Paige had no idea what time it was. But she knew it was some ungodly hour, it was still dark when she looked out of her bedroom window, after managing to sleep for a few hours. But now, she was wide awake and unable to go back to sleep. And so, she climbed out of bed, wearing a pair of black sleep pants with red lip-stick marks on them and a purple spaghetti strap. Going through her clothes, she put on a blue hoodie with a kitten trying to look tough on the back, but didn't bother zipping it; it was just to cover her arms, because they were cold.

Locking the room behind her, she started down the halls, far more alert and awake than she really should have been. But she'd been having bouts like this ever since she moved into the mansion. Weird nightmares, all somehow relating to her not being good enough, haunted her sleep from time to time.

But now, she found herself aimlessly walking the halls of the mansion, as quiet as she could be so as not to wake anyone else. At first the thought occurred to her to go skinny-dipping just for the sheer ghits and shiggles, but then she remembered it was December. Uhhh...no. So, she aimlessly wondered in search of something to do; some purpose to be awake.

Masque had only been in the Mansion for about a week and for the moment he found himself in a room of his very own.  He knew that was likely to change and probably sooner rather than later, but until that time he was feeling content.  Over the course of the last few days he had brought his rather meager belongings from the tiny bachelor suite that used to be his over to the Mansion and the room was starting to feel like home.  It was an unusual feeling that he wasn't quite used to yet.

It had been days since Masque had sat on the side of the street selling his art and that was also an unusual feeling.  It made him feel like he was shirking his responsibilities, as if in not selling his art he was going to wake up tomorrow or the next day only to find that this whole Mansion thing had been a dream and that he was now starving and without the money to so much as pay his rent.  Probably unrealistic given where he now found himself but he couldn't quite shake the feeling.  Maybe one day he'd get used to it, but something told him it would take a while.

Trying to shake the somewhat uncomfortable feeling, Masque decided to go for a walk around the Mansion grounds.  So what if it was the middle of the night, what did that matter?  He got up and put on a white bathrobe, painting his skin in shades of blue, violet and red.  That was one of the best parts of living in a mutant school; he could look however he liked and take full advantage of his gift without having to worry about being assaulted over it and tonight he felt like being colourful.  Closing the door behind him, he began walking, hoping he might luck out and meet one of the residence who might help get his mind off of his ever looming anxiety and depression.

Paige wasn't walking for long when she saw a mutant walking towards her that she hadn't seen before. She knew she never saw this guy before. White bathrobe, and...was his skin blue, red, and purple? It was actually really cool. OhCrap! She was staring...Staring at a guy even...

She never had many encounters with visible mutants before, but she still wasn't going to be accused of staring, even if she did admire his skin being colorful. He was drawing closer, and she knew he was going to confront her about staring. She just knew it! Damn, Paige...when did you get so jumpy? Oh, right, when that chick beat the hell out of you in your apartment the day before you planned to move because you got fired...right... she thought.

Quickly, her body began to shift as she focused, gathering her thoughts. In a few seconds, the blonde shifter was now an innocent...pair of boxer shorts? Black with purple polka dots, size...medium, maybe.

"Damn it..." she muttered under her breath. Well, if underpants had breath.

To Masque's surprise, it didn't actually take long to find someone even at this time of night.  Well, perhaps it shouldn't have been all that surprising given that he now lived in a mutant school that housed countless individuals and he should probably expect that he wasn't the only one who sometimes kept strange hours.  She was even rather pretty although the idea of actually saying as such was more than a little mortifying.  

The woman was staring at Masque but her eyes didn't suggest any malice or disgust so he didn't especially mind.  He was a skinshifter, after all, and that made him something of a piece of art.  What were pieces of art meant for if not to be stared at.  He smiled at her and walked closer, bowing his head in greeting.

The thing that Masque didn't expect was the woman transforming herself into a pair of boxer shorts.  In fact, it might be said that it was just about the last thing that he expected and now it was his turn to stare, this time in abject confusion.  Black writing appeared on the top of his chest, just above where the robe covered his skin.  'Um, are you ok?'  Could boxer shorts read anyway?  Probably not but this wasn't exactly the sort of situation he found himself in often.  Or ever before, for that matter.

Paige would have blinked, if boxers had eyes. But seeing words appear on his skin? That was shocking, but utterly cool. "Whoa..." was the girl/underpants's first response. "Uh...yeah. I'm fine. I just...was taking a walk. And my mind was sort of busy. When I try to shift like that...I tend to take the shape of weird stuff, it seems. It requires focus, so when my focus isn't steady, the shift isn't what I want."

A long silence, after which there were no longer a pair of black-and-pink boxers on the floor, but a five-foot-five blonde girl with green eyes. "I'm Paige. Uh...that's a cool mutation. In fact I kinda tried to shift to avoid the fact that I was staring." The last part, she added as an afterthought. Great. You sound like a love-struck junior high student. You don't even like guys... Mentally, she face-palmed. She liked herself better when she was tough. On top of the food-chain, so to speak. But as far as toughness, and confidence, she left the girl that was on top of the food chain in LA. Maybe if she brought a guitar everywhere she went, she'd be more confident.

Underpants talking was also a first and this time it was Masque who found himself staring.  Maybe this was just a symptom of living in a crazy mutant school.  Either that, or someone had spiked his drink and he was hallucinating but he didn't feel at all funny aside from the talking underpants.  This new life was definitely going to take some getting used to.

It was with some relief that the boxers changed themselves back into  a girl.  Clearly some mutants were strange strange creatures and he was pretty sure that applied to himself just as much as any of the others.  

'You're mutation is cool too, if a little strange.  Do you just change into boxers?'  The neat black letters appeared and disappeared after giving her enough time to read them.  He held out a violet hand with red squiggles along the fingers in offer to shake hers.  'My name is Masque and I don't mind a few stares.  I'm used to them by now.'

Paige smiled, giggling a little at the question as she read the words on his skin. "No, I can change into a lot of stuff. But if I'm startled or over-emotional, I uncontrollably shift into a spork." She shook his hand firmly, well, she tried to, but it would still be judged as a gentle one.

"Yeah, I tend to get stares too, if someone sees me shift, or hears me talk while I'm a spork. Or a pair of underpants. I wasn't too far off though. I was going for a pair of socks." She gave a smile. "So, I take it I'm not the only one who couldn't sleep?" she asked.

Not just an underpants shifter seemed a little less strange for some reason and Masque nodded at her description before taking his hand back.  He wasn't one to judge a person based upon the strength of their handshake especially since things like small changes in pressure weren't always the easiest to detect when one had stone skin.

'Sometimes my skin changes on its own when I'm startled or stressed too,' Masque wrote the words upon his skin, offering what understanding he could.  'Maybe my head changing colour is a little less inconvenient than changing into a spork though,' he offered with a grin as the patterns across his the patterning on his head and hands changed to distinctly resemble those of a tiger.

'I'm used to being up late at night,' Masque answered, the words a dark blue tone as his mind went back to the darker places of his recent past.  

Paige nodded. "I was in high school when I discovered my mutation. I was a cheerleader, and one of the football players snuck up on me and I shifted into a spork in front of everybody. It was kind of embarrassing, but I like it now. It's interesting, especially when I'm able to pass off as whatever I turned into." She smiled a bit.

"I'm not, well...I wasn't. Since I moved here I've been sort of an insomniac. I often find myself wondering the halls in whatever I slept in. I just pulled on the hoodie because my arms were cold." She wasn't very observant, but she did manage to figure out he used skin-writing because maybe he couldn't talk.

'I was home schooled,' Masque answered, his letters retaining their blue hue.  'My parents wouldn't let me go to high school.'  Those were the scars that would probably never heal.  At least it sounded like Paige probably had a better childhood than he had.  Not that such was difficult; almost any childhood would be better than his had been.

'Do you have nightmares?' Masque asked, feeling concerned.  Was that too personal a question to ask of a person he had just met?  Probably but he never claimed to have the greatest of social skills.  Something about being mute and spending years forbidden from seeing or talking to anyone but his immediate family.  Hopefully he wouldn't make her too uncomfortable with his prying.

Paige nodded as he spoke--well, wrote. She cringed a little at the word 'nightmares,' but took a breath as she looked at him. "Since I moved in here, yeah...not every night, but too often for my taste. They all have the same premise, too..."

She took a deep breath. "It's always me, either falling, locked up, strapped to a table, or something. I'm always in some sort of danger, but I'm never tough enough, strong enough, fast enough, smart enough...whatever...to get myself out of it. I don't even really know why...I used to think I was tough. But now...I don't know what I am anymore."

Masque nodded.  He knew a little something about nightmares.  He didn't have them very often anymore, but when he was younger they were a regular occurrence.  It after he learned he was a mutant when his parents forbid him leave their place of residence.  Once he ran away, as difficult as his life was in the years to follow, the freedom of being on his own mostly got rid of the nightmare problem.

'I haven't been through much real danger except that of petty thugs and the like while living on the streets but I know what its like to be locked up,' Masque wrote.  'I was locked up for years before I escaped and by my parents no less.'  He gestured towards continuing down the hallway to the sitting area.  'Would you care to continue talking someplace more comfortable?'  As opposed to standing awkwardly in the hallway which didn't seem especially practical.

"I've never literally been locked up--unless you count that time when I was seventeen and got arrested for breaking some jerk's nose," she said, a lame attempt at a joke--even if it really happened. "I guess...I guess I've just had confidence issues lately, hence the nightmares." She took a breath. That actually felt good. Opening up like that.

"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Don't wanna wake anyone up from the hallway, I guess. Heh."

It was funny how the unconscious mind worked and the fears that one sometimes had.  At times there were very obvious reasons why they developed and at other times it was a complete mystery.

Masque led the way to the sitting room and took a seat on the couch.  At this time of night, not surprisingly, they found themselves alone.  'Confidence is a tough one,' Masque wrote.  'I guess I'm confident in my art but when it comes to actual life skills?  I'm pretty clueless.'  He smiled and shrugged, the expression meant to be self-mocking.  'Painting pictures can only get you so far.'

Paige followed to the sitting room, and wasn't remotely surprised they were the only two in the room. Plopping on the couch next to him, she nodded. "Yeah...when I first came to New York I had enough to go around, but now I guess it's gotten knocked out of me. Literally, in some cases." She let out a sigh as he 'spoke.' Nodding, she knew exactly how he felt.

"I know what ya mean. I love playing guitar. It's when I really feel at my best, like nothing can take me down. When my fingers run over the frets, and my pick glides across the strings, I'm unstoppable. But, like painting, it only goes so far." The girl let out another sigh. "Even if I wish I could rely on just that. If everything revolved around music, I'd be fine..."