Masque sat at his usual corner, long tattered jacket wrapped around him.  If one looked closely enough, it was apparent he was cold and shivering, the ratty clothing he was wearing not quite sufficient to keep the biting cold out.  He hated winter; it was always like this. Sure, it was better now that he had a dry place to sleep at night, better than it had been that first year and better than it was for all too many people forced to survive on the streets, but he still had to eat and in order to eat he still had to beg and he still had to sell his art.

His back to a cold, hard building and his art arrayed in a semi-circle in front of him, Masque watched as people scurried by doing whatever important things that people had to do at this time of night.  Few paid him any attention, preferring to pretend that the street artist simply didn't exist than to give him a few coins in kindness.  He had a hat for donations and a sign beside the hat asking for the kindness of strangers.  Maybe things would have been different if he had his voice, but there was no use wishing for something that would never and could never happen.  

It was night out; a fact that obviously added to the cold.  Yet, as a mutant and one who found it difficult to hide his nature entirely, Masque had found it necessary too do his panhandling at night.  The dim light made it difficult to draw but although he had his canvas sitting on his lap and a pen in hand, in truth most of his art was actually completed in the comfort of his home.  Well, whatever comfort could be gotten from a barely heated hole in the wall in one of the worst areas of town in any case.  At least it was dry and at least he had a soft bed to sleep on.  The knowledge that he had it better than some was a bitter one.

A woman walked by Masque, clutching her young child close to him.  Would life always be like this?  His empty stomach rumbled audibly and he wondered if he'd make enough to eat tonight.  Well, at least it was coming into Christmas season and people were always more generous during Christmas season.  As if people didn't have to eat at other times of year. 

Ryan liked plays. Because of the stories, sure; those were always fun. Well, sometimes they were incredibly depressing, but anyway. The stories were nice, but what he actually liked was the art.

Ryan supposed storytelling was also an art, but... well, it wasn't one he had ever learned to appreciate. Not in any technical way, at least. The costumes, though, the acting and lighting and the way stages were designed, now that was fascinating. (Especially the costumes, but considering how many of those Ryan had had a hand in he was a tiny bit biased.) The rest of it always amazed him, how simple things were so effective and how they all fit together, and the costumes... well, he just liked seeing his work on stage. And other peoples' work, too, of course, but it was hard to really study costumes during the play, so he mostly waited until afterward. At least as long as the actors let him before deciding it was late and they were going home, and Ryan could find other ways to entertain himself. He'd resisted the urge to ask just how Sam thought he'd entertain himself; Ryan probably wouldn't be able to properly respond to the answer.

Sam's suggestions aside, though, going home was a good idea, so Ryan left not too much later than most of the other people (and was not, in fact, the last to leave, no matter what anyone thought), and began walking home.

He probably should have taken the subway. But Ryan had kind of forgotten how cold it could get at night in November when walking two miles. If he had walked two miles outside at night in November before... well, he didn't actually remember, but he probably had. It was the kind of thing he'd do. Often, in fact, which was probably why he hadn't remembered it. Or else it was the year since last November....

Well, anyway, it was colder than he'd planned, but not that cold, especially a long as he was walking. And had a jacket on which was nice and warm even if it was dramatically floaty. Ryan could make functional clothes perfectly well, thank you, they just were more than functional.

The dramatically floaty jacket did flare a bit as Ryan sidestepped a woman who'd moved abruptly sideways, and turned to give her an annoyed glare. Not one she'd notice, since she wasn't looking backwards, but it was the thought that counted.

...Oh. So that was why she'd moved. Ryan blinked at the man (probably?) sitting by a wall and surrounded by art. Art would not survive any length of time around foxsquirrels, but at least Ryan could not be a jerk about it. So instead of continuing he dropped down as close as he could get without risking sitting on art. "Hey." Not a very good conversation starter, there. "These're all yours? They're good. Wouldn't last an hour around my pets probably, but I like them." Well, honestly they weren't exactly the kind of art that Ryan cared too much about, but it was a better conversation starter than how are you.

It was not an unusual experience for Masque having people walk by him, either pretending he didn't exist at all or offering a disdaining look.  It wasn't even unusual to receive insults or those looks that said he was some kind of dangerous criminal.  It was those other reactions that bothered him the most, those that suggested he was something other than human, something less than human.  It wasn't even about being a mutant, at least not usually.  He was careful, after all, to keep out of the light when he was panhandling and few people looked close enough to realize that his face wasn't quite right; that the colours were a little too bright and the texture wasn't quite smooth enough.  It was about asking for money and apparently that was the greatest crime at all.  The crime of being hungry and needing help.

Growing up, Masque had never expected to be living such a life.  His parents had gotten into the technology industry early and had made a very good living at it.  Maybe he hadn't been exactly rich, but upper class was certainly a comfortable label.  Then his skin had to change and he had to discover that his parents were secret mutant haters, hiding him away from the world for fear that their ever so precious reputation might be harmed. Then he had to run away from home.  That was a bitter pill to swallow for a 16 year old.  He had been living this life ever since, 6 years later.

"Hey.  These're all yours? They're good. Wouldn't last an hour around my pets probably, but I like them."

Masque abruptly looked up at the voice, escaping the self-pittying circles his thoughts had been swimming in.  Nodding his head silently, he smiled up at the young man.  Putting down his art pen and picking up a black sharpie and a large white piece of paper he wrote in clear black letters 'Would you like to buy one?'  He could have written it upon his skin, of course, which was much less effort but life's hard lessons had taught him that it wasn't usually a good idea.  There was no telling how one might react to discovering the street beggar was also a mutant.  That was, of course, assuming they didn't notice even if he didn't draw attention to himself.  That happened on occasion and the results were never good for him.

Not speaking? Well that was unusual. The writing was legible, though, so it hardly mattered. Ryan ran a hand through his hair and thought. "I'd like to, but I wouldn't want it to be chewed up or anything and my pets are kind of chaotic, so I've got to think where it'd be safe to put one first." He supposed he could just pick something small and find somewhere to put it, but when he considered that the artistic instincts started throwing a temper tantrum in the back of his head. Art was supposed to be deliberately placed and work with its surroundings, not just tossed into a random corner because the size was right.

Well there was no need to sit in awkward silence while he thought. "How'd you get into art? I do a lot of costuming and fashion stuff, but I never got into anything else."

Masque nodded, attentively listening to the words of the strangers.  Good, he hadn't seemed to mind his own written communication nor did he make comment on the somewhat unusual texture and colour of his skin.  Most likely it was too dark to notice anything more than something just slightly out of place, but he wasn't going to question his good fortune.  If he played this right, he might actually have proper food for the next day or two.

'What kind of pets do you have?' Masque wrote down in his usual impeccable printing.  'Perhaps I can recommend something?'  Hanging something up seemed the most practical recommendation, but maybe the pets in question were of the sort that could climb walls.

"How'd you get into art? I do a lot of costuming and fashion stuff, but I never got into anything else."

'It's always been my passion," Masque wrote his reply.  'We all have our gifts."  He smiled at the stranger, an expression he hoped came across as friendly.  Of course, it could almost be said that he was into costuming as well, of a sort, although his costumes were the creations he conjured upon his flesh.  Probably not quite what the other person had in mind.

There were certain topics that Ryan's friends learned quickly to avoid if they wanted to ever have an actual conversation. Not because Ryan minded the topics; not at all. In fact, the problem was that he didn't, and was quite enthusiastic about them, and would cheerfully talk about them for hours, apparently oblivious to to the disinterest of whoever he was taking to. Human rights was one of those topics; so was anything related to mutations.

And foxsquirrels. Foxsquirrels were a big one.

Ryan grinned and straightened automatically as he launched into the explanation. "Foxsquirrels! They're built sort of catlike, but with a foxish head and tail and... well the ears roll up into these pointy things, not like anything else I know of. And they climb everything and are way too smart and mischievous. And fluffy. I create them." Which, Ryan knew, was not the smartest thing to announce to random strangers. It should be fine to say, though, so Ryan was going to say it just like there was no risk, and if the guy did object... meh. It would not be the first fight Ryan got into that way.

Gifts. Hah. Ryan grinned at that. "That's true." Gifts with prices, for that matter. Ryan should be eating. He dug into a pocket, found nothing, and checked a second. His lollipops were in that one; he pulled one out for himself--which flavor didn't really matter, since he'd end up eating them all at some point anyway--and offered a handful to the guy while he unwrapped the one he'd pulled out. "Want one?"

Hm. Actually, Ryan had no idea if offering candy would be rude or not. Oh well; he could apologize if it was.

Foxsquirrels.  Well, that was certainly unexpected and kind of confusing.  Masque was pretty sure that he had just offered the boy a very strange look that he hoped hadn't come across as too rude.  Well, at least a description of what a foxsquirrel actually was followed and, strangely, as much as confusion still lurked in the back of his mind, so too did a strange sort of fascination.  Not to mention the most distinct possibility that the guy might actually be a mutation.  How else would one supposedly create such an odd creature?

Trying to imagine what a half fox half squirrel creature with a hint of cat might look like, Masque couldn't help but feel the urge to see one.  It was a thought that came out of nowhere and felt completely out of character.  Even if the guy was a mutant, that was no indication of being safe, was it?  But he really did seem nice, at least at first impression and maybe his recent encounters with other mutants had started to things for him for the better, removing some of the mistrust he had developed for purposes of survival.  Either that or he was going crazy and this was the proof.

At the offer of a lollipop Masque nodded that he would gladly accept one.  It was certainly was an unconventional gift and he couldn't say he'd ever been offered one before in quite these circumstances, but then the guy seemed to be the unconventional type.  Really, there wasn't anything wrong with that.

'Are you a mutant?' Masque wrote, presenting the paper for him to read?  Maybe it was a little blunt and he still wasn't sure if those sorts of questions were appropriate, but he smiled in a friendly fashion to hopefully blunt the abruptness of the question if that was a concern.

Griiiin.

Not that Ryan hadn't been grinning already, of course. He'd gotten to talk about foxsquirrels, and the guy hadn't even interrupted to tell him to shut up already. Looked a bit bemused, sure, but Ryan had no objection to causing that reaction.

Asking if Ryan was a mutant caused even more of a grin, though. Making people wonder Ryan was familiar with... and making people certain, for that matter; between his name and the foxsquirrels that were his job, he wasn't exactly subtle. But people rarely asked, at least without making it sound like a horrible accusation that they were either apologizing for daring to wonder about or already mad at Ryan for making them think might exist. Treating it like an actual, normal question that no one had to freak out about was rare, and quite possibly might have made Ryan start bouncing if he'd been in a slightly more conducive position at the time. "Yeah. That's what the foxsquirrels are, I turn other animals into them. Mostly injured ones, since it heals them."

The lollipops would stay held out until the guy picked one, then be tucked back into the pocket they'd come from. Ryan's pockets were slightly ridiculous, really.

The guy certainly did seem to be happy that Masque had asked questions about his foxsquirrel nor did he seem put off at the mutant question.  Everyone had to have their passions in life and maybe Masque was off on his assumption that it was rude to ask about being a mutant.  Or maybe he just happened to be an unusually friendly and possibly slightly eccentric guy.  Either way, there didn't seem to be anything wrong with it.  

Taking the wrapper off of his lollipop, the burst of flavour was delightful.  Turning animals into what Masque could only assume were some kind of strange mythical animal was certainly unique and more than a little intriguing.  It was yet more proof of the vast variety of mutant abilities that he was only just starting to understand.  

'Can I draw one?' he wrote once he had finished speaking.  Of course he was curious to see what such an unusual creature might look like but, more than that, anything unusual was also most likely something worth drawing.  Life wasn't so colourful that one could afford to pass up such opportunities.  

Entirely unconsciously, as Masque contemplated seeing and recording something so potentially amazing his skin changed colour, going from something that looked almost human to shades of purple, blue and pink.  It was something that happened occasionally when he wasn't thinking about it and when his mind raced.  Mind preoccupied with thoughts of foxsquirrels, he didn't notice the change.

Ryan wasn't capable of grinning more at that point, but it wasn't for lack of trying. "Sure! Would you like to come see? It's...." He eyed the street and estimated. "About four blocks away. Or I could bring one here; they've got Arctic fur so most of them like weather like this. Crazy things." Unlike Ryan who was less fond of being cold and, of course, was completely and totally sane. Really. Pay no attention to the people that said... uh... huh.

Well that was interesting.

Apparently the slightly odd texture was not weird lighting, or Ryan's imagination. Or at least, not entirely weird lighting or Ryan's imagination. The lighting hadn't changed, and Ryan's imagination did not cover sudden changes through several colors. Whether to mention it though... that was a more difficult question. Not everyone always wanted their mutation pointed out. Better that than not say anything if he wanted it secret, though. Ryan could always drop the subject if he didn't want it mentioned. "Are you aware you're pink?"

Well the guy certainly did seem to be enthusiastic enough and enthusiasm was something Masque could appreciate.  It had an infectious nature and, for once, that nature was something positive.  Fear and despair were infections too in their own ways and all too often maladies that Masque suffered from, but this was a most welcome change.  'If you're comfortable with a stranger in your house I would love to see them," Masque wrote.  Getting out of the cold was just an added benefit.

"Are you aware you're pink?"

Masque blinked at the question, looked down at his body and then sheepishly grinned.  'Ooops, sometimes that just sort of happens.'  With a thought he could have changed his skin right back to something resembling human, but it seemed the secret was out and it wasn't like Ryan was reacting badly.  Instead of opted for something a little more impressive and with a thought orange and black leopard patterning appeared across his entire body.  'You make foxsquirrels and I make my body into art,' he wrote, grinning.  Enthusiasm.  It was a thing.

"Sure! It's no problem. They'll like getting to meet someone new." And pounce and climb on someone new, most likely, but Ryan could probably get them distracted if... hm. He didn't know the guy's name yet. Well, if the guy minded being climbed on, Ryan could distract the foxsquirrels. There were only three of them, plus a halfway-to-foxsquirrel mouse that Ryan was still keeping in its cage, just in case.

Ryan's eyes widened at the answer and leopard pattern. "That... is awesome. Have you ever tried acting? The makeup artists would adore you."

Ryan stood up, stretched, and looked at the artwork. He couldn't see any reason not to help collect it, but who knew; he wasn't always happy with people who rearranged the fabric he was working with, even if they didn't actually damage it. "What's your name?"

It wasn't often that Masque met people so willing and even eager to take a complete stranger home and especially not a stranger that had been met selling art on the side of the road.  It was an oddly refreshing experiencing but then so much about this stranger was oddly refreshing.  He couldn't remember the last time he had interacted with someone who seemed so free and happy with life.  It was hard living half on the street and the people he met on the street were hard people.

'My name is Masque, what's yours?'  This time the words were not written but instead showed upon his skin and he lifted his arm up for them to be read.  There didn't seem much point in writing when using his power made communication far easier and more fluid, especially when his secret was all ready out in the open.  

'It's hard to act when you can't talk,' Masque answered.  He began to gather up his art, neatly putting it away in a folder and then in his back, content to allow the other individual to help get it all collected together.