked over to the next table over. The mutant—the very obvious mutant—was shifting from an aggressive smirk to their waiter, to a surprised smile. Slate noticed the gaze on his own papers. His fellow teenager had obviously noticed that he was a mutant supporter.

So, incidentally, had the waiter. The waiter who had done nothing but his job, with a little bit of instinctive fear. Entirely normal, and healthy.

“That was not very polite,” the nineteen year old pointed out, with understated disapproval.

Bjorn sighs looking at that guy obviously still annoyed about something. But eventually he seemed to take a deep breath and calmed down. He was still ticking whit his metal nail on the table "Yeah you are right ... it wasn't polite. Guess i start to vent my annoyance on others."

He smiled a bit as he looked up at the other guy "I am sorry if it bothered you ... Just got quite a bit going on now personally."

He opens up his backpack and takes out a sketch book. He knows of himself that he has some serious anger issues from time to time but he had learned to distract himself from it by means of drawing or other things.

He is a bit distracted while busy drawing something until he suddenly looks up at you again. "Judging from that accent your not from here."

((ooc: What language is Pitschon speaking, for the record? I’ll have Slate speaking French for now, because I believe that’s the dominant language in the area they’re in...))

>> "Yeah you are right ... it wasn't polite. Guess I start to vent my annoyance on others."

Slate gave a simple nod. It was good that the young man acknowledged that; better that he could admit it. Being able to openly admit one’s mistakes was a rare thing. Slate’s respect for his fellow teenager rose.

>> "I am sorry if it bothered you ... Just got quite a bit going on now personally."

“I was not very bothered,” Slate stated, with somewhat blunt honesty. “A small apology to your waiter, however, might do much good.” It could make the difference between the man believing what the media said about human-hating mutants, or realizing that mutants simply had bad days, as well.

>> "Judging from that accent you’re not from here."

A small smile quirked at the edge of Slate’s mouth. That was rather a fair judgment. Dragon Speak’s gems could grant him instant fluency in a language, but it took rather a bit of listening on his own part to acquire a perfectly local accent.

“I’m from America,” he replied easily. “It’s my first time here. I’m only in town for a few days, for a lecture.” He didn’t specify that he would be a speaker at said lecture. Given his age, it might be quite safe for a stranger to assume otherwise. If the man had heard him speaking earlier or could read English, however, he might suspect the truth.

Slate’s blue eyes took in the young man’s slightly worse-for-wear appearance, his backpack, and his obvious mutations. Combined with the flash of human-directed disgruntlement earlier... If this was New York, there would be a fairly safe conclusion to draw. Slate tried drawing it here, in Belgium.

“Are you leaving your home?” This was a delicate way of suggesting the teen had been kicked out, for all the usual reasons.

((ooc : sorry for the short post but i have been rather busy whit work the last few days))

The moment you asked that you could sees that he was trying to hold himself in as his face had a rather unpleasant expression on it. At That moment the waiter came back whit Bjorn's order and distracted by this he sighed a bit. Whit a faint smile he excused himself against that guy for loosing his temper like that. The waiter seemed a bit less intimidated now and accepted them before walking to a new customer.

Bjorn put his sketchbook and pencil down and looked at you whit a rather forced smile "Yeah you can say it like that." He sighed and took a sip of his drink. "Or to put it more correct ... I am kicked out by my father for what i am." Even tough he was angry before this rather quickly turned into a sort of sadness as he took a bite from his sandwich.

>> "Yeah you can say it like that. Or to put it more correct ... I am kicked out by my father for what I am."

“Ah,” Slate replied, quite simply. “What are your plans now?”

He shrugs as he takes a sip of his drink "I have no clue yet man. There is nobody waiting for me ... so i guess i now have little left here. Guess ill have to start a life on my own somewhere."

He smiles raising his shoulder even tough it is obvious that all these ordeals had touched the young man. Quietly he ate a bit of what he had ordered before before looking up over the street.

"Thats why i came here ... maybe here i can get a clue what to do since ill need a job and somewhere to stay now because i can't keep wandering, my budget would run out sooner or later."

((ooc: Still not sure what language your character is speaking, hence the English question. Slate’s still talking in French.))

>> "Thats why i came here ... maybe here i can get a clue what to do since ill need a job and somewhere to stay now because i can't keep wandering, my budget would run out sooner or later."

“Do you have a passport?” The blue-eyed teenager asked thoughtfully, unconsciously straightening his papers where a light wind had slid them. That was remedied. Soon, they were back in their proper position: in perfect parallel with all four of the table’s sides. He moved the edge of his plate over them, to preserve this positioning.

“There are several mutant safe houses where I come from, in New York City.” Slate explained further. “You could also get a job at most of them, I believe.” The Mansion never seemed to protest its students working for their stay. The Sanctuary... never seemed to have their residents do much, actually, but he was sure work existed. Somewhere. Perhaps Lisa needed an assistant; one to lead tours, so she never had to leave her desk. And Mondragon Labs, of course, was always hiring mutants of a certain distinction.

“Can you speak English?” He asked, as a close follow up. “Even the basics?”

((ooc: oh sorry about that XD i forgot to reply to that. He does speak French also))

Bjorn looked up curious after finishing his meal hearing the guy ask about a passport and nodded as he washed away his meal whit his drink. "Yeah i have all my papers whit me here. I wasn't intending to leave it behind back there." He patted on the pockets of his jacket where he had kept everything before picking up his sketching book again.

Drawing was a hobby of his that kept him calms at times like these where he could easily lose his temper. Even tough his metal head look didn't really gave it away he was rather talented on a artistic level. He nodded as he kept drawing hearing your suggestion.

"Yeah i have to give it to you guys for that. Here in Europe there is hardly anything for mutants... We just have to see that we manage by yourself but even here we heard about those safe houses." He gave the other guy a wide grin revealing his metallic teeth rather clearly now. "But i have to admit i never taught about leaving this place ... but seeing my current situation there isn't any reason anymore i should stay."

As he continued to draw you could see him glancing up to you every now and then. He only snapped out of his concentration after hearing your next question. "If i know English." He laughs a bit clearly amused as he suddenly continues in almost perfect English. "I never was very talented at languages back at school but English came really easy actually. Well aside that i sometimes have to think to find the correct word it won't be a problem. My English vocabulary is already rather impressive for a European."

The man’s eyes were silver; his hair was the same, and clearly stiffer than usual. The tips of his fingers flashed in the artificial light. The addition of sharply flashing teeth to this mix should have been no surprise. Still, it was a bit... startling. Slate had assumed the man’s teeth were normal; it was that assumption that had blocked him from noticing them, earlier.

Curious, that even mutants could be racist.

>> "I never was very talented at languages back at school but English came really easy actually. Well aside that i sometimes have to think to find the correct word it won't be a problem. My English vocabulary is already rather impressive for a European."

A small smile twitched at the corner of Slate’s lips at his fellow teenager’s clear pride. It was well-earned, too, from the sounds of it. Slate himself was cheating: he was relying on another mutant’s powers to speak French. This teen’s knowledge of English was his own. There was something much more meaningful in that.

Slate stretched his hand out between the tables. “My name is Slate Swartz. I own a small research company, back in New York. Would you like me to arrange a work visa for you?”

His smile twitched again. “We can put that English of yours to work.”

((ooc: No need to join the Kabal to accept that offer. I’m just trying to give your character a reason to head to the US. It would be a nice generic work visa; you wouldn’t have to be affiliated with Mondragon Labs at all. )

(lol OK thanks. Ill start posting in other places now soon as i got just back from vacation. Thanks for helping me setting it up and who knows lol. My character probably won't have heard about most organizations here lol)

Bjorn looked curious over the table as he saw the man first observe him curious too as he did his explications and introduced himself. Bjorn found that the guy didn't looked like one of those researchers types as he held out his hand to shake yours replying to the first part of the introduction. "Nice to meet you Mister Swarts... I'm Bjorn Pitschon ... currently unemployed and homeless Belgian" He added to his introduction a bit sarcastic to wards his situation.

As he lets go of your hand he suddenly looks up surprised hearing your offer. "You would just offer me a job like that ?" Be stared a bit surprised before leaning back. He tried to get a job several times before but he got always rejected and now a "stranger" he just met offered him a job and a Visa too America.

After getting over it suddenly a happy grin crept over his face. He didn't cared that it actually gave him a creepy look and startled a few people around him as he seemed too excited too even bother. "Tell me the details and I'm your man for that job. Any excuse is good for me to start over so why not over there"

(Give all the details in your next post so that i can star rping somewhere else then ^^)

A short phone call later had a secretary in New York pulling up paperwork; Mr. Pitschon would be a perfectly legal immigrant. It was a relatively simple thing, when a sponsorship organization and employment details had all already been taken care of.

Despite recent clean ups, Mondragon Labs was still not a suitable place for the uninitiated to casually roam about, day in and day out. There were jobs that did not involve being in the Labs proper, however. He would not have access to the research labs, or the training rooms; he could, however, go to the canteen and library.

Mr. Pitschon was going to be a groundskeeper: mowing, pruning trees, tending the flower gardens and little fruit orchards with the other groundskeepers. It would pay twelve dollars an hour. Enough to afford a small apartment, if he did not want to live in the housing on the Labs’ grounds, and enough to get him started in America.

((ooc: You can post in the “Labs Grounds”, “Canteen”, and “Apartment & Personal Rooms” boards at Mondragon Labs, or anywhere else in New York City.

If you want, your character can also have a free apartment on the Labs grounds (an apartment building near the main building, not in it). The Labs are in Queens, though, so it’s a bit of a commute to get to Central Park and all the other areas of NYC from there.

Enjoy!))

Bjorn smiled as he got up as he shook the man's hand again. "Thanks for everything man ... a new start thats just what i need... I can't thank you enough ... but on the other hand it might be better to express my gratitude by doing a good job." He laughs as he puts the paper he had been drawing on down on the table and turns around. "I'm sure we will meet again there ... the world is a small place especially if ill work for you now. Well better get to set everything up and get a plane ticket ..." He grins as he wanders of waving back at you "See ya later boss."

On the table the sketch he made is left behind showing the teras and a impressive accurate sketch of the man that gave him a new start on it. He didn't cared what happened whit the paper as he had a lot more on his mind now but instead of it being sad things it at least where good things now. And so Bjorn went forward to his new start of his new life.

(OK thanks a lot. I posted a bit more now so ill see how it goes now. Cya later)