There was nothing nothing nothing NOTHING but there was
EVERYTHING
and was he moving or not, he couldn't
Why had he done this as snowflakes
at least he didn't have a stomach
it would be so

HE FELT SOMETHING, a great big flat painful and therefore not frozen something
There was too much of it and he was going too fast toward it

He pushed himself away before he melted into a smear, tried to drift at an even distance. Was that the ground? If he put himself back together - if he even could put himself back together - would he fall toward it or away or alongside?

Oh, now there were two places his edges were melting, and they seemed to meet. One of them was, logically, the ground. If not, then... then he'd probably die, given the approximate space he seemed to generally cover like this.

Another corner! This was getting more and more like the ground. Which was good, because he had a headache. Or whatever he ought to call it. He didn't exactly have a head right now. It was getting hard to concentrate. Corner, and then another corner beside it, but they weren't connected. Hopefully it was an alley or something, and this was the ground, because he was running into it and there wasn't anything else he could d



As the bulk of the cloud of snow, drifting like a white stain on the wind, touched down, a limp human shape coalesced. Nothing special, just a disorganized pile of t-shirt and shorts and pale skin and mostly black hair, heavily cut with white on one side.

The prawn adjusted the basket in her arms, huffing softly. Though she didn't look the part, the prawn could often be found at farmers' markets. Yes, despite her distinct lack of the down-home, flannel-centered appearance, the prawn loved them-- clean, organic veggies at a cheap price, right from the source. She was currently walking home with her boon, which was in a handwoven basket. (Zinnia had insisted that it would be forty dollars well-spent-- and though Jack deigned to admit it, the basket was good for carrying copious amounts of veggies.)

Now, the prawn was a firm believer in minding your own business-- or, as some students referred to it "staying in her own lane". Staying in your lane meant avoiding any weird sh** you might see on your way home from the farmer's market, i.e. fights, druggies, a homeless guy on the stoop of a building, or any combination of those things.

Of course, there were exceptions-- someone starting trouble with a mutant, for one. And secondly, if someone was in grave danger and no one else was there to help. Literally, no one. The prawn hoped for neither of these things because, frankly, she wanted to get home and try this vegetable stirfry recipe she'd found-- this one used bell peppers!

The world had other plans. As she crossed the mouth of an alley, she heard the dull thud of a trash can, a clattering bottle. Stay in your lane, Jack. The prawn looked. If only she hadn't looked. The prawn had seen enough dead bodies to recognize a person when she saw one.

"Sh**," the prawn hissed, stalking into the alley. She should at least check for vitals, maybe call an ambulance. Something was seriously f***ed up about this guy, like he was melting. The prawn surveyed the gooey fellow. Probably mutant. Would he even have vitals?

She sank on her haunches.

For all that he hadn't spent long as a cloud of snow, it still took a few solid minutes for the inside of his head to get around to achieving a vague level of consciousness again. Or maybe potential consciousness, since there was then a block of sheer bleh.

Eventually, it occurred to him that he was sprawled very uncomfortably, and that there was something uncomfortably hard and pointy under him. Multiple things. He shifted sideways, sort of rolling uncoordinatedly, and found everything to be working. At least his healing factor hadn't given up on him, right?

Ngh. Still disoriented. Where was he? He'd...

No sound of sirens. Good. Didn't sound any different, otherwise. Did it look any different? He hadn't actually seen anything yet, just felt its not-frozen faces. Which were almost as unpleasantly warm to his skin as they had been to his flakes. Why couldn't it have been any cooler? He rolled over a bit more, and finally opened his eyes.

Oh. There was someone there. They were, uh, very colourful. Mutant. Good. He forced himself to focus enough to get his arms under himself, and then to push himself off the ground. Sitting. Much better. Waking up from a backlash-minicoma was never really anything resembling fun, but it did kind of feel like he'd hit the ground harder than usual as well.

Jack extended her hand towards the motionless man, one finger unfurled so as to touch his neck and check his vitals. She was inches away from him when he moved, and open his eyes. In spite of herself, the prawn squeaked in alarm, nearly dropping her basket of veggies. He was alive?! Jack rose to her feet, her heart leaping into her throat.

"Iss ya slee' in alleys, solks are gonna sink you're a dead guy," the prawn chastised. With a huff, and some incoherent muttering about "gooey guys", the prawn began to shuffle up the alley. She heard the guy getting-up, but now that he was confirmed not-dead, she wasn't going to stick around.

Damn... whatever the hell he was supposed to be.

Sssyaslee? Was this place so different that it had a different language? But no, it was just heavily accented English. Nng. Hitting the ground was never really a good idea. How fast had he even been going? Was he bleeding?

No. It looked like he'd at least melted after impact, so everything was intact. Just a little dirtier than he had been. Dirtier and wobblier, but that should be clearing up soon. He rubbed his face and blinked after the... very colourful but also very tall mutant. If anyone wanted to make trouble for a mutant, they'd really gang up before going after this one. And probably be incredibly drunk. Maybe that would go for police too, if he was wrong about not being followed through that thing.

At any rate, this was... an opportunity. Information about this place, if it was a different place, and possibly shelter. He swallowed to clear his throat. "I... I wasn't sleeping." Easy breaths now. "Could you... er..." Why couldn't his mutation to be to just automatically transfer information and requests and questions? Then he wouldn't have to talk. Especially to strangers. And maybe also summer wouldn't be so rough... although then he'd have to worry about cold exposure and hypothermia. He tried again.

"Where is this?"

The protest that the guy had not, in fact, been sleeping snagged Jack's attention. The prawn paused, turning to glance over her shoulder at the collapsed man.

>> "Where is this?"

"New York?" the prawn replied, "Near Harlen, to 'e 'recise."

Jack weighed her options. If he didn't know where he was, there was something more going-on than just napping in the alleyway. If there was something seriously wrong with him, and Jack left him here, his outcome would be on her hands.

"Are you on drugs?" the prawn grunted, turning sideways to face the guy.

New York. He was still in New York. But was it his New York? How was he supposed to tell, beyond wandering around looking for people or places or things he should know? Would the gym be here as well? What if he hadn't actually gone anywhere, and the police were still there? He'd be walking right into them.

Too much thinking. Between hitting the ground and all of this, his head was starting to hurt. Still, he shouldn't stay in one place, just in case. He needed to find somewhere to...

huh?

He blinked at the colourful mutant. "No...?" Drugs? Would they even stay in his system if he went to snow? Not that he wanted to find out. Drugs were... Well. He wasn't interested, even without getting into all the nasty stuff or the cost or the increase in murdering. "I'm just - er." Was it safe to talk to this stranger? He didn't know anything about them, or this place, although it at least seemed to not be worse to mutants or something would have come up...

"I was... running from some people. I went through... something, and they're gone, but I- I'm not sure this is, er, my New York."

The prawn leveled a stare at the man, her skepticism blatant in the expression of his eyes. Not his New York? There was only one New York, as far as Jack was concerned.

Despite his stammered protest, Jack was almost certain that the man was inebriated in some form or fashion. How else would you describe the passing-out in alleys and general incoherence?

“Hm,” Jack grunted, “Well… I ho’e you sine-d your New York.”

You didn’t gain anything from arguing with this type of person. Best leave them be. Jack began to make her retreat again.

Well this was not going anything like he'd planned. It might have helped if he'd planned it more. Still, he hadn't learned nothing. The police weren't chasing him here, if here was any different, so he had an opportunity to go to ground.

So he'd probably be sleeping outside tonight, which wouldn't be an issue if it weren't hot, but there were shaded places everywhere. Nothing complained when he got to his feet, briefly leaning on the wall, and headed in the direction from whence the colourful mutant had come.