The Dragon in. A small cubby hole in the side of a wall of colossal buildings that served the best, Americanized, Chinese quinines. Even though the place was small, the restaurant didn’t survive on people who ate in, but rather, the long line of take out customers that lined at the front door, during the lunch hour. Men and woman, down on their luck, mingled with shoppers, business men, and shoppers, waiting to buy a large lunch, with no MSG, and then get on with the rest of their day. By five-o-clock, the crowd out the front was no more, and the narrow strip of booths would be occupied by families, business meetings, students, and couples on cheep dates.

The inside of the restaurant looked like the inside of a ship. Dark wood paneling lined the walls on the outside of the booths, lined the space next to the walls like soldiers. In the center of the room was a row of tables. Across the walls, above the wood paneling, were large imperial, dragons, that had been carved into hard foam panels, painted with a cielent that kept then from being picked apart, and then covered in gold paint, Stretching from the front of the room, to the back. Paper lanterns, decorated with ink brush strokes of symbols Sara could never recognize, were hung in the corners. Completing the look.

The business was owned by a family Sara had recently become close to. Especially close to the family’s youngest son, Johnny, who at the moment was leaning over a sink full of pots. Sara was seated at a table, Johnny had set up for her. A card table, with a bench that was built into the wall, was where Sara sat. Eating her way through a plate of sweet and sour shrimp. Her new cell phone was held loosely between her hands as she tapped out the buttons that made the snake in her game turn and eat mice.

Casually she glanced at Johnny, who while washing the dishes, was leaning sideways to read his history book, that sat on the counter. Half the pages hung over the edge of the fake marble, and Sara made out an image of Uncle Sam pointing straight at the opposite wall. ‘We Want You.’

The bell at the front door to the restaurant jingled and Johnny immediately started walking up front, Wiping his hands on his aprin.

Slate had been spending too much time indoors. This is what his staff had been gently trying to tell him, in any case. It was true that he had not left Mondragon Labs since his take-over. It was likewise true that he would have to return to the Mansion for classes on Monday; calling in with a particularly bad case of the flu can only work for so many consecutive days. He should have said he was out of town, in retrospect. A dead grandfather would have done the trick. A dying one would have bought him even more time.

...But all that aside, there was a reason he was here, opening the door of the Dragon Inn. The reason traced back to his employees' concern for the fact he had done little more than make a circuit between the Board Room, the Archives, the Library, and the Canteen over the past days.

Therefore, when he had attempted to delegate a mission to Melissa Rivers, he had somehow found himself being convinced to do it himself. His employees' concern was quite touching, if mildly annoying. He was at the Dragon Inn to humor them. Look: he was outside of the Labs. He was going to eat a meal not prepared by Lab staff. He was a functional eighteen year old boy.

Sure he was.

Slate let the door close behind him and approached the counter, where a young man was coming out of the back to meet him. Slate attempted to smile, like a normal teenager.

"Hello," he began--in a manner so normal that his employee's unease for him was clearly misplaced--"I'm looking for someone. I heard a rumor this might be a good place to find her, and that she, ah..." He could even use inane little un-words like 'ah' like a normal teenager. "...She can get jobs done. I think she goes by 'Were'. Would you happen to know where she is, or how I can find her...?"

"Also," again with the normal teenager grin, "I would like to order. For here." If he ordered 'to go', he would simply end up back at the Labs. This would produce frowning, he assumed. It was best to humor people. "What do you recommend?"

Johnny smiled as he came up. The 15 year old by was short for his age. The usual mop of smooth cark hair, and finally been buzzed back to exactly an inch of length and laid perfect on the boy’s head. Every hair as straight as the booths that lined the walls of his family’s establishment. He wore a white polo and a dark pair of pants, over a blue and white pair of sneakers, and a dark red apron.

"Hello, I'm looking for someone. I heard a rumor this might be a good place to find her, and that she, ah... … She can get jobs done. I think she goes by 'Were'. Would you happen to know where she is, or how I can find her...?"

Johnny just stared at the older boy like he was nuts. Ok He might know a certain feline that might or might not be sitting in the back of the restaurant at this very moment, possibly enjoying sweat and sour shrimp. But Sara was her name. Sara. And the boy wasn’t exactly pleased that there were these people coming here all of a sudden, looking for her. Ok the first one was cool. It’s not every day that you get to meet a real supper hero like Wraith but this one wasn’t beyond ordinary. Johnny didn’t know exactly what to make of him so the dead pan look on his face was well placed and well acted out. One eye brow twitched up. Above the other. “.. .. ..”


"Also, I would like to order. For here. What do you recommend?"

Oh well. He was going to be a paying customer. That made things completely different. Grabbed a menue off of the stack that was kept behind the cash register. “Well that depends on how much your willing to spend, Sir.” Implying that the more money he slipped this sly teen, the more likely Johnny was to tell him Where Sara was. After all. This one seemed harmless enough. To emphasize the point, Johnny held up his thumb and index finger. Rubbing the two together as if he were holding a stack of bills.

“If you really want My Opinion, I Can tell you to order something off of the dinner side. With an appetizer. The more Expensive the better.”

The young man who came out was more of a 'boy', really; he was shorter than Slate, even. This was a strange feeling, given that the people he had been around for the past few days had been significantly taller than him. Adjusting to looking down, rather than up, was a curious feeling. The boy was both well groomed and dressed, of which Slate approved. One cannot expect that of every random New York restaurant that one enters. It gave him a good feeling for this 'Were', if she frequented establishments like this.

There was no immediate verbal reply that the boy did know of the feline woman, but there was no disagreement, either. What there was, was a raised eyebrow. Slate interpreted this to mean that he was in the correct location. His intentions to order, however, clearly put the current matter to business rather than a cat hunt. Again, Slate approved: business did come first.

>> “Well that depends on how much your willing to spend, Sir.”

The hand sign for money was clear, but rather misplaced. Slate blinked curiously at it. Why would the boy make it, just then? People really were curious.

>> “If you really want My Opinion, I Can tell you to order something off of the dinner side. With an appetizer. The more Expensive the better."

Slate nodded in amiable agreement. Is was about time for dinner. Additionally, some of their appetizers looked quite good. He stared up at the menu for a bit longer before reaching a decision.

"May I have the sweet and sour chicken," he asked, "with the white rice and a side of crab rangoons?" He looked to the boy for confirmation that this was an acceptably appetizing order. Presumably, he knew his own merchandize. "Is there anything else you world recommend? Do you have that 'fried green tea ice cream' I have heard of? Additionally, I will simply have water to drink, if I may." Slate liked water.

Johnny stood there not really sure what to think. He just told the guy to order, Technically, and Technically he did. Last year, when Sara started coming around the Restaurant, she bribed her way into the place. Now she had to be their best customer. Man that cat can eat! But now. Well, now people wanted to see her, and technically she wasn’t supposed to be there. What with the worry for cat dander. That was why Sara’s table was in the back, next to the back door. Not on the floor and not in the kitchen.

He placed his order, and Johnny sighed. (Though it was odd to take an order at the front desk. Did this man know that?) Ok. So he at least ordered. Maybe this was important anyways. To have him meet Sara.

“Yes Sir. That order would be just fine. We do have that IceCream.” Johnny scribbled it down on the little pad kept on his apron. “Please follow me.” Johnny started to walk as he finished writing. There wasn’t very much different about the order, other than the fact it had water. Not Pop, but water.

Johnny stuffed the pad of paper back into his apron pocket, and as they passed an empty table he gathered the place mat, and napkin that had been rapped around a fork, spoon and knife, accompanying those with a pair of chop sticks. The type that you had to pull out of the paper. Then he lead the way into the kitchen. Not seating Slate in the mane dining room but taking him to Sara.

On their way, they passed an older gentleman, cooking stir fry. His brow knit slightly when he saw Johnny leading Slate past their kitchen but nothing was said, out loud.

Finally they walked through a door way, that was lacking a door at the back of the kitchen. This was a sort of breeze way that was as wide as the entire restaurant. On one side, there was a sink, where the boy had been studying and working. Dirrectly a head was a back door into the alley way, used to take out the trash, and as Sara’s personal door, then there was Sara. Still playing the game on her cell phone, with one hand, as her other picked the shrimp up, one by one, how ever the latest shrimp was only half way to an open mouth. Sara’s head tilted. This was new.

“There you go, Sir.” Johnny said as he laid the place mat and silverware on the table. So Slate could take the bench across from Sara.

>> “Yes Sir. That order would be just fine. We do have that Ice Cream. Please follow me.”

Ah, excellent. Slate had read that both the flavor, and the odd manner of serving, were quite good. Fried green tea ice cream was indeed on his list of new experiences to acquire.

Obediently, he followed at his fellow teenager's heels, as instructed. Out of the main serving area, behind the counter... through the kitchen... and to what he strongly suspected was the other side of the building entirely. This was not normal. Slate suspected as much, in any case. Should he be following? He was the new Leader of the Kabal--it would look very bad if he voluntarily walked into his own kidnapping. It occurred to him, quite suddenly, that he had no means of defending himself; Nicholas was down the block, awaiting his reemergence. The solider would not worry if an hour or more passed with no sign of his new employer; he was eating dinner, after all, and seeking information. These things both took time. The idea was... alarming. Yet the boy did not seem particularly ill at ease as he lead Slate further into the restaurant, and the cook they passed did not look particularly like he was in on some nefarious and inexplicably well-coordinated plot. In the end, it was the logic of the situation that kept him at the boy's heels: there was no fathomable way that this was a trap. And if it was, the mind behind it was clearly so great that it deserved its prize, and Slate would be rather curious to met with them.

What he met with, instead, was a cat. A rather large cat. There was a cell phone in one of her hands--(paws?)--and a shrimp half-way raised between clean plate and her maw (mouth?). There was little doubt in his mind that this was the Were of which various voices on the street spoke. The fact that the boy set the seat across from the feline for him, as if setting a perfectly normal table out in front, further confirmed it.

>> “There you go, Sir.”

"Thank you," Slate said simply, blinking slightly at the boy. Apparently the answer had been 'yes'. Yes, he did indeed know where to find Were. As the boy left the room, presumably to either get his order or eavesdrop outside the door, Slate approached the table. He gave a respectful nod to the queen cat before him. "Good evening," he greeted her simply; "my name is Slate. Please forgive my intrusion; I was not told that you were dining." He had not been told that she was here at all, if they wanted to be specific about things.

He also had not been told that the 'Were' he sought was the same woman that he and Calley had met at the Sanctuary, nearly a year ago. The meeting had been brief, but the queen was rather memorable. He tried to rake through their memory, but he could not come up with the name she had given then; if, indeed, she had given a name at all.

"Please, would you mind if I joined you? I had some business I wished to discuss, if you are not too busy this evening." He waited by the bench seat across from her for an invitation to sit. Idly, he wondered what the appropriate action would be if she did not invite him to sit. As he recalled... she did not particularly like him. Not Calley, in any case. Slate was not his brother.

To Say that Sara was thrilled would be an extreme over statement. To say she was pissed would as well. Sara finished the shrimp’s trip to her mouth, set it within her teeth, and slowly started chewing it. Head side first.

So far, there were only three people that had ever joined her back here, or a meal. Slade was invited once after the WereCar had run over the WereCat on the side walk. Ayesac joined her, when he wasn’t doing his own work, and of course Johnny there. Luke found his way to the place once, but that was after Sara had come and gone, and Sara didn’t think he ate anything. Sara didn’t exactly like eating with strangers. Particularly strangers that were looking for her with out her permission.

The other part that bothered her was this young man looked a little familiar. Sara had a near photographic memory. Talented enough she could draw almost anything she saw, but that was easiest done, with memories she’d gotten over the last few months. Then when she thought she found the face of the young man, she connected it to some jumping, pointing, and stupid questions. That wasn’t the right attitude match for what she saw before her now.

"Please, would you mind if I joined you? I had some business I wished to discuss, if you are not too busy this evening."

Ok. So this was better than the initial barging in. Sara liked being asked. So she gave the boy some mental brownie points back. “Take a seat.” Sara said waving her hand at the opposite side of the make shift booth. She leaned sideways as she tried to see where Johnny had gone to in the kitchen, but he hadn’t returned yet. She could think of a million things she’d rather do, than talk business after her experience with Luke, but she also needed cash. “I’ve got a few hours free.”

((ooc: In Slate's timeline, I'm saying this takes place after Aiden and Giant's Bane successful completion of "A Pair of Aces".))

>> “Take a seat.”

The feline waved him to a seat; as he nodded his thanks and took it, however, he could not help but noticed her lean to the side. She was looking back out the doorway he had entered through, he assumed, though he did not turn to follow her gaze specifically. The action did not really express an overwhelming interest in his proposition. Neither did her next words.

>> “I’ve got a few hours free.”

Again, no particular interest. It was a start, however. His food had not yet arrived; he laced his hands together in front of himself, thumbs together, and attempted to pull off looking slightly more mature than the average eighteen year old in front of the first woman in weeks who hadn't seen him order the mass killing of all those who were disloyal to him. He found himself wondering if the collar of his dark blue dress shirt was straight. It had been ironed, but car rides tended to reverse all the effects of such care.

He cleared his throat. "First, would you mind if I asked your name? I heard of you from various contacts; they say that you are reliable, and confidential. However, they also called you 'Were'. Is there any name you would rather I use...?"

"My name really is Slate," he added, in case she had her doubts. "Slate Swartz. My caretaker, as it were, recently passed on, and left me with the family business." As it were. "There was a matter I was hoping you would handle for me. It is quite low-risk, but it is rather outside the field we usually do; I am not sure that the Board of Directors would really approve. To be frank, though, our company--my company, now--is quite financially stable, even with the market the way it is. I would like to begin allocating some of our resources to where they can do good."

"If you do not mind my asking, do you like the world, as it is now? Because... I do not. Not really." He allowed a slow blush to creep up his face. "My apologies. That was rather much. And the job actually has a concrete aim, not mere idealistic fluff, I assure you. Would you like to hear it?" His baby blue eyes blinked across the table at her. While he looked like a normal teenager, he supposed, it might be easier to not try to repress his age. There were only a few years in every young person's life when they can behave idealistically without people wondering what they are selling. He might as well take advantage of them, and hope that by the time they had passed, he would still have his ideals. And nothing in particular to sell, for that matter.

(This feels so much like the mob to me. I hope I didn’t get too far a head in this post.)

"First, would you mind if I asked your name? I heard of you from various contacts; they say that you are reliable, and confidential. However, they also called you 'Were'. Is there any name you would rather I use...?"

She nodded. A little surprised at the question to know her real name. “It’s Sara.” She said rather simply. She didn’t know if that was really her name or not, but it’s was the name she liked being called the most, when she was little. She liked letting it stick. “The name Were is a name created by other people. Not by me. It comes in handy, but I prefer the name Sara.” It made her at least sound normal. Not so odd, monstrous, or mysterious.

Sara allowed herself to take another mouth full as the boy stated his business. The entire time she listened to, not just his words, but the way his breathing was, his heart. Trying to decide exactly what things were about. He was definitely acting completely different from what she thought she remembered a boy with that face from acting, and that fact shot up all sorts of red flags in her mind. Sara didn’t like thinking of herself as skittish, but recent events, one involving a maze, another involving a warehouse leading to a shocking tail, and who could forget the job with Luke, had her double thinking about every job she took. Everything she did, and yet, she still managed to make those stupid mistakes.

“No. I’m not happy with the world as it is now.” Sara agreed with the young man. She was a mutant who sat in the back of a restaurant, segregated from people, she told herself she did better not knowing. That didn’t mean that she didn’t like people though. People were her bread and butter. They were the owners of the pockets she picked, the majority of her employers were honest, enough, humans (Obviously not completely honest to hire her.) and she did have some humans as friends. Like Johnny. Who could be bringing Slate’s order any minute now, Sara thought.

Sara thought back for a moment to the other human’s she liked. She enjoyed her time’s people watching in the park. The children were entertaining, and she also recalled her and Luke’s Uncle, Oliver Jacobs, had gotten along fast. She didn’t quite understand why Luke had the problems he said he did with him. Yep. Sara could definitely say that she wasn’t a human hater.

“If you really want to commission me, I’d like to hear about the job, and you’re company, that you’ve inherited.” Sara’s amber eyes flickered in the dim light for a moment, before she broke the eye contact with Slate. Johnny was just around the corner of the door way, with the steaming plate of sweet and sour chicken in his hand. He hesitated, clearly having heard part of the conversation, before taking the last to huge steps up to the table. Setting Slate’s food down in front of him. Along with a glass of water. Johnny promised to bring the ice cream out when Slate was finished, and then he disappeared again, walking to the other side of the door frame. Sara didn’t hear his feet move farther than the other side of the wall, where he was no doubt trying to listen.

Sara couldn’t help but smirk at the curious kid. She’d do the same thing. “Johnny. Can I have another order of egg rolls.”

The younger teen chimed from the other side of the door. Slightly surprised. “Ah, Sure thing Sara.” His foot steps disappeared deeper into the kitchen.

((ooc: On the bright side, the worst you have to worry about is sleeping with the fishes, Ms. Cat.

This got huge. Tell me if you'd like me to cut it down a bit to give you more of a chance to work in replies!))

>> “The name Were is a name created by other people. Not by me. It comes in handy, but I prefer the name Sara.”

Slate gave a nod. "Sara, then. Thank you for meeting with me, Ms. Sara."

>> “No. I’m not happy with the world as it is now.”

Her answer to that was hardly surprising. Even among mutants, those like Ms. Sara stood out as targets for suspicion, ridicule, and attack. He seemed to recall her reacting rather defensively some months ago when Calley made too much of her looks; that seemed to hint at discrimination even from her own kind. Or just too many bad experiences all-around to welcome any sort of attention to her looks.

>> “If you really want to commission me, I’d like to hear about the job, and you’re company, that you’ve inherited.”

Slate was formulating his sales pitch when a flicker of her eyes to the side alerted him to the footsteps. He turned slightly, moving his lips into a grateful smile as the boy from earlier brought his meal, ice water and all. "Thank you."

He was again on the verge of filing her in more properly when he saw a smirk on her lips that he did not think was for him. He had not done anything particularly smirk-worthy in the last few moments, had he? Yes, he had chosen to try using the chopsticks, but he was fairly certain that his discrete check of the directions on the back of their paper wrapper had gone unnoticed, and he was fairly certain he was now holding them correctly. His baby blue eyes flickered back down to the bright red paper the chopsticks had come in. He moved the top chopstick experimentally. Yes; yes, he did seem to be doing this correc--

>> “Johnny. Can I have another order of egg rolls.”

Ah. So it was not him, after all, that the smirk was for.

>> “Ah, Sure thing Sara.”

Slate had no means of enhanced hearing, but the boy had no means of advanced stealth; this time, now that he was paying attention for it, he heard the boy's footsteps moving off.

"He seems like a good boy," Slate commented, attempting to pick up one of his pieces of chicken. A slight battle of wits ensued between himself and the sauce-covered poultry, but he prevailed on the third try in bringing it to his mouth. Chew, and swallow. He reached his free hand into the innermost pocket of his coat--he was rather loathe to set the chopsticks down, and lose his careful hold on them--and brought out a black box, a little smaller than his hand. He gently set it on the table. Unfortunately, he had to surrender his chopsticks to open its lid.

Inside was the unmistakable sparkle of diamonds. Diamonds, rubies, sapphires, and other precious gems, uncut and unset, but unmistakable. He left them on the table between them, and resettled his chopsticks into his grip.

"There is a Colombian mutant who makes these," Slate explained simply. "He, like many of our kind, was being held captive by those interested in his abilities. Colombian drug lords, to be specific. I presume you can see why they were interested. I had him rescued; he is currently recovering at Mondragon Labs. Unfortunately, due to the fact the drug lords are still rather interested in getting him back, I fear he will not be able to lead much by way of a 'normal' life."

"This is what I want to change," he continued, with a small believe-it-or-not shrug. "For all of us. Mutants should not have to hide themselves away for their own protection." He maintained eye contact with the queen; his heart beat had the steady rhythm of sincerity. Everything he was saying was true, after all. He did not find it relevant to mention that Aiden and Giant's Bane had been somewhat less than delicate in their handling of Dragon Speak's captors.

He began to battle with another piece of chicken, but his foe was wise. He conceded the fight, and stilled his chopsticks. "Do not get me wrong; I am not a believer in pounding sense into the humans until they bleed, nor am I a supporter of indiscriminately defending the ones that wish us dead or worse. I am not 'good', as it were. My goal is to change their perception of us; to make our talents into something that they appreciate instead of fear. To that end, there are quite a few things I wish to do. One of the first, though, is to establish a stream of income that does not relay on my company's holdings, but rather comes from mutants using their gifts. It is a symbol of our self-sufficiency and our commitment to use our abilities for constructive purposes rather than street brawls and petty squabbles."

"To that ends, I have set up a meeting with a reputed international gems dealer. His daughter is a mutant, and it has made him sympathetic enough to our cause so that he is willing to put our gems into the market." A slight frown came to the teenager's face. "Unfortunately, he also lives in Egypt. More local dealers... were somewhat less sympathetic, as it were. The meeting is a week from now. The primary aim is simply to deliver this sample so that he can examine their quality for himself. As I said; it is rather low-risk. All I wish you to do is travel to Egypt and deliver these stones. Your reputation speaks highly of your trustworthiness, and your discretion. Needless to say, if it becomes public knowledge that these gems are coming from a mutant rather than a mine, our contact might find himself facing a boycott and the loss of his livelihood. Likewise, if Mondragon Labs were implicated as the source, the Colombians would know where I am hiding the man I rescued from them. It is for these reasons that I have decided to contract you to handle the matter." He gave a half-shoulder shrug, and a slight smile. "If you are interested. Please forgive me; that was probably more of an explanation that you truly required."

More of an explanation that she required to deliver a box of gems to Egypt, but that was not his only reason for being here. Something else he had learned from his contacts, simply from the way they talked: Ms. Sara had been in New York for quite some time now. Through his spies within the factions, he knew that she was not yet tied to either. She seemed to be a competent and independent mutant who had found herself displeased with both the Order and the X-Men. Somehow, he found that situation familiar.

Slate allowed her time to process that information and reply, as he began hunting his elusive sweet and sour chicken across the natural habitat of its sauce-slick plate. Perhaps the crab rangoons would be easier prey... The young Kabal Leader's attention was fierce, and not to be underestimated. His dinner would be eaten. Make no mistake of that. And he would do it without resorting to the fork that so mockingly sat by his plate.

(No worries. I can fit thing in just fine.)

"He seems like a good boy,"

The learning experience this Slate was having with the Chop sticks reminded Sara that she should use her table manners now that she wasn’t dining alone. No more picking at things with the tips of her claws. She took up her chop sticks as well and started in on her chicken fried rice. Holding the two sticks parallel about a quarter of an inch apart, she pushed the chop sticks into the pile o rise, without moving them, and lifted them up, parallel to the table, so that some clumps of rice rested over them. Oh no. Sara wasn’t one bit of a show off. “He is. Already planning on college.” Sara nodded, agreeing with Slate.

The older boy brought out a box and Sara tilted her head. Curious about what it was about and it’s context. The lid cracked and Sara instantly recognized the light dancing on the uncut stones.

The feline set her chop sticks down on the edge of her plate, as she leaned forward to investigate the uncut rocks. Diamonds were a favorite of Sara’s. Even in dim light, there is something about the way the they glow, even in dim light, even being uncut. Sara’s head moved slightly left, then right as she admired the dance of the little specks of light on the stones, and eyes dilated with a little excitement and a great deal of amusement. The stones were just asking for Sara to touch them. To run the tips of her claws over their unrefined edges. To turn them to the glowing reflections inside them, would jump to the table, the walls, and the ceiling.

Sara’s hand reached half way across the table, to the box. She paused, flicking her eyes from the box, to Slate, to see if he was going to stop her, then decided she didn’t care if he was. She was smart enough to know not to mess up where she got her income or her food. Stealing would be bad, but investigating what he presented her with… Sara allowed Slate to start his explanation while she chose to carefully pick up one of the beautiful stones.

Even with Sara being preoccupied with the diamond she picked up, she was still carefully paying attention. Her eyes flicked repeatedly over her hand with the gem, to Slate. Sara could definitely understand the wish for safety and the desire to have a normal life. She could even sympathies with the being held captive. There were several things that were being Said Sara agreed with, and she reminded herself to continue being cautious.

"This is what I want to change, For all of us. Mutants should not have to hide themselves away for their own protection."

Sara’s eyes flicked back to Slate’s maintaining the eye contact that he was continuously giving her. Still trying to decide exactly how much she should trust him. She could be being lured right into a trap. Then again, that is always a possibility with the work Sara tended to pick up.

” I am not 'good', as it were. My goal is to change their perception of us; to make our talents into something that they appreciate instead of fear. To that end, there are quite a few things I wish to do. One of the first, though, is to establish a stream of income that does not relay on my company's holdings, but rather comes from mutants using their gifts.”

Sara let him finish what he had to say before she put the uncut gem back into the box. She picked up her chop sticks and carefully plucked at a shrimp at the top of the pile on her plate. “Is that why you’ve seeked out me specifically?” Sara was trying to keep her voice level but she didn’t know what to think if this were the case. There was some pride because she had the past and the looks that she had, yet he told her she had a reliable record. The other part of her felt like, if she were being singled out because of her looks, she was experiencing yet another way that she was being singled out. “Don’t get me wrong sir, but if you really are concerned about this mission being done correctly, I’d think you’d send someone you had dealt with before. Someone already employed under your company.”

“Egypt is a long ride. I don’t speak any foreign languages, and I don’t see commercial air lines allowing me past the front doors of the air part. I’ve traveled but I’ve no experience out of the US.” Sara popped the plucked shrimp inside her mouth, as she continued to count the negative points she had against her. Then, watching the boy struggle with another piece of chicken, she held the end of her own eating utensils over a large shrimp, rolling the chop sticks between her fingers, she used the ends to drill straight through the shrimp. Skewering it. “I’m still interested in the commission if you still want me.”

Slate tried to be discrete about watching the feline's technique with the chopsticks. She moved them with the effortless precision of either one with long practice, or a near-master flaunting a technique in front of a mere apprentice. Perhaps both. He knew, in theory, that many people all over the world successfully substituted forks for chopsticks on a daily basis. However, it was good to see proof in front of him. Proof seemed necessary, given the struggles he was having with his own food. Like a toddler learning to reach the top shelf, he tried to imitate her manner of picking up a clump of rice.

...His clump of rice was significantly smaller than hers, but it was a start.

Needless to say, he made no move to stop her from inspecting the gems. That is way he had brought them. She should be given a fair opportunity to inspect what she would be carrying, if she chose to accept this commission. It did not even occur to him that she would have reason to hesitate, so he did not move to reassure her; he simply kept speaking as she picked up a diamond, as if the move was so natural it did not merit any comment.

She returned the uncut gem to its place in the small box, and resumed her own dinner before replying. He waited patiently.

>> “Is that why you’ve seeked out me specifically?"

Slate tilted his head for a moment, then shook it suddenly as he realized what she was getting at: had he picked her because she was a mutant, and such an obvious one, at that? "No; my contacts did mention you were a mutant, but it is more due to your reliability and discretion that I chose to seek you out. They... did not actually mention your feline features." A sort of amused smile came to the corners of his mouth. "Though in retrospect, they were a bit sly on the exact subject of what you looked like. I believe they wanted me to be surprised. I suppose it is safe to say that you get many ridiculous reactions, the first time you have the occasion to meet someone?"

"To be entirely honest," he continued, "I would have sought you out even if you were human. I do want to show mutants that they can be self-sufficient, but--and forgive me if this sounds contradictory--I do not want to exclude humans from anything simply because they lack an x-gene. Human supremacists and mutant supremacists are about the same, in my mind: what they are doing, and the goal they are seeking, is equally pointless and poorly reasoned. I want mutants to have pride in themselves, but I don't see that as necessitating any stripping of human pride or dignity. Or work opportunities, for that matter. Unjust discrimination is unjust discrimination no matter who it is directed at." There was a small red flush creeping up his neck. "Again, please excuse me: I am still trying to find the correct words for my 'philosophy', as it were."

>> "Don’t get me wrong sir, but if you really are concerned about this mission being done correctly, I’d think you’d send someone you had dealt with before. Someone already employed under your company.”

He gave a slight shake of his head. "I fear I must disagree. Again, any easily traced tie between these gems and my company would put the man I rescued at risk. He has been a captive since his powers manifested at thirteen, Ms Sara; he is twenty-five now. He is trusting me--with as much trust as he can have in anyone, after what he has been through--to keep him hidden. It might be more convenient for me to send someone already on my payroll, but if hiring an outsider can add even a hair's width more to his safety margin, then it would be beyond negligent for me to do otherwise."

Slate blinked baby blue eyes, as he remembered something he had clearly forgotten. "On that subject--part of this mission will involve memorizing a fake set of company and employer details. In the unlikely chance you are intercepted and cannot escape, it would be most convenient if you could give your captors this information. While seeming suitably reluctant to do so, of course. It will lead them to a dummy location I have chosen; any suspicious activity there will serve as my signal that you are in trouble. I will not leave you in an adverse situation, Ms. Sara, particularly one of my own making. I do not anticipate any trouble on this mission, but it is a possibility. We will stand by with back-up, should you need it. If the drug lords know enough to intercept you, then they are closer to my doorstep than I could have feared, and holding back my hand would be meaningless."

>> “Egypt is a long ride. I don’t speak any foreign languages, and I don’t see commercial air lines allowing me past the front doors of the air part. I’ve traveled but I’ve no experience out of the US. ...I’m still interested in the commission if you still want me.”

A small smile twitched at the corner of the brown-haired teenager's mouth. "I believe I can help you with three of those problems, Ms. Sara. Egypt will still be a long ride... however, chartering a jet through third parties is a relatively simple affair. That will take out the hassle of commercial airlines, and make the customs procedures more expedite. As for your lack of experience outside the US:" his smile twitched another notch fuller, and his eyebrows gave an almost-teasing twitch. Not that he would ever tease a feline. That was a losing battle, to be sure. "There is no way to fix that besides sending you on additional commissions, is there? Assuming, of course, that you complete this one up to expectations, and remain interested."

"As to your lack of foreign languages, Ms. Sara," Slate set down his chopsticks, and reached for the box. His hand hesitated over a small ruby, roughly the size of a bead. "Does our waiter speak Chinese?" He asked, wondering idly if that question was terribly racist. "Or does anyone else here? If they do, I'll have a rather strange demonstration for you."

It was not Dragon Speak's treasure hording ability that had attracted Slate's interest. The Kabal and Mondragon Labs were not short on funds. The Colombian man had a much more useful talent. The Italian teenager wondered if the queen cat was familiar with her dragon lore. In particular, the rumored properties of a dragon's blood.

Sara idly chewed on a helpless shrimp. The tips of her chop sticks tapped lightly as she caught the color of red crept up his neck and his head shook. She decided to be amused in the fact she caught him off guard. Sara might as well of yelled out ‘It’s because I’m furry. Isn’t it.’ Not that she hadn’t experienced that reasoning before. Bad or good. The color that was rising from just under the boy’s collar meant he was as human as she was in her imperfections. He was being honest, from what she could tell, and the fact that he was so imperfect was a score on his side. When Johnny had first lead Slate into Sara’s eating area, he just hadn’t acted like every other boy that looked that age should act. At least not from what Sara had observed on the street.

” I suppose it is safe to say that you get many ridiculous reactions, the first time you have the occasion to meet someone?"

Sara’s eye brow rose and her head tilted to this. “Well you would know. Wouldn’t you?” Sara pushed her chopsticks into the pile of rice on her place. Triumphant in it’s skewering of the very dangerous rice pile. “This is not the first time I’ve seen your face. So that explains the lack of reaction.” Sara replied. Just choosing to push the boy a little farther.

"To be entirely honest, I would have sought you out even if you were human.

Sara nodded as she waited. Listening with her chop sticks left in the rice, as if to tell the surviving shrimp, their inevitable end. Though while Sara was taunting her food, Sara was still closely listening. Again, she agreed with what this Slate had to say. Sara had a rough start to her life, but her rough start was from both mutants and humans. When out, she observed both as well. Opportunities were something that had been equal when they introduced them selves in Sara’s views of individuals. They should stay that way.

Slate finished his explanation about the reason why he was searching out an individual who was outside his company. Sara particularly liked the fact that Slate had a way out for her should she be captured, that seemed to protect the jewel maker. Seeing as if Sara was intersepted, they would probably want information, she had a god chance who ever these drug lords were would want her alive. Surviving them shouldn’t bee too hard with her healing. It was reason enough for Sara and it made sense. “I bet you play a Hell of a chess game.”

"There is no way to fix that besides sending you on additional commissions, is there? Assuming, of course, that you complete this one up to expectations, and remain interested."

Sara tilted her head at this statement. She shook her head slightly, but a mirroring smirk appeared back on her face and her paw like hands twined together over the table. “Please take into your assumptions that additional commissions depend highly on my view of you as a commissioner. I’m surprised I came as highly recommended as you say I did, considering few bosses live up to my own expectation.

"As to your lack of foreign languages, Ms. Sara, Does our waiter speak Chinese? Or does anyone else here? If they do, I'll have a rather strange demonstration for you."

Sara’s smirk melted slightly. She was being tolerant that this Slate came to talk to her in her place where she ate. She was tolerant because so far she didn’t have reason to not start to trust him, and he still looked like a kid in her eyes. A kid who happened to have some red sneak up the back of his neck. However Sara was still protective of Johnny. The boy was still in high school for heaven Sake. He didn’t need to get caught up in Sara’s affairs and yet, twice now, that Sara knew of, people had asked him about her. “No. I don’t believe anyone does.” Sara replied quite simply.

“Yes I do” Johnny came out from around the door way again, holding Sara’s egg rolls. Two steps from the door way to the table and he set the new plate down. Who knew exactly how much the boy had heard, but he was as siked about showing off something he could do, as a freshly house trained puppy barking and doing the potty dance at the back door. “Please Sara, Please let me help.” Johnny bounced. Mutants came in and out looking special all day. Johnny was bilingual. Wanting the chance to show off.

Sara signed. Stupid kid didn’t know what he could be getting into. Sara leaned forward and pinched the ridge of her nose, rubbing between her eyes. “Alright.”

Slate had been wondering when a certain subject would be raised from the moment he stepped into the room. Naturally, Ms. Sara did not choose to address it until well after he had forgotten it was a threat. She was truly a cat, in that respect.

>> “Well you would know. Wouldn’t you? This is not the first time I’ve seen your face. So that explains the lack of reaction.”

"Ah," Slate said simply, unable to hide his wince. "I suppose a 'you caught me' would be appropriate. Only about half-true, however. I fear that you have met with the grave misfortune of meeting my brother, Calley. He did indeed tell me of his encounter with you. At the Sanctuary, I believe?" He asked, seeking confirmation in the way of someone who already knew the answer was 'yes'. "As I recall, your lack of enthusiasm for meeting him left him sulking for a time. Please accept my heart-felt apologies for anything he may have done or said. He... is like that."

Now seemed an appropriate time to shovel in a mouthful of rice. His haste in the maneuver, however, landed the rice in the middle of his rangoons. His attempt to disentangle the clump somehow caused the white grains to scatter into a formless snow and a rangoon to go visiting his sweet and sour chicken. He looked down at the plate. Defeat was clear in the grim set of his shoulders. With the surrender of a proud samurai sheathing his sword to pick up a machine gun, Slate set his chopsticks neatly down and reached for his fork. A captain must know when the battle is being lost, and adjust his tactics accordingly. Staying a failing course only made your enemy laugh at your defeat.

It was all too easy to picture the sweet and sour chicken laughing at him. He took great--if somewhat irrational--enjoyment out of spearing a piece, and placing it between his teeth. It was lukewarm, but well worth savoring.

>> “I bet you play a Hell of a chess game.”

Slate blinked for a moment, clearly not understanding. Fortunately, his mouth was too full of defeated crab rangoon for him to give voice to the inane statement that came to mind; 'I have never played chess.' Equally fortunately, the statement's less literal meaning registered with him before he swallowed. If she was paying attention to his face, it would have been easy to tell the exact moment he got it: the light red blush returned. Suffice it to say he had not missed the irony in not immediately understanding a phrase that meant 'you're smart'.

>> “Please take into your assumptions that additional commissions depend highly on my view of you as a commissioner. I’m surprised I came as highly recommended as you say I did, considering few bosses live up to my own expectation."

Slate interpreted her answering smirk, and the interlacing of her furred hands above the table, as positive signs. His own smirk kept up. "Well," he replied in a level tone that bordered once more on the folly of teasing a queen cat, "I cannot attest to how much my contacts actually like me. There is more than one reason to recommend a cat, as they say."

He did not miss the woman's hesitance when he moved to involve the boy.

>> “No. I don’t believe anyone does.”

Nor did he miss her blatant lie. The boy himself, either eavesdropping again or possessing incredible timing, made sure of that.

>> “Yes I do. Please Sara, Please let me help.”

>> “Alright.”

Slate could not help smiling slightly at the bouncing boy. As he picked up a very small ruby from the box, he tried to reassure the woman of his intents. "Do not worry," he answered a question she had not asked; "it is more of a demonstration on my end. On that note: let me assure you that I do not speak Chinese, or any other language outside of English."

With that prelude aside, he turned in his seat to face their helpfully eager young server. Without any explanation for now, he dry-swallowed the ruby. At least a hundred dollars of quality gemstone settled into his stomach. He felt a slight tingle in areas of his brain which usually stayed under the radar.

<"Thank you for offering to help,"> he said simply. <"Also, thank you for allowing me to meet with Ms. Sara. And a third thank you, for the food--it is quite good. Please pass my compliments on to the cook. Is this your family's restaurant, or do you just work here?">

The words were simple enough. They were somewhat more impressive, however, given that they were spoken in fluent Chinese. No, Slate did not speak Chinese. Dragon Speak, however, spoke every language. His true gift lay in sharing that. The power his gemstones possessed was much more valuable to Slate than the mere gems alone ever could have been, even if it was the gems themselves that had bought the man several years of a bad situation.

Suffice it to say that Ms. Nobes, should she accept this commission, would be temporarily fluent in Egyptian. And Chinese. And Hindi. And both ancient and modern Greek. And Spanish. And--

((ooc: Naturally, Dragon Speak is a Mod-Approved NPC. Profile here for any interested parties. )

Oh look. It seemed Sara had caught him off guard again. That red on his neck was a good color for Slate. It complimented his blue eyes quite well. Sara had a smug smirk come back onto her face as he also lost the battle with his food, and relinquished the chop sticks. Only to grab something more lethal to the slabs of meet on his plate. Hmm. Though the smirk was as far as she got. She was careful not to laugh out loud.

“Well Calley should know better.” Sara said very simply. She left her chop sticks in the rice and grabbed one of the egg rolls off of the plate Johnny had just left. “I get the reaction enough, I won’t hold it against him. He seemed to have enough problems. I also won’t accept an apology from you. It wasn’t your actions, so you have no right to issue the apology.

The moment Sara said something about chess. She might of spoken a little too soon. Ok that was awkward. Did this boy know how to play chess? Did he even know what the game was? Though… Oh look more red rising. Sara’s smirk came to a grin. Ok if she never took another commission from this Slate, she might just stick around to watch the colors of his skin change. The different hues were rather fascinating.

"Well, I cannot attest to how much my contacts actually like me. There is more than one reason to recommend a cat, as they say."

Sara’s head tilted. “You speak like you have experience in that matter.” She strugged the thought off and began to sip at her tea. She wasn’t completely happy that this Slate was involving Johnny, but she decided that if he really was going to do something, he should have brought a body guard of some kind. Especially if this company was as big as he was making this seem.

So Sara sat curiously sipping her tea as Slate dry gulched the gem stone. Hopefully when it came time for that thing to come out, Slate didn’t experience a bad case of hemorrhoids.

Then the other language came out. Both Sara’s eye brows raised and her tea was hovering between her mouth, and the table. Mean while Johnny didn’t skip a beat in replying. <”Yes sir. Thank you. The cook is my big brother and my family does own this restaurant.”> He gave a excited nod that went down into a bow. <”Is there anything else I can get you sir? Anything at all?”>

Sara finally set that magic hovering tea cup down. “Please tell me that was just incongruent crap.” She knew the answer, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that gem thing was sort of creepy.

Johnny shook his head and smiled at Sara so hard his ears might of wiggled, with how much they stuck out. “No. It’s awesome!” Johnny turned back to Slate. “Do you speak French too?”