Tyson had had it rough in the past week. Between all the issues at his new body posed for him, and being attacked on his first outing out of the city, he was not feeling all that confident about attempting another venture out into the city.  Of course she was staying away from the commercial district now,  not only because that was where he was attacked, but because that is where he had lost control the first time.  He didn't want to repeat of that, it was hard enough convincing himself that he was still himself, he didn't need a constant reminder of what he had done  every time he looked at a stray alley. Still he couldn't hold himself up at the Institute forever he would just go stir crazy.  True that it had a lot of things meant entertain, but half of those things were restricted from him due to just simple design of his body.  And anyone would get cabin fever if they were forced to stay in the same place, the same building, the same room. So here he was tempting fate again.

of course he was not doing everything the same as the first time it went out. He was taking a move he had learned from Danica  and keeping his face covered. It's taking a while to find a hoodie  big enough for him. Even then he had had to remove the sleeves.  It wasn't much to be honest, but it was the best he could do at the moment. Anyone who looked it would still see the fur and claws, but at least his face was covered up somewhat. He could only hope that was enough to avoid unwanted attention. He walked through the residential district, looking around at the different attractions and bars I'm wondering what exactly would be a good idea for him to have some fun. He was under age so drinking was out of the question, and walking into a bar would probably be a bad idea anyway. It was hard for him to imagine what exactly he could do that wouldn't end in disaster.  At least he was out the Institute for now, and he would find someway to blow off some steam.

Steeeeeeeeampunk. A new very popular genre. A type of clothing style. A type of story. Maybe even a type of music. Today, there was a band playing on a street corner. They were dressed in Steampunk style. There were plenty of gears and top hats and Victorian-style suits and ties. Lots of goggles with metal bits and cranks. And, they wore silver face paint to make themselves look like robots. A remote-controlled drone flew above, recording the performance.

Elliott was in the audience. He wasn't on a job. He was dressed in a black button up duster type jacket with tails that hung to around knee level, navy blue slacks, a white silk shirt and steam punk styled goggles that perched on his forehead. And he was green. It was a look that attracted attention, but when surrounded by others in various shades of body paint, dressed similarly, it didn't attract as much attention as usual.

The performance had sort of been impromptu. They had posted on their twitter and their website about it. Filming for a new music video. They even had a animatronic giraffe head dancing on stage with them. The music was good. It was sort of swingy, with great vocals and a classic feel. Not robotic or synth, but the way that some members were dancing gave a solid metal feel. They were one of his favorite bands, right up there with the costumed super hero ska rock band, the Aquabats.

He stood and watched, quite enjoying himself. Nearby, other musicians stood waiting. They'd been tipped by the band to sit and watch while they recorded. It was a lunch break for the other street musicians. They were blowing off steam.

Tyson heard it long before he could see what was going on. He could hear a lot of people and of course the music that was going on. Besides the snippets of radio, iPod, and computer songs that he heard around the Institute, he hadn't really taking the time to appreciate some good music. He's mind had been on other things, like keeping himself from going crazy due to the promptings of his new body and adjusting to his new life. He hadn't really thought much about it, but now with the music blaring in the streets he found himself missing it a bit. So he started towards the sound of the crowd, stealing himself against the influx of sounds that assaulted his ears. His enhanced hearing made it a lot more difficult to enjoy, but he supposed he would have to get used to that sooner or later. As he got closer he started to see the costumes people were wearing. He knew about the steam punk style, there were plenty of online sites that showed it off. Of course he had never really gotten into it himself, but he had to admit it did look cool even if it was not something he would wear himself. Not that he could actually wear much anymore, nowadays he was limited to a permanent fur coat.

He stopped at the outer edge of the audience, it was about as close as he could get before it became too much for his hearing. That and the smell. The crowd gave off a myriad of scents, the musky scent of leather, the chemical scent of paints, various plastics and metals, no doubt the materials used in the costumes. Tyson would not be able to get much closer than this, not without being overwhelmed. Instead he just try to enjoy the music, and try to block out everything else. Well not quite everything, he of course kept his eye out for anyone headed his direction. Lack of awareness is what has led to his last attack, he didn't want to be taken by surprise again. Keep his head low, watch out for danger, and just enjoy what little normality he could get out of this.

As he listened, Elliott's eyes wandered. Now, he wasn't on a job, but in environments like this, pickpockets liked to play. While he himself wasn't really in the mood for a three finger discount, someone else might have been. Hence, he was watching his back and looking out for interesting characters. In a crowd full of people in steampunk outfits, someone in a fur coat sort of sticks out. It only took him a few casual strides to get within talking distance.

"Hey there," he said. His eyes were still on the group, but his voice was directed towards the guy with fur, in the hoodie. "You don't seem all that into the style of the day. Just checking things out? You should definitely stick around. Honeybee is one of my favorites." He grinned.

"Turpentine, erase me whole~ Don't want to live my life alone~" The singers sang in perfect harmony. The strumming on the guitar was low key and relaxing. A beautiful song. The audience was swaying, in unison.

(( OOC: www.youtube.com/watch?v=ojYK6CW8gdw This is Honeybee. ))

Over his time at the institute, Tyson had begun to learn a few things about scents. It wasn't like most people made it out to be, when you watched a documentary about blood hounds and wolves, they act as if each species had a scent by which they could be identified. While this was true to some extent, Tyson was finding that there was so much more to it then that. While a species did have some common elements, it was not the only thing. Everything had a unique scent to it, regardless of wither it was the same species or not, combining elements of their biology with their diet, and mixing in the places they had been, things they had handled and worn. He could, with a little effort, determine that the guy standing over there was a vegetarian. The girl over there worked in a cosmetic store from the numerous scents of perfumes and powders on her, even if it was overlaid with the body paint she was currently wearing. The kid with his mom liked peanut butter and honey, and the guy sporting a top hat had fresh tattoos hidden under his clothes from the smell of blood and ink. Each scent seemed to register somewhere in his head automatically, picking out those subtle details that he had never been able to detect as a human.

Then to his surprise he smelt something... smelt something... he didn't know? It was not something that he recognized, but not in a way that was simply not having experienced before. It was something that seemed to simply... not register. It had a unique scent, no doubt about that, it was a weird sensation, it was a definite scent but it was as if sense of smell was a index, but there was no slot for this one. It was not a plant, animal, or mineral that registered, some mystery element that whatever built in instincts he was now programed with had no answer for. It caused him an shudder involuntarily, not from fear or disgust, just from the weird... absence that felt unsettling.

"Hey there, you don't seem all that into the style of the day. Just checking things out? You should definitely stick around. Honeybee is one of my favorites."

The voice came from the same direction as the scent, and Tyson looked to see the person, another steampunk fan with goggle and a duster jacket sporting green body pai... wait, he sniffed again, definitely the weird scent, but he couldn't smell the chemical smell that the other painted people had. Natural? Maybe a mutant then? That would explain the weird smell at least. He had already learned that some mutants gave off atypical types of scents, Xavia for instance smelled like a walking rose bush.

He wasn't sure what to do at first. Answering him would result in the growling and snarling that he had yet to get over every time he tried to talk. He didn't want to alarm anyone by accident, and he didn't want to attract undue attention, not after last time. He decided he would have to keep silent for now, and just nodded, exaggerating it just bit so that it could be seen without him having to remove the hood. He hoped that was enough for the guy, and maybe he would just think he was shy or introverted, or else someone of few words. He just didn't want to make a scene.

If the green skin hadn't screamed alien, the lack of ears and nose definitely did. As did the two black antennas sticking out of his bald head.

The guy said nothing. He simply nodded. That was cool, in and of itself. It didn't scream anything weird. People nod. Move on with life. The guy could simply have been mute, or shy. A real lone wolf type, possibly. Antisocial, at worst. Whatever it was, it was easy as hell to shrug off. It was no skin off his lack of a nose. He exhaled through the two vertical slits that existed in the nose's place.

"Cool. Sounds like they're moving on to Brass Goggles. I love this one."

There wasn't much else to talk about. It was nice to just stand and mutually enjoy music on a nice day like this. Especially with nothing world-shattering going on.

A woman nearby approached the crowd. She had a little toto dog on a leash. What was it? A Pomeranian? No. Schnauzer? No. Terrier? No. Cairn Terrier, that was the breed from the movie. The woman was having some trouble restraining the dog. So many sights and smells. It really seemed interested in the nice man in a hood for some reason she couldn't fathom. As she pulled it back, she apologized profusely. "I'm sorry. He's just--" YIP YIP. "Curious. And friendly. Loves people." She wasn't dressed like the rest of the crowd. She was in blue jeans, a tan leather jacket, and a black t-shirt that said "If you can read this, I hope you bought me dinner" across the chest.

Tyson visibly stiffened when the woman with the dog came over. Not only because the dog was drawing attention to him, but because now he was dealing with a flux of territorial/domination instincts that were reacting the the little buggers yips. He felt it even around normal people, but with other canines it was twice as bad. Humans were merely intruders on his territory, but with canines it was as if he were under siege. Maybe this little mutt wasn't setting it off as badly as another wolf, but it was still enough to make it difficult not to snarl at it out loud. He just hoped that the woman didn't notice that his fur wasn't exactly just an article of clothing. He edged away from it, willing himself to remain silent, hands clenched tight and shaking slightly. He was in control... don't make a scene... just a dog.... don't need to do anything.... it's just a dog....

He tried to focus more on the music, but the little yapper was persistent. It began growling and snapping at his feet. He wasn't wearing shoes, they didn't fit his feet properly, so he was getting nipped each time. A growl was starting in the back of his throat. If he could have spoken he would have said something like: 'For Christ sakes lady control your dog and get away from me'. Unfortunately that was not an option and he couldn't hold it in anymore. He stooped down so the dog alone could see under his hood and snarled fiercely. The dog got the message immediately, whimpered and hid behind the woman in fear. "What the hell? What's wrong with you!?" said the woman, scooping up the frightened dog and turning and walking off, clearly upset. Fortunately it didn't seem like she had actually caught onto what was under the hood, merely pissed off at some apparent weirdo freaking out her dog.

Tyson breathed deep, trying to compose himself. Aside from a few brief stares from a few people, it didn't seem like anyone was interested enough to pursue anything. None of their business, so why should they? Close call, he just had to calm down.

The barking drew his attention. A little yip yip dog. A pocket dog. He glanced that way, then back to the concert. Then back at the dog. Noisy little mutt. It seemed to be bothering his antisocial friend. The woman apologized, and he swept his focus back to the concert. Dogs would be dogs. Except this one just would not quit. Again, he looked the dog's way.

His shy friend was tense. He was getting a bit of something from body language. Annoyance? Anger? Fear? Well, maybe he was just annoyed by the punt sized pain... er, pint-sized. It was growling. Snapping. Guy was wearing some sort of furry slippers. Were those a new type of crocs? They weren't fashionable, and that was why he wondered. The guy, however fashionable, was doing pretty good of not kicking the little doggy. Up until he reached his breaking point, that was. A snarl escaped the man's mouth.

Elliott arched an eyebrow. That was odd. Even with the music as loud as it was, he could hear that. Who snarled at little dogs? Well, Elliott. That's a very good question. Other dogs sometimes snarl at other dogs. And monster mutants. And feral beasts.

The lady packed up her pooch and plodded off.

Elliott shrugged. Maybe he was just a grumpy growling guy. Sometimes, people snarled too. Maybe he was nuts. Insane hobos, people. New York is chock full of them.

Mr. Quiet Riot practiced breathing exercises. Elliott let him. If the guy was a crazy hobo, he didn't need to poke the bear. Or mix metaphors.

About 100 feet away, a Metabot peacekeeper prowled, watching the crowd. He was gunmetal blue with matte black plating on his arms, legs, and chest.

Tyson didn't feel to great about his lapse in self control. Admittedly it was better then when he had totally lost it against the guys that had attacked him, but he still didn't like it when it happened. The woman probably thought he was a complete creep, and probably anyone watching him. Not a great feeling. Well there was little he could do about it now, the damage was already done. He looked at the green skinned mutant, wondering if he was thinking the same thing. It was hard for him having to be this way, not to be in control of himself. He hated it, it made him angry, though he was trying to remember that it was his fathers fault, trying to direct his anger at him rather then take it out on others. If this was any indication though, he was probably in need of some venting.

Then he saw the metabot. It was really his first time seeing one. Honestly it made him nervous. He had heard of them of course, who hadn't, the media made a big deal about them as the 'new' peacekeepers. For him though the walking collection of metal just felt unnatural against his feral side. Not that his human side was anymore at ease knowing it was there. After all he had mauled three people and pretty much left them for dead. True it was in self defense, but he didn't know if they had made it after the incident. For all he knew it may be looking for him, which was not a comforting thought at all. He pulled his hood over his head a little more on reflex, and contemplated moving on just in case.

The Metabot moved their way. Elliott inhaled through his nostrils, and held in a sigh. He'd already dealt with one of these tools this month. Two was just hilarious. Silently, it approached the crowd, then... it passed them. He could sense relief all around him. But then, where was it headed?

He heard a yip in the distance, and saw the lady fumbling with her little dog. An eyebrow quirked. Suddenly, the dog wasn't so little. It had seen the robot, and the robot had seen it, and after a second of mutual understanding, it had started to grow. Larger and larger, until it was the size of a full-grown man in a dog costume. Like that movie, Wilfred. A dirty gray coat and a man with really ugly facial hair. He barked twice at the robot, and then bolted away from the band. Unfortunately, away from the band meant towards him.

He didn't do anything at first. He was shocked. The woman screamed. Her little dog confidant had turned into a full-grown man in costume, and she certainly hadn't expected that. The robot pursued.

The band played on.

Tyson became tense as the metabot approached. Was it coming for him? He considered breaking into a run and getting out of there fast. He was pretty sure he could outpace it if he went all out. He had learned he was really fast if he went all fours. Wait... it passed them? Where was it going. That annoying little mutt was barking again, and then... it changed? Another shape shifting mutant? This was the second one he had seen now, he had a previous run in with a wolf shifter. Now a 'dog' shifter as well? Was he the only canine mutant without the ability to change his form? Life was seriously unfair. Why was it that he was the one stuck with a permanent muzzle?

The man ran their way, followed by the robot. Tyson wondered what he should do. Help the mutant? Help the meta? Do nothing? He didn't know enough to really make that call. He meta were supposed to be on the side of the law, so the man could be a criminal, but the institute was very pro-mutant, and his experience had told him that mutants usually helped one another on principle, like Danica had helped him when he was jumped. But that had been different, the robot couldn't hate mutants, it was a robot, didn't that mean it was pursuing a criminal?

Tyson was too caught up in his thoughts and indecision, and the man barged through, knocking Tyson off balance. The pursuing Meta pushed through as well, this time knocking Tyson completely off his feet, landing on his side, as he rolled to his back, his hood fell back, revealing his very canine face. He fumbled for a moment, trying to get back to his feet and pull his hood back up at the same time.

Elliott's plan to do nothing when the robot and the dog mutant ran past him was a roaring success. He simply stood there, and let them pass. The only side effect of the whole endeavor was that his strong silent friend got bowled over. The hood came away, and revealed wolfish features. Elliott didn't pause for a second. He simply stepped forward, bent over, and offered the wolfman his hand.

Now, generally speaking, one doesn't trade grips with a mutant until one knows where they stand on certain issues. Like murdering you when your guard is dropped, or ripping off arms... but in this case, Elliott made the exception. The wolfman had been quiet, but he had been good. Or at least, barring 'good', he hadn't been bad. All he'd done to throw a bit of distrust his way was snarling at the little dog. The little dog had turned out to be a mutant shapeshifting criminal, so really. Snarling at a criminal isn't really 'bad' at all. Maybe wolfman had subconsciously sensed little dog was up to no good? Or maybe he simply hadn't liked being bitten. What was the saying? Once bitten, twice shy? Regardless, he had done nothing to earn Elliott's scorn.

"Need a hand?" Elliott asked. And he waited, hand outstretched. He'd let the wolfman make his own choices about how things were going to go down.

Tyson was a little bit surprised by the lack of reaction from the reveal. Of course this was not the first time his appearance had been glossed over by another mutant. He really should stop getting surprised by these things. The rest of the crowd didn't seem aware enough to notice, either that or with all the costumes his own unusual features just weren't noticed. He supposed that was lucky, but still he didn't want to push his luck too far. He put out his hand to let the green skinned mutant pull him up, careful not to slice him with his claws. He pulled his hood back over his head, and gave a short growl "Hrrrrrr thhaaanks." He supposed at this point nobody actually cared enough to be paying attention to him. Between the music and costumes, they seemed none the wiser. He guessed that it would be OK for him to talk. Just as long as he didn't do something crazy like howling and barking loudly.

He wondered if he should introduce himself to the other mutant. He seemed OK with him justice at the mutants he had met seem to be. Of course actually striking up a conversation was a difficult matter for him. He still hadn't really figured out how to talk without his words slurring with growls as he attempted to shape his mouth around the words. As such his responses were were usually short since it was so hard to form intelligible sentences. "Grrrrr Tyson," he said, pointing a clawed hand to himself. As introductions went it was a bit primitive, he hoped that the guy wasn't offended by it.

Up the Wolf got.

"No problem," Elliott said.

The wolf growled a name, and Elliott replied in kind. Well, minus the growl. That would have been rude. He just said "My name is Elliott," and left it at that. He said it with a small smile.

It was a good thing the crowd was so focused on the band. Had they glanced that way, they might not have reacted positively. Or maybe they would have. Some people are more open than others.

The Metabot playing dog catcher didn't make the chase last too long. The woman caught up with them on the outskirts of the crowd. Elliott could hear bits of the conversation during quiet moments in the concert. "press charges." "Watched me changing." "Thought he was a dog." "Never should have trusted..." He coughed politely, and ignored them.

"I understand why you wear the hood. I like to keep a low profile too. One time, I had this crazy guy come after me like David Duchovney, shouting 'aliens!'" A wry smile quirked his mouth.

Tyson understood all too well being targeted for looking different. True, he had never been called an alien, but being called a mutt and a dog were just an equivalent name. The biggest danger with him was how he reacted when backed into a corner. His instincts were sometimes more animals and they were humans, flight or fight with just part of that, and when he couldn't flee then his more Feral side had taken over. He'd rather not dwell on those thoughts too long.

"Hrr been attaacked beforrre," he said, "Ennnded rrrr baadly," he was taking a quick liking to Elliott, despite the weird scent he gave off, but he knew he would have to warn him about his more feral instincts, just to be safe. "Hrrr sooometiimees, dangerrrrous." Not that he wanted to be, he had little choice in the matter. When something set him off his instincts were generally faster then his human impulses. This was especially trying when it came to raw meat and small chasable animals. Elliott had seen his instincts in action a moment ago, though it was probably not the worst display all things considered.

He glanced at the former mutt. He still hadn't figured out if he had been reacting because he had been another dog, or because he was a shifter. He guessed it was just his territorial side, since he was not experienced enough to tell. He would just be glad to get over the maul people uncontrollably part of it.