James looked at the pitifully small amount of clothes on his bed. Two shirts, one clean and three pairs of shorts, two clean. The answer as to why the amount of shirts doesn't match the amount of shorts? Simple, the third shirt was in his right hand, stained red. Some of it his own, some of it not his own. Naturally a white shirt stained red looked awful, especially with a hole in the right shoulder.

I'm going to have to get a job arent I? James thought to himself glumly. At least it was a reason to get out and do something. Like shopping...oh the joy!

James counted all the money he had, thirty dollars exactly. Not really enough to buy himself some clothes for this weather. The fact that he only owned shorts was awkward. The cold was getting to him. James couldn't leave the Mansion without getting goose bumps. It was mortifying.

Looking down at the shirt he considered his options. James could have it washed...didn't blood stain? Wasn't it worth a try anyway? He was way out of his depth here, clothes weren't his expertise. Biology? Yes. History? Yes. And the properties of steel? Yes, but not by choice. Clothes? Not a damn clue. James had no fashion sense or knowledge of clothes. He knew that a bunch of white shirts and a bunch of jeans would cost more than thirty dollars, though.

He stretched the shirts shoulder between his hands, getting a proper look at the hole, it wasn't that large and couldn't be any more than three centimeters in diameter. But it was still as obvious as a black spot on a white sheet of paper, or red in this case. He would try to save it, just so that he didn't have to go shopping. Even though he knew it was hopeless he would try anyway, and hope for a miracle.

James walked out of his dorms door and descended into the maze of the Mansion. Not really concentrating on where he was going and getting odd looks from people because of the bloody shirt. Really James should have known better than to walk looking at the floor but he did it anyway. Deep in thought and mourning over the shirt that had served him well for the past three months.

His mind didn't really register the short girl who turned the corner at the same time as him, and for the second time that week he walked into someone. Suddenly the world went black as he landed on his backside with the bloodied shirt over his head.

Bump. Thump. The sound of clothes scattering. Amelia rubbed her elbow where it had hit the corner of the wall when the guy had rammed into her. "Ow..." She grumbled. "Watch where you're going, you--" She cut herself short, opening her eyes and letting them fall on the prime suspect for the crime. He, too, had gotten himself bruised. And that was a lot of clothes.

As a clothes manipulator, Amelia often felt a kindred connection to clothing. It wasn't the kind of connection that told her how clothes felt. That would have been ridiculous. Clothes weren't living. They didn't have souls or minds of their own. They wouldn't be unhappy unless you applied that human attribute to them. But even so, these clothes looked like they were about to cry.

"Jeez. You really need to give those a Viking funeral and get some new ones..." She trailed, slightly in disgust, slightly with sympathy. Those poor clothes.

James spent a couple of seconds sitting on the floor. Considering his bad luck. Again, he had managed to walk into someone. Not only that but he could tell from their voice that they were a girl. James knew he probably looked like a complete dunce sitting there with a bunch on clothes on the floor and a shirt over his head, but still couldn't decide what was worse for the girl to see. Him like this, or him with his face as red as the shirt that had caused this to happen.

After an extra second of internal deliberation James pulled the shirt off his head and looked at the girl with a sheepish smile. "sorry..I...errrr." That's it James, start of the conversation like a normal person...

Looking down at himself...the disgust in her voice probably wasn't so unfounded. The clothes he was wearing were fine, but the ruined shirt? That could probably gross out just about anyone. "Yeah, I...had an accident." Oh, because that doesn't sound weird James. Giving himself a metaphorical slap James forced a normal sentence out of his mouth, "I kind of got here with hardly any clothes. These are all I have"

He was well pleased with himself. Not bad, not bad at all.

He looked like a total dunce, sitting there on the floor with a bunch of clothes on top of him and a shirt on his head. He was right to apologize. It was an embarrassing position to be in. Still, it could happen to anyone. She did her best to be polite about that. What she couldn't be polite about, however, wasn't his red face or his bumping into her, but the state of his clothes.

"'Accident' is an understatement," Amelia crossed her arms over her chest. "How could that even happen. You're supposed to take care of your clothes. Even if they're purposefully worried. They're supposed to last. And how can you have so few?!" She was coming off slightly insane, she realized, and reeled herself in with her scolding. Amelia pressed a hand against her forehead, slightly covering her eyes as she took a calming breath. "Sorry... clothes are just important to me. My mutation involves them, so I guess I sort of obsess." The fact that she was female, and subject to several female stereotypes was not mentioned, for various reasons.

"Someone should take you shopping. Help you get replacements so you can put some of those things out of their misery..." She hadn't been volunteering, but the suggestion had just slipped out.

James was taken aback by the girls reaction and slightly crazy eyed rant, which to his relief, she cut off before she reached the point of "Okay, now the rant will have to run its course." Regardless he listened attentively and politely until she had finished what she was saying.

It was probably a good thing that a person who knew what they were talking about when it came to clothes had ended up with a clothing-oriented mutation, rather like someone who had about as much knowledge about them as a teaspoon. So, someone like me? The thought brought a smile and eased the awkward rigidness in his body a little.

James had no idea how to react to the small speech, but he could answer the only relevant question. "Ah, you see I kind of got kicked out..." James felt his face darken a shade or two as he spoke, "Urm, I...My name is James by the way..." He felt rude not asking for a name, otherwise he would have a situation where the only way to refer to her would be "The girl." At the same time he mentally crossed his fingers, hoping the girl wouldn't notice his English accent. They allways seemed to comment on it.

As James spoke he began to quickly gather up the clothes strewn about his feet, trying his best to think happy thoughts and not about the girl behind him who was causing his social anxiety to squirm uncomfortably.

Kicked out. Well, that changed things a little. That took her off her balance for a moment, like in aikido, when her throw was countered, and she was pushed back. James, he said his name was, and she detected an accent. "Amelia," she quietly replied.

"Look," she interjected, as he scooped. She suddenly felt like an ass for snapping at him when he couldn't really help his clothes situation. Maybe she could. "That suggestion, to help you find clothes. Maybe..." Maybe what? She cut the silence short. "Maybe it was less a suggestion, and more an offer." The words came tumbling out.

Amelia, eh? Right, now he could name her. That was a start. She sounded kind of quiet but James wasn't paying attention all that much, being focused on the clothes all over the place, then her offer got his full attention.

This was a brilliant opportunity, he could get clothes and not really have to worry about his pitifully empty wallet. Not only that but he assumed Amelia knew what she was talking about when it came to clothing. Admittedly James was getting kind of tired of his default outfit, shorts with a white T-Shirt, jeans when it was cold.

On the other hand he didn't know if he could take it. Amelia was obviously a nice person, contrary to his original view of what people as a whole are like, plus she hadn't mentioned his accent. That was a very good thing. But still he found it hard to interact with people who he didn't know. Sure, the awkwardness would pass after a while but up until then...that part was hell.

"Listen, thanks for the offer but..." The clothes at his feet were pitiful. Come on man, you NEED new clothes. Not only that, you cant turn down an offer like that. It would be rude. James took a deep breath before speaking. "I mean, yeah...sure. I really, really need it"

Still James couldn't look Amelia in the eyes, his face was going back to its usual colour but that would send it right back to its tomato-red setting.

She could see the embarrassment AND hear it in his voice. He almost turned the offer down, then changed his tune. All of this, Amelia sensed, spoke of an easily embarrassed individual with low self-esteem. Being kicked out certainly did not help with any of this, either.

She needed to get a car. The nearest clothes shop was a bus-ride away, and that cost money. The alternative was to go to the mansion infirmary and get loaner clothes, but those might be about as good as the clothes on the floor (and on his back). They'd only been talking about it for a moment, but already she was considering all of this.

"If we go now, we can catch the next bus and hit up a shop I know, Jean's Jeans." Jean's Jeans Retro Outfitters was the full name. Jean's Jeans was the short. Did he want to go now? "Is now a good time?" She asked. Her eyes watched his face, and she found herself wondering if he'd turn her down again or get nervous and upset. Those thoughts showed on her face.

James allowed a small chuckle at the name "Jean's Jeans". He hadn't heard of it, but then again, he hadn't been clothes shopping this far from his familiar area before...or often. trying his best to ignore the awkward tension which gripped his neck like a vice, James managed to look at Amelia straight up and speak normally. "Yeah that sounds great, thanks. I can take these back to my room and meet you outside I guess"

The clothes had served him well for the months since coming to the Mansion, but now it was time to say goodbye. New ones were desperately in need. Not old ones which were likely to die on him at any point.
"Maybe I will give them a Viking funeral" James chuckled somewhat awkwardly.

"Just don't accidentally burn down the mansion," she chuckled right back. Actually, she realized (as the chuckle died down due to natural causes, and said realization), that was probably a lot more common than she cared to admit. "See you in a few," she played it off innocently, and her voice didn't even crack at all. Turning, she beat feet the hell out of there before she gave him any more terrible ideas.

It was unlikely he'd actually set his room on fire. More likely, he would just set the clothes on a raft and set it adrift (but where?) to sail off, flaming, into the distance. More likely, still, they'd been joking. Amelia shook her head with a weak laugh, amused with herself for the awkwardness as much as she was annoyed at the realization that such joking could actually hurt some feelings at the mansion. She wouldn't tease Kaitlyn about the incident with the explosive sneezing, so it wasn't likely she'd ever want to tease someone with uncontrollable fire powers or ice powers about damage to property. She didn't even know James' power. It wouldn't do to offend him accidentally. People were way too PC these days, it was true, but being tactlessly unknowing or ignorant was no excuse.

She wrapped her red scarf tighter around her neck as she stood waiting by the front desk. The entrance of the mansion was empty, and the mansion's thermostat wasn't turned up as high as she would have liked. It probably cost a lot of money to heat the mansion. In a big, wide area like the front lobby, with its high ceilings, two staircases, and proximity to windows and the front doors, keeping it warm enough would be hard. Time of the year considered, someone hadn't cranked the heater up high enough to keep it warm. She made a mental note to talk to somebody about it. Cold Steel dealt in cold, but even he couldn't turn a blind eye (ha ha) to the issue. Maybe she'd nudge James to pick out a jacket while they were at it. Hopefully, he had cash for it all, since she was going to cover fare.

James ran back to his room and dumped all the clothes on his bed. He grabbed his wallet, just in case he needed it and looked at his jacket, which he had outgrown, with a scornful expression.  The goosebumps were enough to put him off if he was having a bad day, but the fact that he was going to go shopping for clothes with a girl had him practically quaking in his boots.

In fact James was tempted to lock himself in his room and hide under the bed covers, but that wouldn't do. Clothes were a necessity if he wanted to go outside. Which he did, most of the time...some of the time. Steeling himself for social interaction James took a deep breath, opened the door and headed back downstairs.

He saw Amelia at the chilly entrance, wrapped up in warm clothing. Feeling awkward and a little envious he walked up to her, trying his best to ignore the goosebumps popping up all over his bare arms. "Err, Hi. Shall we get going?"

James stopped himself from rubbing his arms and shivering. He had recently been getting past the chill by turning himself into steel up to the collar bones, but that was early in the morning when nobody was around to see, he could hardly use a bus or walk around a shop like that.

First thing on the list, a jumper or a long sleeved shirt.

Yep, he definitely needed a jacket. As they headed out the door, she asked him "Aren't you cold?"

"We'll have to pick you out something warm like a downy jacket when we get there," she concluded concisely after his reply.

It didn't take long to get to the bus stop. They waited a few minutes, and made small talk. It was just as chilly at the stop, but at least there was a plexiglass set of walls and a roof over their heads while they stood. Even a place to sit down, though she avoided that. Too many people put bubble gum on those benches... glancing at the sign, she noted that the next bus wouldn't be there for a couple of minutes. "We chose a good time to venture out. Don't have to wait a quarter of an hour. That's good." She said.

When they left the building the cold hit him like a train. Luckily growing up in England had hardened him against the cold, but the past couple of years here had definitely softened him up a bit.

"Well...I did grow up in England but still" He shrugged. The question was slightly redundant. Regardless, a jacket or any form of extra layer would be lovely. If only to hide his chest, which was stiff in areas which made walking around in public embarrassing.

The small talk, well. James wasn't particularly experienced when it came to conversing with people and it probably showed. As for waiting for quarter of an hour...James genuinely didn't think he would have been able to put up with the cold for that long.

"Yeah," James muttered, "I'm glad my fingers haven't dropped off yet. They wouldn't have lasted that long."

"Yes," Amelia agreed. "Finger dropping off would not be optimal. How would you give people the bird?"

So he had grown up in England. She's sort of figured, from the accept. Idly, Amelia wondered if he was the traditional (Read: stereotypical) English person, kind of like Kate. The kind that liked tea and crumpets and read lots of literature with a mococle). She felt the monocle was unlikely.

"So, England, huh?" She made conversation. "How is that like?"

How was England? Well, that was a question and a half. Different? That was a bit vague. Cold and wet, a lot different to what people thought it was like. Then again, so was America. James had expected New York to be the kind of place that was really rich and perfect, like in the movies. But no, it wasn't.

"Well, to start off with it's a lot colder and wetter. The people are grumpier but it was still a nice place to live." Speaking of living back in England brought back memories of when life was simple, back when him and his mother lived happily without a care in the world. Quite the opposite of now, James would never have dreamed of his mother cutting him off from her life in such a manner, simply because he had a strange power.

Regardless of what he used to believe, she had. Dealing with it had gotten easier, but the bitter feeling of rejection was still hard to stomp out. If James's natural positivity hadn't put up a barrier against it, he probably would have slipped into the "I give up on life" zone, luckily it had kept him functioning.

But this wasn't helping, shoving negative thoughts to the back of his mind James shrugged off the dark mood and tried concentrating on what England had been like.

"Apart from that, its pretty much exactly the same, just smaller with different food."