Ian perched atop a church looking down on the streets below. Folding his wings into a more comfortable position across his back he began to recollect on today's events. How did this happen he came to New York to get away from prosecution only to find it waiting on him here. He had come here to find people like him not robots hunting them down. He had narrowly avoided the robots himself. He spotted them attacking somebody and some bystanders shouting about mutants. So he had figured to leave in a hurry would have been a good idea. But why were they after her, had she done something wrong? Something in his gut told him that she hadn’t.

“This was a bad idea. You were better off wandering on your own. But no you had to drag yourself up to New York to see if there really was a dang school for people like you. “

He shook his head and turned his attention to an intersection a couple blocks away. Thanks to his rather far eyesight he could see the robots coming. He didn’t know if they were looking for his wings or not but he wasn’t about to let them see him. Deciding discretion was the better part of valor he slipped back into the shadows of the churches spires. There he would wait for those viscous machines to pass by.

“Well now you’re here and you’re going to have to find a way out of this.”

Flying away would have been the easy solution but he hadn’t quite given up on that school yet.

Former Detective Rupert Kelley, currently on loan to the concentration camps as a supervisor for the State of New York, was presently doing something quite stupid. It was okay—his pastor had asked him to.

Let us backtrack. Today was, quite clearly, Saturday. Saturday was, of course, the day that the church youth groups met to share their young Christian spirits, play ping pong, and drink root beer in the church rec room. Naturally, there was some watching of satellite television involved in all of this.

Quite naturally, the high winds they were having today had done something to the actual satellite dish. Up on the roof. Attached in a rather unholy fashion to one of the beautiful old spires. This actually happened quite frequently—the thing got knocked out of whack. All it needed was someone to go up with a screwdriver and face a forty foot drop in order to restore the youth groups to their TV viewing. The rational thing to do would be to call the repair man, who was paid for such things. The usual thing to do was to pick the first semi-suicidal sucker who volunteered, hand him the screwdriver, and point him towards the ladder to the roof.

As Rupert opened the trapdoor and got hit full in the face with a blast of wind that promised winter, he realized something: he wasn’t this suicidal. But he didn’t want to lose face in front of a group of pimply New York teenagers by chickening out. So he stepped out onto the tiled roof, and delicately, delicately, began to edge his way over the gently slopping portion of the roof towards the spire that held the dish receiver.

This, children, was not something to attempt at home. And if your pastor happened to ask you to do it: just say “no”. Despite what America’s youth thought, it was possible to live without TV. The church really needed to switch to cable.

He might have seen something moving in the shadows next to the spires, but he also might have been concentrating very very hard on not falling to his death at the moment. He had visions of landing on the screwdriver. Just to add insult to his pavement pulverized corpse, you see.

This was not a good idea, he told himself again. It wasn’t the best motivational line he’d ever started repeating to himself. This was not a good idea. Ah, there was the dish. Just a few more steps... he could do this. This was not a good idea.

((ooc: Just to give you a description: Rupert is 28 but looks more like 24, 5’11”, has a silver hoop through his right eyebrow, and is currently wearing a pair of coffee-stained gray sweatpants and a black Rolling Stones T-shirt. And he’s brandishing a screwdriver. One really mustn’t forget the screwdriver.))

A gush of wind brushed through the feathers on Ian’s back making him shiver. He really hadn’t asked for this. To be stuck on some old church hiding from tyrannical robots and in the wind. What was this, God’s way of punishing for missing church so many days? Well, whatever it was here he was stranded in an unknown city, stuck on some unknown church, hiding from some unknown robots, and in the freezing wind. Normally he would be glad for this kind of wind because it made flying easier but flying was out of the question right now so it was just a huge pain.

“Dang my life sucks.”

This came out as a hoarse whisper because of the wind, added to the fact he wasn’t really talking to anyone. Shivering he turned around to try and get out of the wind. That was when he saw the man. It was a normal enough guy probably about 5’11” in height. He had a silver hoop in his right eyebrow and was wearing coffee stained sweatpants and a Rolling Stones t-shirt. In his hand was a simple screwdriver. What was this guy the handy man, some suicidal moron coming to fix something in the wind? Probably the satellite dish that was hanging awkwardly from one of the spires, this was probably very close to suicidal.

“This guy is going to go on a one way ride to the street if he ain’t careful. Thing is that he probably can’t fly like I can. Added I’m not really in the position to go flying to the rescue.”

Ian shook his head. There really wasn’t anything some people would do. Here was this guy climbing onto some spire to fix a satellite dish in the wind in the middle of New York City. He really didn’t think the streets were going to soften for him if he fell. No chances were that he was going to fall and that Ian would have to do his duty and save the poor guy. Unfortunately this would also alert every robot in the area about this winged mutant flying through New York saving handymen.

“Great my life just gets worse.”

He didn’t know who this guy was. For all he knew he could be the guy who built all those dang robots and set them lose on the city. Not exactly the guy he would want to be sharing the roof with. No the best thing would be to probably just hang out and see what happens. If the guy falls then fly to the rescue. On the other hand if he doesn’t fall and just goes back inside then everyone walks away happy. Unfortunately walking away happy wasn’t exactly showing up often for Ian.

Rupert was not going to fall. This is what he had decided. I am not going to fall. Repeating this aloud would make it more real: “I am not going to—woah! steady, steady...—Not going to fall!” Despite what the wind had to say—and it was being very vocal on the issue, he was staying on this rooftop.

“As for you,” he clutched at the spire the dish was attached to, and poked at the loosely hanging thing, “I know you hate me, and you know I hate you. So I’m just going to screw you, and then go back down, and we’re never going to speak of this again. Got it?” He paused a second, screwdriver poised artistically in one hand. “I didn’t just say that,” he decided, and set to work with a nod to himself.

He’d managed to wiggle the thing back into its correct location, and was setting to work on the first screw, when something large and metallic glinted from down on the street. Clutching at the spire, Rupert leaned slightly out for a better look. A stalker bot. Its head swiveled towards the rooftop. Rupert merrily raised a hand, and exactly one finger. Stalker bots. There was a very deep loathing for Stalker bots spreading throughout the NYPD, at the moment. For some reason, he and his fellow officers had been under the obviously mistaken impression that the things had been created to help them. Recent events had shown that, really, the NYPD existed as their cannon fodder. So many officers had been lost during the Mansion and Sanctuary raids because those walking tin lizards had gone off and done their own thing, while mutants had been cutting men down left and right.

Its head was staying on his location. Rupert made a shooing motion at it. “Shouldn’t you be off terrorizing the populace?” Finally, it turned, and continued down the street. Another thing: those robots had no concept of ‘collateral damage’. They’d been tearing up the city to bring in mutants who had been quietly laying low. Brilliant. Simply brilliant. Even if Rupert hadn’t decided he didn’t want to be a zealot any longer, he wouldn’t be in the fan club for those things. “Stupid robots.” He turned back to the dish, and set to work on screw number two.

Finally, the deed was done, and the youth groups were set up to receive their precious reality TV and bad sitcoms until Armageddon. Or until the next time this thing busted; whichever came first, really. Rupert paused a moment to admire his handiwork in satisfaction. This, friends, was a thankless job done well. He let his gaze roam out past the spire, to the city. That, friends, was a view. In this part of the city, mirrored windows and steel contrasted with the older, gray-stone masterpieces like his church. Not so far away, Central Park in the trailing days of its fall color was visible through the buildings.

“Give thanks to the Lord, call on his name; make known among the nations what he has done,” Rupert quoted contentedly. Psalm 105:1. “I love this city.” He tapped the screwdriver against his leg. “And now, to not die.” He looked back at the long stretch of roof between himself and the trap door. “Not going to fall,” he repeated once more, and started edging his way to safety. So help him, those kids better have saved some puppy chow and a Coke for him.

It was about then that a warning bell went of in Rupert’s head. He froze. Then, he tried to look like he hadn’t frozen. Very slowly, he turned his head back to that magnificent view. Mirrored windows showed something large, black, and feathered tucked away on the roof, not so far from where he was. Without turning around, Rupert let his mouth run: “This is a really stupid place to be just now, freak. Are you trying to get spotted by those robots?”

Immediately, his face flushed red. Okay. Bad word choice. He was a recovering zealot, after all. This... was going to take time. And some selective reconstruction of his vocabulary.

Aw crap! Two words were all that went through Ian’s mind. He had hoped that this guy wouldn’t see him but it was a little too late for that. So mustering up what was left of his courage and checking to see if any of those robots were around Ian stepped out of the darkness.

“I couldn’t agree more you know. Freaks like me don’t belong here, your friends down there proved that. So what now am I about to have to get violent or are you going to turn around and walk back inside and pretend like you never saw me.”

He was trying to hard to be tough, puffing his chest out and spreading his wings out a little. Big mistake, his foot struck a crack and he tripped landing face first on the church ceiling. Quickly regaining his composure he brushed the dirt off of himself and looked back up at the guy. He didn’t look armed other than that screwdriver of his. But Ian wagered that he could avoid that if it came to it. Truth was Ian wasn’t a very good fighter by no means but he wasn’t about to get drug of by those mechanical vultures either. Raising his fist in what he thought looked like a fighting stance he challenged the man.

“Well what’s it going to be fight or walk away? “

Still acting to tough but hey he would rather look like an idiot than be taken off to some camp or worse. Oh no he would go back home to Athens before that would happen. Taking a quick glance down at his necklace he thought that if God loved him he would provide a way out of this. Preferably one that didn't end badly.

Rupert tensed at those first words out of the mutie’s mouth, warily watching the way the thing was holding itself; those spread wings didn’t scream ‘friendly’, and Rupert had no doubt that if it came to blows up on a rooftop, then the guy with the wings was at the advantage. Then—

—He watched the kid face-plant onto the roof. Suddenly, all the puffing-up, wing-spreading, and machismo words seemed to take on a new slant. And the fighting stance. Where had this kid learned to fight, in a video game? Nice pose. Rupert was only at street brawler level himself—he tended to skip the fight, and just shoot his target—but even he could spot about ten easy ways to drop Wings over there.

“Well what’s it going to be fight or walk away?”

Rupert put a hand over his mouth, trying to cover his sudden smile. If nothing else, he had a fine sense of the ridiculous. And this... was ridiculous. “How old are you, kid?” He finally asked. “Fourteen? Fifteen?” Besides the wings, he looked rather normal. More importantly, he didn’t have the look of someone who had been on the streets very long. He didn’t look like someone who’d been getting regular meals or showers lately, either. “You picked a bad time to run away from home. Couldn’t your parents hide you?”

He noted the cross. It was the sort of thing Rupert couldn’t fail to note. “Are you Christian?”

He kept his own posture relaxed, and made the screwdriver—the only claim to a weapon he had—disappear into a pocket. He was trying to take the kid off his little offensively-defensive stance. For one thing, Rupert had no intention of hurting him. For another thing, Rupert was one swift push away from a very messy end. Posturing had been known to escalate. It would be great if they could just avoid that.

Ian dropped his stance. He was just making himself look like an idiot and he knew it. There wasn’t much at all he could do if this guy decided to turn him in. But for some reason he didn’t think this guy was going to. It was something about him that made it seem like he wasn’t an enemy. Something Ian didn’t really get to see that often.

“I’m sixteen, sixteen years old. Normally I’d be content with a car but obviously…”

He spread out his wings to indicate that the word normal didn’t hold much meaning to him. Ian dropped his head. Obviously this guy didn’t know what it was like to be a mutant. For everyone you knew and loved to suddenly turn around and hate you. To not be wanted anywhere and when you finally hear about someplace that does want you get here to find robots that want to imprison you. His life was running away from trouble constantly. He never got good meals or a place to rest. No what he got was pitchfork in torches and in one case literally pitchforks.

"I didn’t run away from home either. I was kicked out. My parents didn’t want a mutie in their household. Come to think of it the neighborhood didn’t have much of a want for me anymore. Do you know how it feels for everyone you know to suddenly turn around and hate you? I imagine not.”

Almost subconsciously he walked over the edge of the church and down on to the streets below. He watched the people walking by like a living gargoyle on gothic architecture. He folded his wings around his arms to cover them from the wind. It was cold out here but he was used to cold. He saw a lot of it now days. He grabbed his necklace and lifted up to his face looking at the cross on the end.

“Yea I am a Christian, I come from the South and was raised in church but it’s much more than that. When you’re alone it’s nice to think of having Jesus with you. Somebody who doesn’t care that you are different. It’s kind of funny really these wings of mine. Almost angelic don’t you think not that I’m worthy to be considered angelic, there black too so I guess that would make me a demon more than an angel. Ha! I know some people who would agree with that.”

Ian lowered his head even lower. Maybe he shouldn’t have come here just to look for some stupid school or for people like him for that matter. What would it change anyway no matter he would still be a freak in the long run. A freak plain and simple a freak.

About the time that the kid’s head starting sinking lower and lower was when Rupert realized he was out of his league, here. Yes, as both a police officer and a volunteer at his church he’d gotten in some experience talking with kids in trouble. Just a few weeks ago, in fact, he’d talked to a kid named Kyle, who’d been in much the same place as... as Wings, here. The difference? Rupert was not used to talking to mutant kids. In fact, he wasn’t even used to talking with mutants without a gun at hand. Well, not if he knew they were mutants. This was... this was new territory, here. Rupert took a step closer as Wings moved towards the edge of the roof, then decided that wasn’t such a good idea for reasons of his own mortality, and stayed right where he was.

So this was his first conversation with a mutant as a non-zealot. Huh. Well, this would be... interesting. “Listen, freak—” He slapped his forehead, and ran his hand down his face. Off to a good start already. “Sorry—sorry. Didn’t mean that. I just—long story. Can I just try that again?” He took a deep breath, carefully planned out his next words, and then said: “My name is Rupert. What’s yours?”

“And no, I can’t imagine what it would be like to have everyone turn against you like that.” He could very easily imagine what it would be like to be one of the people who had turned, though. “If it helps... I think they’ll regret it. Your parents, I mean. They’re going to wake up one day and realize how stupid they were.” On that topic, Rupert counted himself an expert. You didn’t get more regretful than realizing you’d shot your mutant girlfriend. And locked her into a concentration camp. And... and he was going to stop thinking about that, now. He had sinned; he’d asked for forgiveness; and now he was working to correct things. That seemed like it should be enough. It wasn’t enough—it would never be enough—but it was all he could do, being the mere human he was.

He listened to the kid’s words about his faith, and his wings. He kept quiet through it all. What was there to say? ‘Why yes, it does suck to be you. In an ironic way. Ha! Freak.’ Yes, he was definitely keeping his mouth shut until he’d carefully planned out a response.

“I... can’t say that I don’t care that you’re different,” he began tentatively. That had sounded better in his head. Since he hadn’t used either the words ‘freak’, ‘mutie freak’, or ‘feathered freak’ in there, he was just going to count it as a win and move on. “I’ve got no clue what you’re going through, either. I do know, though, that there’s something separating you from your parents, and the people who ran you off. Besides the... the wings... I mean.” Rupert gestured lamely towards the boy’s raven feathers. This probably wasn’t helping. “What I mean is, you’re not at fault, here. You couldn’t help... the wings.” He gestured again. He really needed to stop doing that. “Them hating you, though—that was something they chose. You couldn’t control any of this; they’re the ones who did wrong. So don’t feel... bad.” He winced at his own incredible wisdom.

“Okay, sorry. That was long, and rambling. The point is: do you have any clue where you’re going from here? You can’t just go around in public with the... with the wings, and all.” He stopped his hand in mid-gesture, this time. What was a polite way to talk about someone’s mutation? He really didn’t know. For some reason, the NYPD didn’t teach mutant relations etiquette.

Ian began to laugh. That was all he could do really. This guy was very ackward when mentioning feelings or his mutations. Especially his mutation. He kept stumpling over himself trying to find a polite way to talk about his wings. They were what they were wings plain and simple no real need to sugar coat that.

"You know its kinda funny when someone tries to be nice to you about your mutation. So many people focus on tearing you down that when people try to be nice they stumble over themselves not exactly sure how to talk about us."

Ian shook his head and took a few steps away from the side of the building. He then turned away from the streets and looked at the different assorted rooftops.

"As far as a place to go I don't really know. I had heard about there being a school or something for people like me but I don't know much more. It was a kind of far fetched idea anyway. But with those things walking around everywhere I doubt I could get around to finding it."

He began to pace back and fourth thinking about his situation. He could cover his wings with the trenchcoat but he didn't know how far that would get him and flying was out of the question. But on the same token he couldn't sit around for to long before they would find him and into the camps he goes.

"I don't know I have to do something. I need to find somewhere to hide from those beasts down there. Personally I would rather not spend my first trip to New York in a mutant concentration camp."

Clearly, this was a kid who understood the words ‘it’s the thought that counts’. Rupert let out a little sigh of relief. Apparently, his sentiment had gotten across, even if the words themselves weren’t exactly a poetic masterpiece.

“...Personally I would rather not spend my first trip to New York in a mutant concentration camp.”

“Fair enough,” Rupert said, nodding reasonably as he watched the kid’s pacing. Obviously, those wings were functional. Otherwise, he’d be showing a bit more concern for the drop. ...He probably wouldn’t be up here in the first place if those things didn’t work, come to think about it. Huh. Rupert was definitely feeling like a genius, today.

“That school you mentioned—it’s really not far-fetched. There were two of them, actually; Xavier’s, and Xavier’s Sister School. We, ah, we raided both of them.” He really shouldn’t have used that ‘we’. Now he felt the need to explain it. He scratched at the back of his neck. “I’m a cop. A Detective, actually. Well, not a Detective at the moment—right now I’m working at the—never mind.” He took a deep breath, and realized his credibility probably couldn’t get much worse, after that little admission. He might as well lay all the cards on the table; he only had a vague idea of where he was taking this, but he realized he was going to need the kid’s trust. He still hadn’t gotten his name. “Actually, never mind the never mind. Right now, I work at the concentration camps. The ones for mutants.” Because there were other concentration camps in the state of New York. Yes, he was really doing great, here. “Listen, though, I’m not going to turn you in, or anything. It’s very important that no one knows we had this conversation, though—I’m, ah,” he flashed a sudden grin. “Well, believe it or not, but the rest of the world thinks I’m a mutant-hating zealot at the moment. I’m trying to use that. And I’m rambling again.”

He cleared his throat. “The school is shut down right now. So are all the other places I know of that you could have gone, if you’d gotten here a month earlier. There might be one place left—but it would be really risky, for both of us. And you would have to trust me.” Standing there in his sweatpants and his Rolling Stones T-shirt, shivering slightly from the wind, Rupert didn’t think he was cutting the most trustworthy figure.

Shocking. Aboslutely shocking. Here he was trusting the word of some guy he had never met only to find out that he worked at the very place he was trying to avoid. But for some reason he couldn't get angry. He wasn't angry with the man for working at those camps and for some reason he still trusted him. Something about him still rang true.

"Ok I believe you but don't think I'm not going to watch you. I am not about to take any chances especially with someone who works at the camps. But seeing as how I need help and you haven't called down the firing brigade yet I think we can work something out. Were is exactly is this one place at and what are the risks?"

Ian took a few steps away from Rupert not wishing to stand to close to what the world believed to be a mutant hating zealot. For all he knew the world could be right. He could be making a very huge mistake by trusting him but he was going to do it. What choice did he have?

"Oh and by the way my name is Ian, Ian Beckford."

That was a little show of good will to test Rupert. His reaction would ultimately decide whether or not Ian would go along with him.

To be honest, the kid’s reaction was a lot calmer than Rupert had feared. A thought had crossed his mind: what was the quickest way to get rid of a human who knew too much? Make it look like the idiot had fallen off of a church roof, of course. He was relieved that Wings apparently hadn’t had the same thought. Actually, that made him feel a lot better about this kid, in general. There was a reason Rupert had been a zealot: mutants were cutting down the NYPD like well-sharpened scythes. He himself had a very nice scar through his side, given to him by a girl with a bow in her hair who was currently rotting in the camps. Now her, he was not planning to release. That little murderess was going to pay for all the cops she’d killed. Some mutants, though, didn’t deserve the bad rap that the rest of their species was building up. Apparently Wings—Ian Beckford—was one of the better ones. Good to know. Very, very good to know.

Rupert nodded understandingly at the kid’s words, and didn’t mention those few steps he took backwards. Honestly, Rupert couldn’t blame him. Turned on by his parents, currently in a city full of Stalker bots, and talking with a man who worked at the concentration camps and would have happily shipped him off to get registered and collared just a week or two ago. Yes, Ian was in his full rights to stand a little further back.

“The place I’m talking about is my apartment. The risks are that if you get found there, you’ll be shipped off to the camps, and I... well, I think they’ll have to make up new laws just for my trial. ‘Traitor to Humanity’ isn’t a charge just yet, but that’s about what I’m planning.” He gave a modest shrug. “I’m trying to stage a break-out at the camps. If someone finds out about you, they’ll realize I’m not exactly who they thought they were hiring, and that whole plan is going to fail.”

He gave another shrug, and a half-smile. “If things go well, though, the worst you’ll have to put up with is a little limited freedom, and my pets.” He ran an exasperated hand through his hair. “Somehow, I’ve become a boarding house for the pets from the Mansion. Don’t ask me how that happened.” Honestly, he was still trying to work it out. Especially that ferret. That ferret... in the jet-propelled cage. Yes, its owner was a genius electric fox girl. But... it was a jet-propelled ferret cage. Why had she built...? That was another thing he really just shouldn’t think about too hard. “You can take some time to think about it, if you want.” He paused, and looked around at their current setting. “...Maybe not too long, actually.”

Ian began to laugh again. This time it was a laugh of relief. Finally things were starting to turn around. He was finally getting a chance to belong somwhere even if it was hiding out in some guys apartment. At least it was somehwere. Somewhere with a heater he hoped. Turning to face Rupert he smilied.

"You know I would have to choose between all my other fine options but seeing as how I like you I think I'll take up your offer. I think I can handle a little limited freedom and pets."

Ian shrugged off the cold and folded his wings flat against his back. He then returned to his previous hiding spot to hopefully find his trenchcoat. It was the onlything he owned that could really cover his wings if only slightly. Finding it lying beside a spire he pulled it on shaking some of the dirt of it as he did.

"Ah my lucky coat. You know this thing is one of the only reason I haven't been impelled on a pole yet. Sad I know but hey you go with what you've got i guess."

Stepping forward but still keeping a slight distance between himself and Rupert he waited for him to lead the way. Not sure of exactly which way to go anyway.

The kid’s sense of humor was refreshingly normal: teenage sarcasm, apparently, crossed species lines. Rupert watched uncertainly as the kid walked away from him on the roof. The long, rather conveniently wing-covering coat he returned with explained things. It also simplified matters considerably. Rupert’s apartment was only a few blocks away, but that was a very long distance for someone with an obvious mutation.

"Ah my lucky coat. You know this thing is one of the only reason I haven't been impaled on a pole yet. Sad I know but hey you go with what you've got I guess."

Rupert smiled awkwardly at that. He wasn’t quite sure how to reply. This meeting... was definitely taxing his social skills reserves. Since the kid was obviously still wary of him—keeping a slight distance was usually a dead give-away on that issue—he really didn’t want to say the wrong thing. Opening his mouth around mutants usually was the wrong thing. Keeping it shut, therefore, was an option he should exercise more regularly.

He looked back towards the trap door. ...It was still a very long ways off. “All right. First, we’re going to have to get you through the building. There’s a small room below the ladder from that trap door, and I doubt anyone will be in it, but I’ll still go down first and signal you. After that... I need to run down to the basement quick, and make an excuse to leave. I’m supposed to be helping with the youth groups right now.” He nearly made a joke about not calling the cops while he was down there, but he caught it before it hit his vocal chords. See? He was getting better at this speaking-with-the-freaks thing already. “You can wait in the room while I do that; I’ll come and get you after I’m done. Then we make a quiet retreat to my car, go to my apartment, and get you up the stairs. No problem.” He nodded confidently. This was easy: right. Then, he headed for the trapdoor. Very, very carefully. Falling to his death right now would not be the smoothest move he’d ever pulled.

Ian nodded silently and watched as Rupert headed to the trap door. This was it his chance to get somwhere. Weird thoughts of adventure began to course through his mind at this aspect. But he quelled them. Truth was he got these quite often. It would seem that a side effect of his mutation was the nearly uncontrollable urge to take off into flight. But Ian knew that would be a rather bad mistake. Daring not to say anything he watched as Rupert negotiaded his way towards the door.

"If you only had wings..."

Ian whispered this to himself chucling at his own joke. Well mutations definitely had their advantages now didn't they. Time to go on to whatever it was that awaited him.