It had been a long night slaving over inks and parchments, seeking out the right materials for the forged bonds he was working on. His contact had offered him the job, assuring him the client was seeking out an anonymous seller, so as long as the quality of his work was high enough, it should be untraceable to him.

From across the room, his phone alarm could be heard. That was right! He told Allison he would help her out with her painting. The alarm gave him ten minutes until she was supposed to show up, so he started stowing away his supplies.

Unfortunately, his phone called out one more time, this time with a text telling him Allison was downstairs. Rushing, he checked to make sure easels were set up. The desk he was working on had a built in cover that he closed over the evidence of his craft.

He had Allison let in and waited for her to find her way up.

It was vaguely odd, for Allison to be finding her own way up to Nate’s apartment, but also vaguely satisfying. Her parents, certainly, would have never allowed anyone to find their own way to their apartment (if they’d had one, anyway; she didn’t know of any), even if it was someone they disliked Allison or, if she wasn’t around, a sibling would have been sent to play guide. Anyone they disliked enough not to send a guide for simply wouldn’t have been allowed in in the first place. Allison sort of understood the sentiment--how embarrassing would it be for someone to get lost in an apartment building, of all things, even if it was relatively easy to miss numbers and get turned around--but it had always seemed a little excessive to continue guiding people who were there every week and knew the way as well as the owners. She’d certainly memorized the way to several of her parents’ friends’ apartments well before she was old enough to remember ever not knowing them, and yet even when she moved she was still having to wait for someone to show her the way.

Absurd, really.

Though perhaps more logic taken to absurd lengths than pure absurity, Allison amended as she noticed that, in her musings, she’d managed to walk right past Nate’s apartment and nearly to the end of the hall. She rolled her eyes at herself and backtracked, knocking on the door, fortunately without wandering past it again.

Though that would have been funny.

Nate had been meaning to grab a lock for the desk, but at the moment, there was not much he could do, so he slammed it shut and walked to the entryway, ignoring the desk cover as it bounced off the desk, leaving a slight gap open.

Nate wondered whether Allison would have an issue reaching his apartment, so he was waiting at the peephole when she approached his door and kept going. He considered opening the door to call her, but it was a dead end anyway, and it was a little funny to watch her so obliviously bypass him. She finally knocked on the door the second time around and he welcomed her inside. "Nice to see you again, Allison. Did you find the building alright from your new place?" She had originally lived much closer to Nate, but recently, Allison mentioned moving someone more suited to her tastes. It was for the best; her former landlord was a bigot and a jerk.

Nate walked over to the easels set up and prepped the canvas for him and his student. "If you could give me a minute, I was not expecting you quite yet. Make yourself at home."

He entered a closet he kept paints and supplies in, gathering what they would need. "So how's the new place treating ya?"

“Nice to see you too.” Allison glanced around Nate’s apartment as he let her in, automatically forming a quick impression of his financial status and attitude toward money and looking for clues to his political opinions, then almost as automatically shoving the entire assessment into the back of her mind before it could really filter through into her conscious mind. She did not need to know how to manipulate Nate. Even if there was anything to be gained from it that she actually vaguely wanted, it was wrong, and she really didn’t want to start on that path. “I found it alright; I still know the area, and I’m not too far away now.”

...And, really, she suspected that if she did want to manipulate Nate, he’d probably fall for ‘cute, quirky and maybe a bit emotionally vulnerable’ as quickly as everyone else did. With the added benefit that it really wasn’t even not her, just only selected parts of her.

And she was kind of disinclined to show off the screeching murderous rage part of her mind anyway, manipulation or not.

“No problem, sorry to surprise you.” Allison took the opportunity to look around Nate’s apartment again, less automatically, as he went to get paint and brushes. “You know, I’ve never before seen an artist with a place half this clean.”

Allison shrugged. “My ex-neighbors had a party, my family is having a dignified temper tantrum, and so far I’m mostly avoiding my new... neighbors.” Roommates? Housemates? What should she call the other Sanctuary residents anyway? “Trying to get everything else settled down first before I start making new chaotic acquaintances.”

Allison seemed surprised by the quality and cleanliness of his apartment with fair reason. A white collar thief's budget allotted for better conditions and the orderly mind of a thief proved more suited for neatness than an artist's heart. "I guess I'm a little more orderly than most artists. I've been in the professional world too damn long." Ironically enough, the closet he was sifting through was the opposite of neat; lately he had been tossing things on random shelves when he finished with them.

He noticed his favorite pallet on the corner of the floor, checking one thing off his mental list. "It's a new place; it'll take you time to get to know people there, but it has to be an improvement over the jerks you left behind." He started collecting the paints he was expecting to work with. "Til then, you're welcome here."

He was finishing off his gathering, so he figured it was best if Allison got ready. "Just grab the shorter easel and place it near whatever you feel like painting." The view from his apartment was great and his windows wide, so he was sure she'd find some angle to work with.

Nate’s comment on the ‘professional world’ drew a slight smirk from Allison. She certainly knew that effect, more than she had any desire to really. “That, I can certainly understand. It does tend to demand certain habits.”

“Oh, definitely. Short of murderers I don’t know what wouldn’t be.” Allison let herself examine a painting, studying the brush strokes and the pigment to try and guess at the media and techniques. “And thanks for the offer. There’s really nothing wrong with the people there, I just don’t interact with them much. My recent acquaintances seem to have a tendency to lead me on absurd and somewhat hilarious new adventures, which may or may not threaten my life or way of at any given point. I’d rather settle the current ones before starting more.”

Allison rolled her eyes at the easel’s designation of ‘shorter’--couldn’t it have been the one on the right, or with more red paint on it, or darker wood, or...?--but didn’t say anything and moved it over to a window, peering out the window for a moment before deciding exactly where to set it.

Nate brought out the supplies and set everything up around the easels, both facing toward the large windows. From where they were, you could see some of the tall buildings that characterized New York, including the Chrysler Building in the distance. There was also Central Park closer by. New Yankee Stadium was too far away, to Nate's chagrin. (He would most likely find an excuse to go out there to paint it; he was not a Yankees fan, but it was still a major piece of the baseball world.)

"I always imagined your life would be a string of zany, life threatening adventures. Nice to see I was right." If there was one person Nate felt it necessary to worry about in New York, it was Allison. Not that she could not take care of herself or was not clever; she was just most likely to do something dangerous or illegal.

Nate scanned the area, settling on the Reservoir in the park. He was running out of sights from his window to paint at this rate. "So are you painting anything in particular?" He started mixing his shades of blues and greens.

“I... they’re not always life threatening,” was the best defense Allison could come up with. “Some are just zany. ...Zany is an amusing word.” That thought occupied her while she got paints from Nate and returned to her easel, settling on a scene with sidewalk in front of trees, so she could add people. “Zany, zany, zany. Zannnyyyy.”

She was distracted from thoughts of zany at Nate’s next question. “...Yes,” she answered absently, wondering if it was possible to paint anything not in particular. Apart from abstract maybe. “The canvas!” she added, cheerfully. The following smirk was mostly hidden, if not fully.

Nate had already begun mixing colors on his pallet. Allison's antics were so characteristic of her that he did not bother looking up from his paints to comment. "Allison, you're zany. Zany. Zaaaaaannnnyy." He rolled his eyes; the girl was contagious.

She was also witty; in truth, Nate should have realized he left himself open for the wise-ass reply, but he shot her a sideways glance, regardless. "Alright, you're clever. Fine, do whatever you'd like--on the canvas!" he added. If he was not careful with his wording, he could end up with a mural on the wall not permitted in his apartment . He considered using a painting knife for the day, but settled on a brush, which he began dabbing into his paint and set off to work, prepared to offer assistance or tips to the young, eccentric artist with him.

Allison barely managed not to fall over laughing when Nate echoed ‘zany’ back at her, but still ended up bent over, pressing a hand against her stomach to try to control it. “Zaaaaaaanyyy,” she gasped back as soon as she was able to, then was overtaken by a fresh onslaught of giggles. And, following that, more giggles, when it occurred to her to wonder whether there was a mutant who could control laughter.

It took several minutes to regain something resembling composure.

"Alright, you're clever. Fine, do whatever you'd like--on the canvas!"

Allison paused, then grinned. “Okay.” You should never give me a statement I can misinterpret.

What a shame she was so good at misinterpreting.

A few seconds later, the canvas was on the floor--face down, so she wouldn’t damage it--and she had kicked her shoes off and was balancing lightly on the frame, bouncing on her toes as much as she dared. “Is dancing okay? You said whatever I want. Actually that would be difficult. Can I paint the air?” She paused as another thought occurred to her, and leaned over to examine her socks. Formerly pink, worn and faded to off-white, with green and red butterflies scattered over them like some kind of bizarre Christmas-Valentines-butterfly... something. She really had no idea what it could be. “Better thought. Can I dye my socks? They’re soft but my relatives have some really weird tastes in fashion. They were supposed to smell like peppermint but I never could smell them.”

Nate had been trying his hardest to handle Allison's games and shenanigans with indifference, keeping his eyes off of her and on his work, but dammit, the girl did not make it easy. His curious eyes spotted her out of the corner of his eye, and he instinctively turned around to see a canvas on the floor and a young, shoeless mutant atop its frame. There was no way that this would not be over-the-top and aggravating if she was anyone else, but for Allison, this was just her, and it was admittedly the more endearing quality of the bizarre girl.

He sighed, folding his arms, careful to avoid getting his own paint on his arm. "Boy, you will do whatever it takes to find a loophole in the stuff I say, huh?" He fought the urge to grin, submitting to the requests of the girl with a head-shake. "Know what? Go right ahead. But oil paints might not work out best for those socks of yers. There are some inks in the cabinet near my desk; you could even use them powers of your with them." He returned to his canvas, trusting the girl would find the supplies in the cabinet without any complications. A trust that'll go in vain, I'd wager.[/color]

Allison grinned, folding her hands behind her and reminding herself not to bounce. The wood might be able to take her weight without damage, but bouncing was a bit risky. “Well, it’s funny. And it’s not my fault you use so many metaphors without thinking about them.”

She stepped carefully off of the frame, gave Nate a bow that was really more flourish than anything else, and made her way over to the cabinet. She hadn’t really intended to dye her socks, but if it was such a perfect opportunity... and with her powers, it wouldn’t take more than ten minutes to dye them, either. Huh. Finally found a use for this. And it is still totally useless. Allison kicked the thought into the back of her head and ducked to look through the cabinet, picking out black and blue ink bottles. She could replace the off-white with black, and make the butterflies blue; maybe add some accents with the black or white.... She straightened up, setting the ink on the table so she could pull her socks off.

...That was odd. Allison leaned over a bit, peering at the desk as she poked it again. It didn’t move. She peered closer, and--hm.

Conveniently for any TV mystery plot she might unwittingly be starring in, Allison was quite curious, and tended to investigate what caught her interested without wondering if she should. Conveniently for Allison, the fake top of the desk didn’t seem to be latched. She grabbed the ink bottles as they started to slide, wondering why she hadn’t noticed the top was completely empty before then.

Allison tilted her head, taking in everything she saw on the desk, and analyzing it with everything she knew about Nate. Her many objections to the manipulative, business mindset that she normally had were neatly ignored in favor of making a few very quick guesses. When she spoke, her voice was more thoughtful than anything else, but certainly wasn’t ditzy Allison any more. “Nate, what reproductions do you do?”

She was right in a twisted way; he was too accustomed to speak in turns of phrase and half-truths. The other obvious answer; she was a snarky, clever brat.

Nate was focused on his careful brushstrokes, so he replied with his eyes never leaving the canvas. "Mostly paintings on comission." Without knowing why, a creeping feeling overtook him. It might have been the voice of the normally aloof and silly Allison. "Why do you ask, Alli?"

Allison paused disbelievingly for a moment, then glanced over and realized that Nate, apparently, had no idea she’d found anything yet. “...I can think of a number of responses to that, and I’m not entirely sure which to go with, but they all universally start with ‘bullsh*t.’” She went back to studying the various materials on the desk. She wasn’t entirely sure what all of them were, but she recognized enough. “How about this. Define ‘commission.’ And ‘paintings.’ And... well, no, I guess ‘reproduction’ is obvious enough not to bother with.”

...So much for Allison’s various attempts to be a good, regular, not-law-breaking citizen. She was far closer to laughing than anything else. And while not much of the amusement seeped into her voice, it virtually took over her expression.

Oh well. She’d probably just have to go with trying not to break morality, instead. Which meant she’d probably better get around to figuring out just what her morals were soon....

Something was amiss, that much was clear. Allison's tone was totally different and she was sounding very accusatory. Frustrated and concerned, Nate had to put down his brush and turn to face whatever the problem was at hand.

The problem at hand was as bad, if not worse than anticipated. It would seem, based on where Allison was standing, that his desk cover had not closed entirely. This was the sort of situation Nate was not accustomed to: being undeniably, stone-cold busted.

He took a deep breath; there was little point to letting the situation get out of his control. He walked close to the desk. "Well, I define 'paintings' as whatever piece of 'art' my customer is most interested in having reproduced; some people have different tastes, but I don't judge."

At the desk, he grabbed a glove left next to his inks. He slipped it on and carefully picked up one of the bonds that had already had the chance to dry. "As for commission... well, if art is important to them, the customer has to be willing to prove it, right?"

Nate was taking a gamble; he had to hope the normally bubbly Allison was not going to go goody-goody on him and run to the police or the X-Men. If she did that, he would have to plan his evacuation sooner than expected. It would be a shame, too; he was looking forward to that date with Quin. "The life of an artist like me involves a lot of 'no questions asked' employment. Makes sense?"