It could have been a cold. Could have been the flu. He wasn't a doctor. All Elliott knew was that his situation was bad. Humans with external noses can sniff and sneeze to their hearts content, burning their nose skin on rough tissue paper and coughing every other minute until their throats are raw. Their ears can get stuffy. Sinuses are connected to your ear somehow. The nose can hold back the gross mucus and do a moderate job of preventing it from dribbling more than it wants to, though not more than it has to. It has to, a lot. For someone with a flat set of nostril slits like a snakes, and ears that aren't visible, housed inside a head, these things are worse.

He felt awful. No fever. But achy. It put a crimp in his vigilante act. One doesn't pick fights with muggers and attempted rapists when one has trouble keeping themselves from falling over without help. Maybe he even did have a fever? Could he be a little delusional. He was riding the subway, after all, but he couldn't remember where he was riding the train to.

He'd been dodging other criminals. He remembered that. Something about a rat, and vengeance...? Some guy he'd ticked off who was trying to tick him off a list. It was foggy, so fever was more likely. Maybe that was why he was on the subway, rather than in his cheapo apartment or at the mansion or in his usual haunts. There was a lot of supposition involved here in his filling in of his own mental blanks, which had to make him wonder if maybe, gee, he was a little drunk? Terrible idea when one is sick. Also not good to mix with cough medicine. Or maybe the cough medicine was the cause of his loop factor? Loopiness? That isn't even a word. Whatever. He wasn't a college scholar. He wouldn't chide himself over proper bocubalry. Vocabulary. Bah!

Elliott sat and simmered in his subway seat, arms crossed. Maybe he'd figure out his story as the train rattled along in jaundiced fluorescent light. His eyes roamed the car as he pondered. Pondered as they wandered. He really did feel a little hot in his leather jacket. Also why did he have a black motorcycle helmet with a giant fanged smile on the seat beside him? He didn't have a motorcycle here, there, or where he was headed. Not at point A Or point B. Ah that was right. It was his crappy costume. Even though it was closer to Thanksgiving than Halloween.

Elliott hacked and hacked into the crook of his arm. 'Least he had the presence of mind to vampire cough and sneeze.

"Being sick sucks." He announced, with all the volume and poise of one of the great Greek thinkers of ancient times. It was right up there with cogito ergo sum... which wasn't even Greek, god dammit. Again. No college. Sounded Latin. Which was close enough. Those foreign languages were all Greek to him.

Considering the demeanor of the train, you would have assumed that either somebody had died hours beforehand, or that there was a bomb warning nearby. Neither of those assumptions were true, but the interior of the train made the girl beyond curious and even nervous to an extent. Either way, Larraine's body supposedly wasn't able to adapt well to harsh environments and caused her to take refuge on this specific train. In her mind, crowding on the train alongside individuals who could be carrying diseases, or illnesses wasn't the best idea. But she wouldn't be able to afford anything remotely better, and she would prefer not to sleep on the streets at this given moment. 

She stumbled onto the train, slumping down into her newfound sleeping spot, resting her head backward on the chair. Her eyes goggled around her surroundings, then briefly staring towards the unknown man, or creature - or both. She responded to the man's words underneath her breath, "I definitely can relate to that." The further she attempted to ignore the seemingly ill individual in the corner of her eye, the more Larraine was able to sympathize with his situation. 

She closed her eyes with contemplation, deciding to aid this individual for no particular reasoning. Perhaps it was due to the injustice that mutants offered received, or perhaps it was due to the assistance she had gotten from mutant-kind lately. Her mouth gaped open, absorbing the symptoms of the cold that the man was battling with, transferring it to herself instead in an instance. "I bet it sucks that you cannot experience how it sucks anymore." Her words were spoken with a teenage-esque humorous snarky tone. She began to show symptoms of the cold that the man had earlier. It would be evident that as soon as the symptoms appeared, they lessened. Her body would be able to manage and heal the properties of the cold easily, especially compared to that of an individual with an average immune system.

Her action was well-intentioned, however, she would be not be trusting whatsoever of the man's response despite assisting him - allowing herself to keep herself guarded.  "I hope that wasn't too forward." Larraine groggily said. She stared into the distance, daydreaming - or distancing herself from the man in case a negative reaction bolted from the individual. It was common for her to have negative feedback. 

Elliott looked up as the sudden interjection into his inner monologue. It was a girl. She looked a little tired. Exhausted, fresh out of the cold. What was she saying? Some sort of commiseration? He opened his mouth to reply, and shut it. Because something strange was happening.

The girl's mouth opened wide and long, and he monetarily had the mental image of a snake dislodging its jaw in order to eat something bigger than its head.

Her words were snarky, and confusing. It sucked he couldn't feel how much it sucked anymore? He wanted to ask what she meant, then realized his stuffiness had started to ebb. And her mouth was wide, like a snake's. He could put two and two together, but he just had to ask.

She interrupted him, mid-question. Again, he closed his mouth.

>>"I hope that wasn't TOO forward," she said.

Okay. Now he could ask. "Did you just, uh, eat my cold?" Elliott stared at her. "Not that I'm complaining, of course."
He hastily added, after a second. "Thank you."

He felt better now. But aside from 'better', he wasn't sure how to feel. Re: grossness of swallowing a cold... a little grossed out, maybe? Like he wanted to climb up a wall. But he wasn't grossed out by the curly-haired blonde girl. As far as he was concerned, she was cool. Unless stealing diseases served some nefarious purpose or--oh her nose looked like it might have started running. He dug into the right pocket of his leather jacket, and pulled out a tissue. Right pocket was clean, left was used. Elliott held it out to her.

"Kleenex?" He asked.

A lack of or tense demeanor was ridden within the female, her mind was occupied with a serpent of thoughts. "Perhaps," Larraine responded, nervous laughter erupting from her lips; as colds and illnesses had done several times beforehand. She made eye contact with him briefly, offering him a thankful smile in return. It was unknown to the man in this given moment what the thankful smile was for.

Before accepting the kleenex, her hand glided over his, touching his scaled hands; intrigued, then blowing her nose into the tissue. The symptoms of the cold that he previously possessed passed throughout the female, however, it would take moments to do so. "Aren't you a proper gentleman? Thank you." Larraine's voice croaked unsteadily. "I wouldn't say I ate your cold, I would say that I.. cured you. I would understand if that came across creepier than it was meant to come across." She awkwardly stuttered out laughter - it definitely caused the atmosphere to become less relaxed and more so, awkward. 

"You're welcome." Her tone would be empathetic, progressing her thoughts as her body immune system continued to alter. "However, I need something in return." She loathed asking for assistance, especially from a stranger. It would be evident however, that she was in danger - otherwise, she wouldn't have asked in the first place. Her fragile demeanor truly showed how much desperation she was in given during this moment.

"I need to ask for your assistance and I hate to do so.. But I think that someone has been following me for the past few miles, and I haven't got the slightest idea why. You're allowed to say no, but I don't know.. I feel as if I am in danger." She tried to sound as formal as possible. If anything, it sounded more similar to that of an invitation. Her ears listened carefully to the whistling of the train. She stared toward her reflection in anticipation and frustration. Perhaps it would have been wise for the mutant to reject the girl's offer, as he was a stranger to her. It was his decision. The train halted shortly, and whoever would introduce themselves to the two, they would both equally need to be prepared. 

(OOC: Elliott )

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. He pushed down the song refrain as she laughed awkwardly at his question. It was a confirmation of sorts.

As she reached out for the tissue, she touched him briefly. Elliott was not sure what to make of it. On the one hand, personal space! But on the other, it would have been rude to shout about personal space! To a person who had just helped you by 'perhaps' eating your cold. Maybe her power required follow up touching, for... something. It was a big unknown, like with most mutant powers. Again, he was cool. He wouldn't judge.

He smiled at her thanks for the proffered tissue. "No problem." Elliott said.

She clarified something. No, she had not eaten his cold. She had cured him. It was different. Also, a lot more tasteful and less... ew. Again, she laughed about it. Elliott smiled politely, and tried to figure her out.

"No problem. I feel better. That's cool in my book." He said simply.

She said he was welcome, but then, also that he owed her something, which was less cool. It made him wish he'd just joked about how it was cool in his book, so long as it wasn't for any nefarious purposes, instead of the politeness he HAD said. Okay, yeah, it was nicer, but there was no substitute for well placed snark. Perhaps if he'd been ruder, and less accommodating... perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. Perhaps she might not have asked for a favor. Now, it was too late. All he could do was listen to the request.

"'Kay." Elliott said.

Whatever she needed, he sure hoped he wouldn't be too offended when he turned her down.

He fully expected something terrible. He fully expected her to try and charge him for magical mutant heals. He didn't expect those things because of anything she'd done. He expected them because of life experience. Of people disappointing him, and making him learn to get paranoid. Elliott was surprised when it turned out to be a cry for help.

Now, Elliott wasn't a chauvinistic pig who heard the first comment out of the mouth of a damsel in distress and dropped everything to help her out. He was too jaded for that. He treated women nice, even occasionally opened doors for them. But he'd been trying to make up for things that had been weighing on him lately, and part of that deal was that he was trying to be a better, less paranoid person, who did things like helping strangers and preventing muggings in the middle of the night. She'd asked for a little bit of assistance, and Elliott's vigilante senses were tingling. Unless that was maybe some vague remnant of the cold?

The girl waited for his answer, staring off distantly. She probably expected him to shrug it off and say no. It was what he would have done, had it been anything else. Boy, was she going to be surprised.

"Okay." Elliott shrugged. "I'll kick their asses, if need be." He didn't smile at the thought of violence, didn't offer anything other than a shrug and a mild look.

As the bus continued halted, her tense demeanor lessened, surprisingly. Outside the doors, nobody seemingly harmful would appear - at least not for the female. She sighed in relief as the train continued trailing. It could only cause her to ponder about their next destination in the meantime. “Again, thank you.” Larraine simply stated. “I don’t want to be entitled to help - whoever they were, maybe they’re not even following me anymore.” She speculates, regretting being perhaps too touchy with him earlier, straightening her body posture. It came across as creepier than expected - Larraine understood boundaries, however, the fact that such an individualistic person was sitting beside her intrigued the younger woman.

His willingness to protect her shocked her to her core. This however, wouldn’t be evident. It would seem as if she was in thought, as usual. “For a stranger, you’re very kind - trusting. I would have walked away if I were in your.. shoes.” She stared towards her knight in shining armor's feet, pondering about his rhetorical or factual shoes - it all depended on whether if he was wearing shoes. Either way, she would still run away from herself in theory.

Her explanation of her mutation wasn’t the brightest description. It was to be expected considering how nerve-wrecking of a situation she had been placed into prior to getting onto the train. “Sorry for acting weird earlier." She says, discarding her sentence prior to apologizing. Shortly afterwards, Larraine scavenged throughout her bag, sliding a piece of chewing gum in the direction of the abnormal human. “Want a piece?” She inquired, showing gratitude towards her unexpected white-knight, of course.

It occurred to Larraine that as they were both stuck together, even albeit briefly, that she should formally introduce herself. “Larraine.” She said, easing up around the scaled-pedestrian. “I don’t often communicate with others - that’s why when I do, I sound like I may perhaps have a few extra chromosomes.” Her hands moved in order as she spoke, with a gentle expression across her face. She often found that self-depreciating humor set the atmosphere and allowed discussion to be born, even so if that happened to be a prolonged, boring discussion about her feelings or through simple laughter.

“And if you’re wondering how I got into this situation,” she paused. “It’s a long, long story.” She continued her sentence, bowing her head downwards, ashamed of her prior actions. It wasn’t every day that you would have to defend yourself against an individual, nor was it common for an individual to possess the abilities that female has. Soon enough, the prior diseases that left her body after transferring chronic pain to the individuals that were a potential threat to her earlier began re-entering the teen’s body. “Don’t ask,” is all she could muster to say after the awkward situation ceased. It wouldn't even be completely oblivious to a blind individual that her powers caused her to be embarrassed beyond belief.

She thanked him again, and there was uncertainty there, if he had wasn't mistaken. Uncertainty about whether the bad people were even still following her, and so on and so forth. Hrm. Set a guy up for conflict, then say it might not happen. Great way to make one's shoulders tense. The day she seemed to have a tendency to be thoughtful, and less emotional at face value, made the whole situation hard to read as a doctor's note.

The fact she could even think she were entitled to help, that he could think she were entitled to help, was laughable. They were in a new world now, a world of hopeful gender equality, and it was getting better all the time. Equality meant treating everyone the same. If she were entitled to help, then so would be Joe Schmoe off the street. There was no damsel entitlement in Elliott's heart. Chivalry was dead. Long live chivalry. Or so he hoped, in a perfect world... more likely, hormones would overrule common sense on a day-to-day basis. It was the way of the world. Equal opportunity beatings for all, but especially for the damsels in distress (so long as they were cute). A sad thought. One that passed through his mind briefly at her comment, and passed through it fast. Faster than an internal monologue had any right to be. Her comment about him being trusted nudged it aside, replacing the first ludicrous statement with another. My, but she was good at those.

His smile turned crooked, but he zipped his zipperlike smile and didn't say a thing. Let her think him trusting. She could be thoroughly mistaken as much as she liked. People make mistakes every day. Mistakes like chalk in up weirdness to insanity. Maybe it was simply a personality trait. Or inanity. She offered him a piece of gum after apologizing for being weird. That was weird, in and of itself.

"No thank you," Elliott said, smiling. Who could tell. The entire thing could have been a ruse to get him to drop his guard so she could slip him mystery gum. Trusting, indeed. Plus he didn't want any. So there.

Larraine was her name. To give a fake name or real, that was the question. A question with a simple enough answer. He held up his hand, forming a capital L with thumb and forefinger, letting the remaining finger curl into his palm. "Ell." Elliott said. Close enough to be near his name, but far enough it wouldn't be an instant connection. An instant connection for a green guy with very-much-not-scaly smooth green skin (thank you very much). One whose name was similar to an abbreviation that still had the first couple of letters in common with the original. Yeah, maybe he could have been more discrete. Whatever.

Larraine wanted to explain how she got into her situation. Elliott nodded and raised a hand in a gesture for her to continue. Apparently it was a long long story. Also, apparently, the setup for him to ask her about said situation was just an elaborate lead in to a joke. He could read the body language of shame and nervousness. He didn't care. A sudden laugh escaped him, like a jagged section of broken mirror that had been valiantly holding on, until it just couldn't hold on any more. It was a cutting laugh.

"I'm sorry." Elliott said. His face smoothed into one that actually was attempting to look sincere. "But the setup there was too good. Build me up to ask, draw me in, get me to commit and tell you to go on-- then follow it up with a sudden slammed door in the face. 'Don't ask.' Okay. Got it." He made a zipping motion with his hand and his mouth, followed it up with a locking motion, then threw away the key. "I won't ask." He said. Despite just having locked his lip. It must have been a terrible lock. "Will say this, though. It doesn't really matter."

"Look. You seem like a nice enough person," Elliott continued, unabashedly blunt in his delivery. "Little different, like you said. I can understand social unease. I get that way around pretty women most of the time. And being different sure as hell doesn't make things any easier." He waved a hand at his face, as a perfect example. "Never apologize for being who you are."

"If these people are following you," Elliott said. "The backstory doesn't matter. And it isn't trust that's making me want to help you. Not knight in shining armor syndrome, either." He made a scrunched up face, then went on. "Not gonna say why I'm being helpful. Don't ask. My story is my own, same as with you. Doesn't matter. But I'm here." He finished lamely. "In case they really are following you. Or, I guess in case you want to share more about why you're asking a complete stranger to protect you. Even if it doesn't matter. A guy can be curious, all the same..."

There. Now his paranoia had all been condensed into a confusing and jumbled series of sentiments that left everyone feeling slightly confused. Was he good at the knight in shining armor thing, or what?

Firstly, Larraine authentically smiled as he metaphorically corked his lips together. His rejection to the offering wouldn’t bother her. If anything, this meant more gum for herself - gum had to replace the majority of her meals, considering that she was a homeless youth, this was fact. She began chewing moderately on gum, listening to his words as he spoke. It wouldn’t surprise her that a stranger would reject this offer - after all, it could be mystery disease gum.

Then as his laughter ended, she shrugged afterwards as he apologized. She tried to not allow his laughter to phase her, even if it was clearly directed towards her rambling, and countless number of apologies. A blush appeared across her face, however, she tried to hide the fact that she felt as if she was a tumbleweed emotionally as he spoke.

This wouldn’t excuse the fact that she wore her emotions on her sleeve. Anybody could notice her observable facial expressions; she was a disciplined individual, especially for how common it was her to comfort, or speak to herself. His arising laughter disturbed her to begin with, however, afterwards she faintly laughed alongside him.

The damsel was perched on the seat, remaining eye-contact with the stranger, admiring his non-scaly skin, blemish-free skin. Being a teenager had taken a toll on Larraine’s skin, however, she tried to keep it in prime-condition as much as possible. Beauty supplies weren't easy to obtain without parents to leech upon, or any support system whatsoever.

“Ell,” she nods. “That’s a nice name.” She halted her chewing whilst communicating, then continued to on-go her silenced chewing. It wasn’t that important to her to begin to speculate about his name, she assumed that he wouldn’t want her to do so either way. She simply complimented his name and allowed him to freely converse.

“They are following me, otherwise I wouldn’t have asked for help. This isn’t some whimsical concluded plan. The only reason I asked for help is because I don’t have anyone else to ask.” She briefly explains, however, then truthfully explaining her reasoning. “I’m homeless, I have nowhere else to go or nobody else to turn to - encountering threatening strangers could be a death-sentence. That’s why I’m asking a complete stranger to protect me on a train.”

Instead of extending her explanation, Larraine kept her description minuscule(for her) and simple. Not wanting to bother him any further, she remained silent, appreciating the company of another person as the bus continued in tranquility. Even if it was due to her being placed into a dire, stress-provoking situation. She didn’t think he was horribly unsatisfactory at being a knight in shining armor, either. Larraine on the other hand, nearly played a faultless damsel in distress - if that wasn't for the fact that she could come across as accidentally snide.

Oh man, she was homeless? That changed lots of things. He'd been there. He knew. He'd even tried setting up a crash pad with running water and stolen electricity for people. That had lasted a while, until his cushy paychecks from Jaager corp stopped rolling in. One can only do so much with the kindness of strangers (read: pick pocketed cash). If she were homeless, maybe he could do more for her than kicks few asses up into a few throats. It wasn't entirely clear why the change in his feeling towards her changed so suddenly, other than an imagined connection, but then, that's usually how things work, isn't it?

Her explanation made sense. Being homeless is a situation where you both avoid notice and are noticed. The average Joe on the street might glance away from the homeless man because he doesn't work within their narrow world view. He's uncomfortable, unsightly. The criminal element, they prey upon the same type of person. They see a homeless person as a target, expendable, with nobody to protect them. Easy to take advantage of. Just like these bastards, with Larraine.

Elliott didn't like people that mistreated women. It was scummy and it was low. He was good at one thing, above all others. He was good at kicking. Socializing... was not kicking.

"Yeah," Elliott grimaced. He cleared his throat, and tried again. "Yeah. I understand that whole mess. I've been there. When you're on your own, you don't have anyone you can rely on. Even the police see you as a low priority. Need all the friends you can get."

"There are places, you know? Places people can go where they'll take you in and help you out." Elliott commented. "Lately, I've been staying at the mansion."

Were they near their stop? He glanced at the train's sign, the one that indicated next stop. His was coming up soon... hopefully the men weren't following her and they could both just leave in peace.

Her expression glowered toward the glass window of the train, centering her concentration as their destination would shortly present itself. “Friends are useful - I’ll admit. At our next stop, I’ll most likely go to my friend’s dorm whether those twats are at the next stop or not. This world needs to begin changing, for the better.” She poetically says, clearing her throat afterwards. Being in stressful situations enhanced her melodramatic personality, or perhaps she was simply practicing for her ambition; to be on Broadway.

“It’s more difficult than that,” she tries to explain. “I have thought about joining - I might, even. But my powers are difficult to control. They’re more complex than I explained earlier, otherwise I would have joined sooner.” After her explanation, Larraine recalled a few individuals beforehand who explained to her different whereabouts in which she could find security within.

Their train halted, a numerous amount of strangers began boarding. Larraine drafted her hood upwards, concealing her facial features, and stood upwards. “Let’s hope for the best,” her smile twinkled in his direction. She happened to be confident enough in her physical capabilities, despite requesting assistance; allowing him to choose wherever or not if he followed her as she stepped onto the platform.

She passes the bystanders entering into the train without any inconvenience. However, then, somebody called in the direction of the female. A hefty sigh escaped her lips as the individual compacted the space between them. Comprehending the risk of the potential threat, Larraine rushed further away, then turned to use her abilities; focusing all of her attention on transmitting pain to mortal, clenching her fist as her eyes fixated on the scrappy looking older gentleman, who was accompanied by two other individuals. It was fortunate for the female that their was distance between them.

Soon enough, multiple shrieks of agony escaped his lips as he fell onto the floor. The ease of not having diseases in her system, even if it was a brief period of time - was relaxing, to say the least. Concerned passer-bys would soon crowd the man to check on his situation. This gave her the opportunity to flee away from the scene at be less at risk of his companions following behind her. Her legs began bolting away from the scene, however, whilst doing so his bellowed remarks accusations in her direction; causing her to gain attention of vexed strangers. The accusations would include; her being unhinged and an overall threat to society, and them following her to bring her into custody for supposedly harming their friend. (Read: Volunteer Roll Call!)

Perhaps, she wasn’t the victim or damsel after all. She required some form of assistance, and was regretful of her past decisions. This was the moment where she truly needed to bow her head downwards, however, she wouldn’t conform as her feet continued stomping away from the situation; heading towards the exit. The possibility of her escape was unknown as authorities could stop her at the exit of the subway.

At least she had a friend who had a pad she could crash at. That was good. He really didn't know why it mattered. Was he developing a conscience? Nah. Couldn't be. He just didn't like people dealing with rough crap, when he knew exactly how rough it could be.

"Hopefully the twats are not," Elliott chimed in. Hey, she'd said the word first, not him. He agreed that some things in the world could be better, but didn't feel the need to add his ammunition to her anger stockpile. Empty words help no one. This was why he was out late at nights, pounding the pavement (and thugs). She probably would have liked that, if she had known. But secret identities mean he'd never tell. He patted his black motorcycle helmet lightly, and didn't add anything to her thoughts of a better world.

He kept silent when she replied to his comment about the mansion. There were teachers who could try and help with that, but then it sounded like she'd tried and figured her powers were just too difficult to handle. She probably knew best. Elliott offered a helpful "Sucks."

He nodded at the comment about hope. "Yep." He smiled weakly right back. Hope was really the best one could hope for some days. Aaaand he was being way too introspective. If there WEREN'T men to pummel, he was going to have to go find some so he could get out of his own head.

The train pulled to a stop, and she rose. He rose. Nabbed his helmet. They left. The fan got covered by excitement. There was a shout. Then, a sound of intense pain. Things escalated fast. Elliott saw her bolt, heard the man screaming and calling after her. He took it upon himself to prevent the two other goons from giving chase. He'd said he would kick their asses. He did.

As he strode towards them, Elliott slammed his black motorcycle helmet down over his antennae. It slid into place, dark smile painted on its jaw. The helmet grinned.

The next several moments were too violent to describe in detail. Elliott moved in a blur of martial arts motion. He bridged the gap, dodged, blocked, and kicked. The two goons didn't have weapons or super powers. They went down fast. Once they were down, he walked over to kick the fallen man she'd hit with the disease whammy. He kicked him while he was down, kicked him repeatedly in the gut. People were noticing that a lot more than they would have noticed a man screaming on a subway platform. Especially after the old ultra violence to the man's two friends.

He'd heard WHAT the man was screaming after Larraine. What he had been screaming before Elliott had taken it upon himself to hammer him with repeated kicks to the stomach. Unhinged threat to society, taking her into custody, yadda yadda. He didn't care. If these were cops, they were bad cops. He didn't really like bad cops. Or cops. Plus, he'd given his word. He'd have to duck low and hide out, lest they search for him. Larraine would hopefully be safe. That was the important part.

Once he'd brought down the three men, Elliott ran down the platform towards an exit several streets down. He didn't head for the nearest exit. Too predictable. Plus, that was where she had gone. They would have better luck if they split up. He ran several blocks down the underground, hopped a turnstile, went topside, and vanished into the crowd.

((The thread is continued in theultimatexmen.proboards.com/thread/14098/av-catch-cold-criminal-larraine. Catch a cold, not a criminal.))