It smelled awful.

Devon had some grand ideas about this place. He'd psyched himself up the night before, laying in bed wondering what his first Saturday at Sanctuary would bring. He was dead set on making a mark and revitalizing the old place. He'd be the one to help them.

Yeah, he'd be the one alright. First he'd mopped the floor in the kitchen, helped bring in and stack donated food, and then vacuumed the dining area. Now he got to clean the doors. They were gold in the loosest sense of the word, mostly filigree and leafing. Real, pure gold didn't tarnish anyway but Devon didn't have the heart to bring his science 101 from high school to the whoever was administrating over this place. It would seem the first step to becoming the savior of Sanctuary were chores.

He didn't mind spending some elbow grease on the place. If you cared about a space you wanted it to look nice. That didn't mean you obsessed about appearances of course; Tempest wasn't a narcissist. It meant you kept a clean house, tidied up for guests, ran a comb through your hair.

Devon ran a hand through his hair. It was warm, but pleasantly so, especially for him. He wasn't going to work up a sweat from the early summer sun but the prolonged activity sure did it. He was more concerned about the effect of the gas this chemical put out in the air. He could see it wafting back and forth and loose in the breeze. It smelled like it could take the gold off the doors, but it did the trick. They were starting to shine.

Besides this gave him time to think. No, not about himself or what he was doing. He was focused on Sanctuary and helping with their programs. Many teenagers found shelter here in crisis, even if a temporary one to give the family time to breathe and think about how they wanted to handle a situation. Of course, some were just homeless and needed a place to stay. Seemed a lot of mutants were out on these streets. This place could be so much more and better and he was determined to get it there.

Dipping the rag into the bucket of remover and water, he sighed and began to vigorously scrub at the bottom of one door. At least if the place looked taken care of it'd draw people in. Someone needed to clean this place up after all.

More than grime had tarnished this place.

"OH OH OH OH OH"

Best way to be left along on sketchy streets of sketchiness? Make a huge racket and present as unpredictably, unreliably insane as mutantly possible. Plus singing made everything better, especially when it distracted him from how far he had hauled so much weight. Distractions made everything better!

"I WANNA TRY EVERYTHING! I WANNA TRY EVEN THOUGH I COULD FAIL!"

People were also moving out of his way, when he passed them, so he didn't have to weave around them and potentially lose balance. Ooooh, another good song! And another movie song cover. Had to love flashy becoming-a-superhero movies. Especially ones that didn't attempt to be about mutants and then just get everything so incredibly wrong. A few were just about people behaving like heroes. Really, that made a bigger impact in the world, didn't it?

Although mutants who acted impressively undeniably had a larger effect. And were less likely to be killed in action. Like him! Well, he was very likely to die but he wasn't going to stay dead! Take that, ye cloaked spectre with a scythe-y sceptre!

YOUR DESTINATION IS ON THE RIGHT.

Wait what? His destination? He wasn't just wa-

oh.

Memo pushed the skip forward touchscreen-button on his phone to change the song and distract himself before the new, tangled ring on his chest could turn white again and put him through everything all over again. He'd had enough today. He really had, even with almost all of it pressed into the faded distance of half-forgotten.

Oh hey, there was someone polishing doors that looked like they used to be maintained by a gold-shining mutant who was no longer around to shine them up. Gold doors. That was where he was headed! Sanctuary. Mutant place for mutants with nowhere else to live.

"Hellloooooo!" he called, freeing a gloved hand (dark purple with stars and multiple moons, and fingerless) from the strap of the backpack that wanted to cut off his arm more. At least for the moment. It wanted to cut off the arm that was currently carrying his keyboard in its case.

Rachael barely suppressed a low growl as yet another individual collided with her as walked, the fact that the much larger man deliberately stepped into her path almost drove her into outburst. However truth be told Rachael knew if the situation was reversed she probably wouldn't have been much better, after all it was less than a year ago when she'd thought mutants as a whole were dangerous and to be feared. Now, having met a few in her travels and being one herself, she wasn't sure what to think anymore. Quietly she picked herself up, somewhat surprised and saddened that no-one had tried to help her up. Now where exactly was this Sanctuary place?

She'd heard about Sanctuary numerous times upon her arrival, both in a positive and negative context. Rachael was rather sceptical of whether to trust a shelter that somehow managed to scare more than a few people away but... beggars couldn't be choosers.

As she weaved and wove through the city streets she couldn't help but feel rather homesick, she'd known her way around Perth like the back of her hand. New York was an entirely different beast. So caught up in her own thoughts she didn't notice the people in front of her slow down, bumping into them. "Sorry," She began. However the other person didn't respond, she was to busy gawking across the street at perhaps one of the weirdest sights she'd seen in New York. A mutant, hauling what appeared to be all his possessions and belting out tunes at the top of his lungs.

From the other side of the street Rachael couldn't help but be somewhat thankful of the bizarre mutant. Even compared to herself the other man's mutation was heavily prominent even from a distance, the strange markings on his face and bizarre hat just adding to the spectacle. As such many of the pedestrians eyes were on him, allowing Rachael to continue towards were she believed Sanctuary to be located without incident. It just so happened that's where the other mutant was headed as well.

Rachael had of course heard of Sanctuary's gold doors but had believed it to be exaggeration, like some really strange shade of yellow. However as she stood before them she couldn't deny the somewhat impressive sight, even if it wasn't actual gold. "Hi," She responded as she stepped forward from behind Memo. "I assume this is Sanctuary?"

Devon had been eagerly scrubbing the bottom of the door. Did people just kick their boots off here? There'd been some rough winters but it seemed like Sanctuary had had some rough years. Still, he was happy for the reason to pause. Devon had heard him coming after all.

Standing up, he took the new arrival's hand in his and shook it with a well meaning firmness. Devon had to assume this guy was new as he'd have remembered seeing him or at least hearing about him. He hadn't been around too long but you remembered the people... These had to be tattoos because if they were birthmarks there was something else going on. Honestly, you never knew with mutant abilities exactly what might manifest. The outfit though, that wasn't a mutant power. Macklemore and Ryan Lewis were in a thrift shop somewhere right now.

"Nice hat," he said as he shook the guy's hand. "I'm Devon. I'm guessing by the look of things you'd like a place to stay?" His attention was a little distracted however as his eyes were glancing past Memo to a girl that definitely stood out. Devon gestured with an incline of his chin.

She was short, bright green, and definitely didn't sound American. Where the marked man had everything with him, she didn't appear to have much. Of course, with mutant powers you could never tell. Devon was quickly appreciating that Sanctuary was here.

"Yeah, this is Sanctuary. I was just introducing myself. I'm Devon Hadden. Welcome," he smiled, gesturing her closer. "Sorry I'm a mess. Doors needed cleaning."

Dang right it was a nice hat! Memo would have tipped it to the guy, but his hands were kind of occupied and there was a girl beside him what where did she come from???

Eh, he'd probably been talking to her or something and just completely forgot. Super pretty skin colour, though. He could do some cool photography stuff if -

if he weren't currently homeless and unemployed and trying to not sleep on the street tonight because streets were cold and hard and dirty and he kind of associated lying on them with dying.

"A place to put this down and forget how heavy it is would be a glorious start," Memo said cheerfully. "I do like to sleep, though, and I kind of had to sell my bed on short notice this morning. And almost everything else. A good time to not have pets, not a good time to exist."

Oh, door-cleaning? They were very gold. "They're looking very shiny," Memo said congratulatorily. Oooooh all this stuff was heavy. He should put it down.

...It might have worked better if he hadn't, er, just sat down. It kept him from dropping his keyboard, dropping that was bad, but the two backpacks were kind of stuck around his arms. Whatever, he hadn't broken anything and now the ground had the weight. Not that he exactly remembered how heavy the stuff was now, as long as he didn't think too closely about it.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Devon frowned. Sell your bed? That was disheartening. He'd never been in that dire of straits. "We can have a bed done up for you, no problem," he nodded. "But sure, take a load off. When you're ready we can go inside."

"And thanks, I've been working on them the last couple hours. Next up is the lights. I figured it'll be a lot easier to make people feel comfortable coming in if it's a bright, clean space. Darkness and grime don't really scream safe and welcoming, do they?" He chuckled. "We'll get you both inside and how about some dinner? I'm a little hungry myself."

This is why Sanctuary existed and why he was volunteering. For too long he'd been wallowing in how to help himself. The chip on his shoulder was still there, but it sure was easier to shift when faced with how lucky he still was. Helping mutants only made it that much easier and more rewarding.

Rachael cast the strange man a quick glance as he seemed to ramble uncontrollably. He seemed rather scatter-brained upon first impression, or perhaps the stress of losing his home was affecting him. The latter being a feeling Rachael was somewhat familiar with.

Devon on the other hand seemed much more composed and Rachael flashed a brief smile as he introduced himself. "It's nice to meet you, I'm Rachael." She supplied. "I'm looking for a place to stay, food isn't even an issue I... I'm not hungry." Rachael wasn't a good liar, and even times when she selectively cropped the truth it was apparent. As such the young girl actively sought a means to change the subject, "So what do you do around here?" She asked Devon. "Aside from cleaning doors and fixing lights."

"You as well, Rachael," Devon nodded, smirking slightly as the girl attempted a well-meaning white lie. "Well if you're staying here you might as well join everyone in the dining hall. It's a social, family style thing. Considerate it a service. If you don't want to, you can of course not join but the option is there." He shrugged slightly and then dropped the rag he'd been cleaning with in the bucket nearby.

"I don't cook, of that I can assure you. I don't think anyone would eat if I did," he laughed. "I'm helping out with whatever I can, honestly. Doors, lights, kitchen schedule, welcoming new faces," he gestured to Rachael and Memo. "I'm also starting some groups through Sanctuary."

Not everyone liked the idea of counseling. Hell, he was one of them. The idea of someone breaking him down, rooting through his feelings, getting into his head bothered him. You really had to trust someone for that kind of intimate activity. It was often hard to get to that point. Devon struggled with it regularly. Groups were typically easier. These were peers, people who were typically going through what you were going through. They supported one another with understanding and even tough love on occasion.

"We're both helpful and social at Sanctuary, I guess," Devon nodded. "I'm involved however I can be and it's been good so far, though a fair amount of work. If you've got any interest in helping..." He glanced between the two, "Either of you, it'd be appreciated. We can talk later about it, no pressure of course."

Woooo bed! Memo totally would have spun around and done a little dance if he weren't anchored in place by all his stuff. And he might forget what his goal was by the time he unentangled himself, sooooo

was he hungry? He had no idea when he'd eaten last, but that was hardly new. "I'm only hungry when I remember to be," he said cheerily, with a brief nod at lady green. "On the other hand, I'm only full when I remember I am too." He shrugged. It didn't bother him even when he thought about it.

Ooooh there was stuff to do? "I'd totally help out! This whole sell-everything-and-start-walking thing started by losing my job so it's not like I have much else to do. I think. I should probably check, but I'm pretty sure just about everything went poof like a little cloud of smoke out of phone that went swimming in the ocean."

Rachael's expression went from one of curiosity to concern as she listened to the strangely marked man continue to ramble on. Her earlier assessment that he may be rather scatterbrained now seemed like a gross understatement, while potentially crazy he did seem friendly enough and Rachael was pleased that he showed some interest in helping people. How effective that help would be however remained to be seen.

At the mention of 'groups' Rachael could barely contain a cringe. While she'd obviously never been to one before, movies and television filled her mind with the image of people sitting in a circle explaining how their lives went down the sinkhole. She didn't like that concept, she was extremely uncomfortable with what she'd become, what had been taken away from her. She didn't want everyone else to know how she felt, her thoughts were her own. 

However she didn't like the idea of being a drain on resources without contributing something in return. "I can help too." She told Devon. "I may not be the best cook and my ability to repair things is limited but I can help clean this place up. It's a rather basic and easy task but if you can think of anything more I can help with I could give it a try."

Devon was struggling to follow Memo's line of thought. He was a bit stream of consciousness but seemed to struggle to remember the details. Perhaps he had a mental condition or a power that allowed him to get information too quickly or store too much. Suffice to say, Devon was pretty sure he'd found Dory.

"Sorry to hear that," he said quickly upon learning the man had lost his jobs before selling his belongings. "I'm sorry, I can't remember. Did you give me your name or are you purposely trying to lose me in the fast talk?" he said grinning and glancing over to Rachel.

"All the general things a home needs help with, we need here. Cooking, cleaning, repairs, errands, all of it. The library - how they ever really built one up - needs tending, as do the computers if either of you have some technical skill. The kitchen could use extra hands. I would love some extra help cleaning."

OH HE KNEW WHAT HE COULD CONTRIBUTE

"I'm used to playing for people," Memo threw in, more or less maybe on topic. For now. Kind of. Was the timing right? He never could really remember, but that was okay because usually people figured out how to jump around with him. Or they just smiled and nodded. A lot probably did that, in all honesty, but that was okay because they were still being polite! It was good for people to be polite.

Oh, he should expand on that. He lifted the keyboard in its case, a three and a half foot long black mass that had done more than its share of wearing him out on the way here. It was more important to not hit it against stuff than the backpacks so yeah. "Keyboard. I can play lots of stuff. The particular array of stuff depends on what I remember at the time, though. Like everything else." Memoryyyyyy

"I'm Memo, and I don't remember if I said it already either. I also don't remember if I've said this yet, so here's a maybe repeat! My mutation involves memory. Plus I think I was an airhead before hand." If only he had a free hand. He loved giving a giant thumbs-up with that proud label. "I do feel like I've told someone that recently, though. Hm." He attempted to tap his chin, but all the straps and attached weights got in the way. "If there's any random things that need doing that might prove lethal to the people doing them, I can probably help there too."

His grin at the last was the naively casual grin of the immortal who forgot to specify that he was functionally immortal. It may have just come across as the grin of the mentally unhinged.

Content with the fact she could earn her keep Rachael had all but decided that Sanctuary would make a adequate home away from home. Now she just had to decide what her next course of action would be. It was a difficult situation to be sure, she had no money, zero ID and to be honest legally wasn't supposed to be here. As it stood Sanctuary was her only lifeline and until she could figure a way to get onto her feet Rachael had to hold onto it.

However with company like Memo at least she wouldn't be bored. A mutation that affected the memory, and it seems not in an entirely positive way. That would likely explain the strangely marked mutants jittery train of thought, although as stated it may just have been his air-headed tendencies before the mutation kicked in. There was also the case of his creepy grin and... suicidal tendencies? "Ugh, if something is dangerous it would probably be better to just find someone with training."

She didn't wait for a reply as she took a step forward and opened one of the doors, her head quickly poked through to observe the interior. Large and with odd patches of dust and dirt, likely the places Devon or the others on cleaning duty hadn't gotten to yet. "Are there many others here? Mutants without anywhere to go?" She asked.

But what if it were so dangerous there wasn't time to find anyone- oh. Oh oh oh. He recognized that face. That was the Memo-forgot-to-explain-context face, the this-guy-is-totally-nuts face. It was certainly common enough to remember what it looked like, and he raised his hands in quick protest. "No no no! I mean I'm offering because it won't kill me. Or it might, but I won't stay dead. Really. I forget about dying pretty much as soon as it happens, so I don't die. Really."

Maybe at some point he'd remember to work out the details, and then put them on a business card or something before he forgot what he'd worked out. Maybe he had worked them out, but had then forgotten. But if he had it on a card, he could just pass it out! And remind himself. That would so super useful.

Oh look it was time to go inside! Memo sprang back to his feet, came extremely close to falling over when he realized how burdened he still was, and then paraded in behind the green skinned girl he still wanted to photograph.

Memo started talking about mutation and lethal dangers, and Tempest got a little concerned. Sure he was a musician but had he just promised himself into dangers? Some sort of invulnerability mutation perhaps could explain that.

"Are there many others here? Mutants without anywhere to go?" Rachel asked.

Devon snapped back to reality, turning to Rachel. "Yes, let's keep the dangers to those with training or at least some sort of adult response. But yes, we have many here. Many mutants, some humans. We're all in this together. Some need a home, some need food, some just need a place to come once and a while. We can be all of that here."

"No no no! I mean I'm offering because it won't kill me. Or it might, but I won't stay dead. Really. I forget about dying pretty much as soon as it happens, so I don't die. Really." Memo added.

"Well that doesn't make much sense, but we'll have to talk about that more," Devon laughed. "I'll go with it for now." He followed them in, shutting the door behind them. He offered a hand to help Memo up, even keeping that arm out in offer to help carry anything. "Here I can take some of that."

"I'll have rooms prepared, Mr. Hadden," Ms. Wilson spoke up, suddenly standing before her desk.

"Thanks," Devon grinned.

Sanctuary needed all the help it could get and Devon wanted it to help all that wanted it.