Yesterday, it had rained. Today, it was freezing. The roads and sidewalks were covered with a good layer of ice, making even walking difficult. Nobody with an ounce of sanity would be hitting the road with something on wheels today. That just left the taxi drivers in their cabs, and Dorian Stewart on his invisible bicycle. He must have left his ounce of sanity back at the Sanctuary. Or maybe his family took it from him, when he went to visit them over the holidays. His parents were so proud of his sister, the doctor, and his brother, the army officer, that his last ounce of his sanity had probably evaporated before he had the time to say "inferiority complex."

Either way, he couldn't have been in full possession of his senses when he decided that public transportation was expensive, and he needed some exercise after all that holiday feasting anyway, so why not just take his bike home? This was a great idea.

Or so he thought, until he was lying face-first on the cold, wet ice. And – well, Dorian was, by no stretch of the imagination, a doctor. Recent experience with his parents and his sister made that much clear to him. Furthermore, he had never taken a course in anatomy. He barely put enough effort into his undergraduate biology course to pass. So, he could easily be wrong about this. But... were ankles supposed to be able to bend that way? Because Dorian couldn't recall his right ankle being able to do that under normal circumstances. And, now that it was, he was in agony.

At times like this, he wished he had vocal chords, because then he could yell something like "Ow! I broke my ankle! Somebody please help me!" Alas, thanks to his mutant gift, he only had the ability to mouth an incomprehensible stream of things that simply aren't family friendly as he slid himself over to the side of a building and used the wall to help himself back onto his feet.

No, foot. He meant foot, not feet. The foot that wasn't attatched to a broken ankle. Yes, it was difficult to stand on one foot on a slippery layer of ice, but good lord that hurt.

The sign on that door said something about mechanics. Whatever. In there, it would probably be less icy and slippery and cold, and the people there might be able to help him. If there were people there at this time of year. Though, there probably were, because the front door was open. Hopefully, these people would be nice, and they would help him back onto his foot after his face finishes colliding with the ground again.

Thud.

Grimacing from the pain, he removed his face from the ground again and tried to take in his surroundings. Anything other than his ankle would be nice to concentrate on. His ankle was beginning to feel damp and red.

Travis didn’t really mind the weather here too much, but it was days like today that he knew it was going to be a combination of a good and bad day. The rain had made the roads and whatnot a horrid place for vehicle travel, although some still dared it, which meant he would get some business today. It had slowed down recently, as most of the holiday traveling was winding down as Christmas came and went, so it had been a little slow lately. Most people didn’t mind, but when you literally lived where you worked, and didn’t really have a hobby otherwise, it got kind of boring.

So, Travis was once again working the counter, waiting for something, anything, to happen so he could get some work done. Needless to say when he saw a young man hobble in and try to move towards him, only to end up faceplanting on the floor, he moved not out of boredom, but concern. He was quick to see the ankle, and moved to the shop door, where the other mechanics were playing cards. “Frank! Get in here, and bring the first aid kit!” Frank was his ex-Army mechanic, and knew a thing or two about broken bones and whatnot, and was designated the ‘Safety’ mechanic.

Regardless, Travis picked up the young man in one motion and brought him to a chair sitting in the waiting room that reclined, a decent little office chair. Setting it back, he watched as Frank entered the room with a good sized red metal box, and moved to the ankle in question. “I need to see if it’s a fracture or a dislocation… this might hurt.” With two meaty fingers, he gently prodded here and there, and smiled. “Not broken, dislocated. I can reset it… but it will hurt… a lot.” Travis was already in motion, grabbing a clean white towel from a drawer behind the counterm winding it up, and looking to the young man for understanding at his next statement. “Bite down on this…” He said, waiting for compliance and understanding, and once that was done, he gave a nod to his employee.

There would be an audible popping noise as he pulled and reset the leg while Travis held the legs in place.

But then the pain would lessen considerably. “He needs to stay off of it for now… crutches and a doctor’s visit likely the best option, but it’ll heal in time.” Travis nodded, and then turned back to the young man. “I got it from here Frank… thanks.” That being said, he removed the towel from the young man’s mouth, and sat down in the opposite chair. “Seems like the ice kicked your ass kid… you OK?”

There was a shout for a first aid kit, then Dorian felt himself rise off the ground. Everything was a blur. One of the mechanics put him in an office chair. The guy with the red box, he realized, must be called "Frank." Dorian was distinctly incapable of complaining about Frank's poking and prodding at his ankle. And he didn't exactly get to say anything about Frank's decision to reset it. You think you can manage to make it hurt even more, Frank? I have to experience that to believe it! Sign me up! He opened his mouth, and in came the towel.

Dorian's compliance probably had something to do with the fact that he was in intense pain, surrounded by people who were bigger than he was, and unable to speak. Maybe those times he'd been patched up by that medic on the front lines in WWIII were contributing factors. He would probably find himself wondering what the point of the towel in his mouth was if Frank wasn't so hellbent on introducing him to a whole new realm of pain.

His mind drifted to his time in the California Resistance, when he took a bullet to the stomach. The other guys remarked about how he didn't cry out even once. He took that bullet like a man.

Hah. Hah. Hah.

Once the ankle was reset, things started to get a little better. Frank and his magic hands were sent away, leaving Dorian alone with the one who picked him up and shoved a towel down his throat. The one who was probably about his age, yet called him "kid." The mute took his notepad out of his pocket, along with a pen, and wrote.

I'm a little better now. Thanks.

He showed that page to the mechanic sitting across from him. When he thought the man had been given enough time to read it, he flipped to another page, and showed that one to him:

My name is Dorian, and I can't talk.

It's nice to have notes like that prepared ahead of time.

While Travis and Frank worked on him, the Master Mechanic realized that this wasn’t a young man. He was about the same age, by rough guess, the problem was that he had a slender build, and when you grew up around big guys, smaller people usually referred to youth or feminism. He just was built different, so he made a mental note of that, ensuring an apology, but later, for now, he needed some fixin’. Between the two larger men, they made quick work of the injury, and then Frank was bidden to return to the shop. Knowing how human nature worked, likely the other mechanics would peer in through the tempered glass door and try to get a look at the guy.

Travis would ignore them.

Pulling the towel out of his mouth, he noticed the slight look of bewilderment in reference to the object, and it was likely he didn’t understand the meaning. Walking away towards the hamper in the corner and tossing the used towel into it, he explained. “To keep you from biting your tongue from the pain. Pretty quick way to bleed to death… and I don’t want blood on the Waiting Room tiles, ya know?” Joking and being serious at the same time, one of many talents in the mechanic’s arsenal.

Travis watched and smirked ever so slightly as the man wrote something down and showed it to him. Here was the single reason that he was glad he had taken the very specific class he had in highschool… other people went to Spanish, German, even Japanese as their second language. Travis, had gone to ‘sign’ where one learned the mute language. With a smile, he looked to the man, and assumed that he knew the language, being mute, and thought for a moment on what each sign meant. It had been some years ago… he was rusty… With a quick bit of motion from his hands, he signed ‘Do you know sign language?’

Dorian was glad to find another person who could sign. 'Yes, I can,' he replied. Without, he might add, having to touch his notepad even once. It was nice to be able to communicate without having to write, Dorian shifted in his seat, into a position that made his ankle hurt less. Then he slipped his notepad back into his pocket and returned to signing. 'It's nice to meet another person who can sign. I need the practice.'

'It was stupid to think I could ride my bike on the ice like that. ' Suddenly, he hoped that nobody would go looking for his bike. He might have to explain that he didn't have a bike, and he didn't know how these people would react to his being a mutant. He didn't want to have to find out while he was injured, either.

Other mechanics seemed to be peeking in at them through the glass. Dorian gave them a friendly wave.

Travis was thrilled at the prospect that the ‘second language’ he knew was actually being put to use… it was one that was used far less commonly than something like Spanish. Travis chuckled at his statement that he needed to practice, and nodded. ’Me Too.’ he signed quickly, and then watched as he signed some more things… and instinctively got up to go get the young man’s bike…

Moving to the door, he looked outwards, but didn’t see any bicycle around… he couldn’t have been far considering that he was trying to walk on a dislocated ankle… in the ice… but there was no bike. With a deep sigh, he looked back at the young man. ‘I think someone stole your bike. I am sorry. Maybe I can give you a ride if you are trying to get somewhere in a hurry?’

The offer on the table, he knew that it wasn’t a good idea for him to move all that much yet, but he didn’t know the young man’s situation either. For all he knew, the guy was on the way to visit relatives or something, and would be expected to be there by a certain time. The idea of him being searched for wasn’t a great one. Still, he couldn’t believe someone would steal his bike that quick… some holiday spirit… pfft.

It was as if the mere act of thinking about his bike compelled the mechanic to check for it. "Stolen" would be a good cover story, and he still didn't want to be 100% open about his mutant-hood.

Then again, he also needed to get back to the Sanctuary. The homeless shelter renowned for its dangerous mutant population, whose infamy had spread far through NYC. Mechanic guy would probably know about it already. Besides, telling lies left a bad taste in his mouth.

Dorian sighed. Even without vocal chords, he could still do that. 'Nobody stole it. It does not exist anymore. I am a mutant. I was headed to a shelter for mutants, but not in a hurry. It is called the Sanctuary.'

He kept an anxious eye on all the mechanics. In the off chance these guys were part of that old "church of humanity" movement or whatever, he could defend himself with invisible walls, and use his good leg to push his swivel chair into a subway station. He'd been up against worse odds before.

The young man sighed, the first vocal noise that he had made, and it being nothing more than rushing air, but still significant none the less. He explained the situation, and Travis smiled, knowing all too well the location of ‘The Sanctuary’. Quickly he gestured back to him. ‘I know the place.’ he signed.

Moving away from that for a moment, Travis did take a glance towards the mechanic’s door, and noticed that there were no more faces present… good, they had lost interest. Travis shrugged, and quickly signed, ‘I am a mutant too, so you are in good company. You are welcome to hang out here, just let me know when you want a ride, and I will get you there.’ It was a simple enough offer, and allowed the young man some comfort in knowing that he wasn’t surrounded with potentially hostile human beings. Granted, it would take some trust on his part to believe Travis, but honestly, mutantcy wasn’t something people lied about.

So, they were both mutants. There's a relief, and a reason for Dorian to automatically like this guy; if he'd learned anything from two registration laws and a third world war, it was that mutants had to stick together. The rest of the world wasn't exactly out to do mutantkind any favors. That said, Dorian himself was a little tired fo being on the receiving end of all these favors. It hurt his pride.

'I appreciate the offer, but you guys are probably already busy thanks to that ice. I don't want to make more work for you. Also, the roads don't seem safe right now.' The performer could probably figure out a way to get home by himself. His mutation was pretty versatile. He could work something out.

'What's your name?' They were both mutants, they could both sign, and this guy was going out of his way to help him out of a tight spot, but Dorian didn't even know his name yet.

Travis noted the tension seem to disappear from the young man at the mention of his mutantcy. Apparently, he wasn’t too sure about being around humans, meaning he likely had some sort of bad experience in that regard. Travis once again wouldn’t pry, but it was good to know. Any information about an individual that hinted about his or her likes and dislikes was always good to know when dealing with that person in the future, and it was little bits of information like this that made it to where Travis could have a pretty good rapport with almost all his customers. One of the reasons his business was as successful as it was.

Travis chuckled slightly at his next comment, and moved to sign a response. ‘Actually, unless you consider playing a game of ‘Spades’ as busy, we aren’t really. Besides, my truck has chains to handle this kind of weather, permitted due to how many times it serves as a tow-truck.’ A true fact too, he had gotten special permissions to use the chains after fishing a guy who worked with the Mayor out of a ditch, and told him about snowchains and how much easier they would make his job at this time of year.

Travis then responded simply, spelling out his name in sign. ‘T-r-a-v-i-s. Good to meet you.’ He then moved to shake the man’s hand.

He shook Travis's hand, then signed his own name. 'I am D-o-r-i-a-n.' And he was still reluctant to accept this favor from him. 'Are you really sure about driving me over?'

Dorian thought it over for a moment. It couldn't hurt anything if he let Travis drive him over. If anything, it would help. The thought of traveling all the way to the Sanctuary in that cold with his ankle being how it was didn't seem very fun, and paying money to take the subway or, god forbid, a taxi, sat even worse with him. Besides, if he spent a bit more time with this guy, he might get to know him a bit better, which could come in handy. It never hurt to have connections with nice guys like Travis.

'I guess I would be ready to go whenever you are. But you would not have to carry me.' To demonstrate this fact, Dorian grabbed hold of an invisible pair of crutches, which, he decided, could be leaning against his chair. While they weren't visible, Dorian could feel them, and he could use them to support his own weight and get out of the chair. Once he was up, he moved around a little bit, showing Travis that his services as a person-carrier would not be needed from this point on.