He was thrown forward in his seat, the belt digging sharply in his shoulder he let out a grasp of horror. The front car was only centimeters away from the hood of the cab he had chosen to ride today. It had been a bad idea, because traffic was crazy in New York. Not just some days. Everyday traffic was just dangerous.

„§%&§(“

The cab driver swore mildly. For a cab driver that is, which meant that Martins hand involuntarily made its way up to cover his mouth. That curse had been foul. He even blushed slightly. This was enough. He decided on leaving the vehicle right now, before something else might arouse the drivers fury, which would inadvertently lead to another enrichment of his vocabulary. Not that he minded learning new words, but this drivers language was both slurred by the accent of what probably was gang English and colorful to say the least. Colorful in ways he never had imagined. He had just heard a comparison between the offending cars driver and ...certain animals
body parts if he was not mistaken..... he did not even want to think about it any more and signaled for halt. The eyes in the mirror flashed with much less fury then expected. Had that person been intent on getting rid of him? Or was it just startled by his reaction to what some might consider a normal cab drive. Well he didn't consider it normal, so he payed the now tooth grinding driver the price on the meter, the exact price on the meter that is, and left, now spiteful looks following him.

He had left at Carnegie Hall, an Opera House named after a famed philanthropist if he was not misinformed, but right now the only music he could hear was the sound of car engines and fading sirens as he got ready to walk around the block of the hall. He quickly glanced at his watch and flinched. Another missed appointment this was. He scolded himself mentally for not looking more often at his watch and not being more prepared to deal with the traffic here. Again. A scolding would not do for this. He was about ready to give himself a mental slapping.

He was so focused on himself, that he did not even notice, that he took a wrong turn. A turn that led into an alleyway. Blinking he realized that he was not in a major road, but between two walls closing in on him. This was going to get him a mental spanking. Not alleyways again. He had made several bad encounters on these paths and now he was walking them again. There built up a tension between his shoulder blades. He spun around, frantically looking for the source of his uneasiness, just to find, that he was looking at shadows and the usual debris.

“All your money. Now.”

The sound of a rasping voice dripping with mockery filling his ears like slime was accompanied by the most surprising feeling of coldness on his neck. The sleek grime that oozed out of the mouth of the person behind him apparently had some metallic support to go with it. He froze in place even without the demand to do so, while his hands searching in his pocket for the desired object. His finger felt numb and sweat was popping up on his forehead. He did not even notice the sleek leather of the wallet slipping through his gloved fingers. Had his hand really been shaking just now? The object of desire landed on the ground in the middle of a dirt pile. The reaction was quick to come. Strong shove from behind made him topple into a metal door on one of the walls.

Bang

The connection with the other piece of coldness was one that sparked a fire in his head. On his head more accurately, for he had hit it head on. He turned around furiously, to see the thief straightening up. In his hands was not a gun, but a set of metal brass knuckles and his wallet. Time slowed down as anger welled up and he searched for the best way out of this situation, for he had seen the face of the would be thief clearly. If he was any good in his trade then that would just amount to a much graver situation. Thieves did not like people seeing their faces. And with him a moment of his time was enough.

It was starting to get late. Tarin had sent Lee ahead over a half an hour ago, saying that he would do the final clean up and paperwork for the night and get things ready for the morning. This was something that Lee would have usually done, but more and more Tarin was trying to take the pressure off of her. In Colombia, and since, her behavior had been troubling to him to say the least. Lee had seemingly taken to rushing into the most dangerous situations she could possibly put herself into, and that wasn’t the worst part. She was calm, utterly and completely calm, at least in front of Tarin. The thing about it was, Tarin knew that her cool exterior was masking any and everything that was underneath. That had been obvious while he’d been in the coma. Lee hadn’t known he’d been able to see that exterior crumble to pieces when she was alone. Nobody could deal with everything on their own, and Tarin worried more and more that eventually it would be too much for his wife. So, he was trying. Tarin was trying to take some of the everyday pressures off of Lee in hopes that she’d relax.

Things had moved so quickly since Colombia, Tarin still felt the need to shake his head in wonder sometimes. They were part of something now, he and Lee, they were part of something bigger than the silly little shop that he was currently bustling around in preparation for another day of scams and not scams. Tarin knew now, he could use his powers for something greater than that, much greater. Lee should have known that too, about herself, but Tarin didn’t know.

The trash had been gathered from all the little trashcans around the shop, and the books had been finished and closed. It had taken Tarin much longer to do these things than it ever took Lee, but then again she was the organizational mastermind in their lives. Tarin was still learning. Lee’s system was infallible though, so after a bit of work and re-work he’d picked it up very quickly. The cleaning, on the other hand, probably left something, no a lot, to be desired. At least the place hadn’t been too dirty to begin with.

There was little left to do beyond taking out the trash and as much as Tarin hated making his way out into the alleyway behind the shop, it was the only place that there was a dumpster within reasonable distance of the shop. The security system they’d installed required a code to open the back door now and Tarin punched it in, unlatched and undead-bolted the door, and swung it to the outside as he picked up the trash bag. There was a solid *THUD* as the metal fire door hit something solid and there was the sound of scuffling and stumbling feet.

Tarin immediately dropped the trash bag and surveyed his surroundings as he attempted to assess the danger of the situation he was facing. The alleyway that contained the dumpsters was notorious for the dastardly deeds and people that had sometimes haunted it and Tarin had no desire to involve himself in another of those situations. What he saw was surprising, though.

A young man with dark hair, who couldn’t have been older than his mid-twenties was standing in the deepening shadows of the alleyway, looking both angry and more than a little frightened. That had not been the person he’d hit with the door. “Is everything okay out here? Who did I hit with the door?”

As if on cue, that particular man appeared, slightly stumbling from behind the door and took one look at the young man, then rushed him, the metal in his fingers glinting in the late afternoon sun. Tarin reached out to stop him, but was too slow and the man continued on his seeming crash course with the younger man and Tarin followed, intending to help where he could.

He was lying on the ground, hands leaving traces in the dirt that reminded of a predators claws and traces on his fingers that reminded of charcoal. Looking up to the thief he scrambled a little backwards before getting to his feet, the enemy never leaving his view. Never escaping a gaze of gray eyes that was caught somewhere between fright and anger. He was being mugged, so why was he afraid? With a sickening smile on his face the man began closing in on him. His face was tired somehow he noticed through the jelly of movement. Old and tired. Hard lines running down the sides of the mouth. The movement of the door was surprising in the first instance, but until the next

Bang

sounded in the alley he caught himself smiling in a cold way as it came in contact with the offenders face. Nice timing it was. Or maybe the person opening the door had been alerted by his crashing into it. Oh yes that person. He could not see him quite clearly, as he was standing in a light cone that originated somewhere inside the building. But it certainly was a he. The form of his body was quite definite on that. His stance also told him other things. He was not going to help him, or why had he extended his hand like that.

Hand extended, foot caught in midair striding forward. Oh no. His focus darted back on the person charging at him now. So the thud had just bought him preciously little time. Blood was running from the nose of the attacker and his charge left droplets flying around, like red diamonds in the light of the door. He must know pain to shake a metal door off like that. Three were steps remaining, until he would reach him. Very little time for action. Too little to get into any kind of defensive stance, to perform any kind of controlled fall or a block, that would be very painful with those metal things he held on to so tightly that his knuckles had turned to pure white. And he was just aiming for his face as far as he could tell. Two steps. Action. Now. His hands rose against the others, mirroring the movement with almost puppet like accuracy. Slight step left. Left arm backwards. Swing. The only thing that in his own movement differing was the fact, that he gave his swing a slight angle a little closer and then pushed it outwards. It was a partial success, though it cost him an aching arm. The pain was only dulled by cold. It was sufficient. He could keep those metal things from connecting with his nose, from connecting with his skin at all. The feeling of warmth on his cheeks had nothing to do with Anger though. He had deflected the blow just enough to make it scrape along his cheek, leaving the thief's skin in contact with his own.

Oh NO! Not his skin. He wanted to scream out loud as the lake that was his mind froze over with terror. It took a while notice the fact, that nothing happened, even more to see the distorted face right in front of his. That guy was just lucky that it had not begun, but if he kept going hitting at his face like that... That face spoke may stories. He would not give up. Stupid one. Stupid muddlehead one. Stupid human! How could he just be so intent on hitting his face? Couldn't it be some other part, like kidneys or liver? He had fixed on the face, and so to the face his next punch went. The left hand, metal sparkling ominously, creeping in on Martins face. His right reacted on its own and went for the painful way of deflecting it with the palm. He wanted to avoid it at all cost. Sadly with similar success to his first action, since even though he strained his muscles to uttermost capacity and his palm screamed from the pain of connecting with the brass knuckles, he was not able to hold the punch in midair. Warmth on the other cheek. Failure. For the observer it must have looked like the thief and he were caught in some kind of weird hug, for now both hands were touching each a single cheek. Warm skin on cold one.

Somewhere now. Somewhen now it would start. He felt the first tears water his cheek, as the last drops of blood fell on the ground. The fight had only lasted a heartbeat. Now things would last.... Tears began falling, turning to sand until finally a steady stream of sand fell, where blood and water mingled with dirt..... The thief had brown eyes. Those hard lines in his face. Those eyes. He had never laughed. He had never worn a smile. Those brown eyes were terrified. Bodies were not moving, glued together in an embrace that almost... never ended.

Tarin finished his last steps outside the door, just to see the two of them standing there like statues. His words had gone unnoticed. His actions maybe. Who could tell?

OOC - Sorry the post is so short...I realized as I typed that there's no way Tarin is going to just throw himself in the middle of that fight without knowing what's going to happen to him. If this sucks and you can't work with it...let me know and I can change it to have Tarin bum-rush the two of them.


If Tarin hadn’t seen so many outlandish things over the past few years, he wouldn’t have had a clue what to think about what was transpiring in the alleyway behind his shop. Why did it always have to be the alleyway behind his shop anyway? There were several other slightly dingy shops all up and down the street, why did all the weirdness always seem to find its way to his back door? And weird, was definitely what this was. In fact, Tarin didn’t know at that moment if he’d ever seen something as strange as the tableau arranging itself in the shadows of the alleyway.

They were still. Absolutely still. It was like someone had hit the pause button in the middle of a high definition DVD. The younger man being assaulted by the thug with the bloody nose. The thug that Tarin had apparently hit with the door when he’d come out to empty the trash. Oh yeah, the trash.

Since the scene seemed to be stuck in stasis, Tarin went ahead and walked to the dumpster. By the time he turned around, the scene had changed. Apparently they were moving. Tarin didn’t know what to do. Obviously there were mutant powers at work somewhere in this scene, people didn’t just freeze in the middle of a fist fight…and was the kid crying sand. “Oh for the love…” Tarin muttered and approached the two slowly.

“Um…” he said, leaning around the frozen arms of the thug to look at the assumed victim, “If I touch this a-hole am I going to get sucked into this whole, ‘frozen in time’ thing?” Tarin wanted to help, he really did, but this was something like sticking your arm in a crate labeled, ‘Dangerous animal’ without knowing what and how hungry, it was.

Nobody had said anything, “Seriously…” Tarin said, “I’d love to kick this guy in the nuts or something to help you out kid…but I don’t want to get myself into anything I can’t get out of…so if you could blink once for yes or something…that would be great”

His tears fell and fell. There seemed no stemming the flood, no stopping the sand that threatened to drown every bit of life that was left in him. He had looked into brown eyes before. He had seen them many times, but each still was different to him. Each was a new pair of gemstones etched in his memory, scratching on his memory an eternal message for their last words. This thug for example had little dark specks in his iris, stew in through it making them look like a Tiger's-eye glittering in the umbra. One by one he saw those stars fall into oblivion again and again. The one thing that did not change though was not the falling. Each one took different times, had different gravity, stability, but it the fear in them once they realized that their torment would last longer then any lifetime. It did not vanish not matter how long his grip would last. No matter how long he would be kept.

The last star had long fallen, the last bit of light long gone from the other soul. The light of a living mind chocked by the sands of time. He could not bare it any more. He closed his eyes. Inch by inch. Year by year darkness sank down unto him, darkness that was saving. There is no need to fear the darkness as there was no need to fear his powers. He knew it was irrational, yet he loathed the one and hoped for the other. The warm embrace of shadow covering the scene of his most cruel act. An act that had not lain in his hand. Those walls he would not forget, as they shone in the darkness. Those trash bins, every last dent in them was gloving in the shadows. The one thing that is now was not the shadow. Finally even it had not held its promise. Such warm shadows so cold. Oh god where art thou?

There still wasn’t a whole lot going on, and Tarin was getting more and more confused by the moment. The young man standing in his alleyway obviously had a mutation that was acting in some sort of self-defense manner. Both of the men in front of him seemed to be frozen in time, moving in phases of motion that looked more or less like what happened when a scratched DVD tried to progress.

The sand was still falling from the kid’s eyes and Tarin stood and watched, fighting an internal battle of epic proportions as he tried to figure out what to do. The first option was obvious, he could turn around, walk back into his shop, and pretend like none of this had ever happened. The kid was handling himself well enough, and his mutation seemed to have the situation pretty well in hand. There was always the chance that the thug would somehow gain an upper hand though, or that the cops would show up. That wouldn’t be good for any of them, and Tarin cursed, kicking a can across the alleyway as he continued his internal battle, trying to figure out what it was he needed to do.

He couldn’t just walk away, too many people had walked away from him over the years. Tarin cursed again and did the only thing he could think to do. Running a mental count through his head and saying a silent prayer to every deity he could think of in the span of a few moments, Tarin rushed forward and threw his entire body weight into the thug with the metal knuckles. He didn’t know what would happen once he made contact with the slo-mo tableau that had established himself, but hey, at least later he could say that he tried.

The contact was totally normal. No tingling on the skin, no strange smell or noise. The thug was simply a thug now as he had always been. A thug that was now flung against one of the garbage bins liberated from the grip of something that was beyond him. Something that had crushed him to little bits and pieces, as was apparent from the look in his eyes. Broken they were in madness, darting around the scene confusedly. As soon as he realized he had the chance -and it took him a while- do do so his body executed the last commend that was still sticking in his mind. He scrambled to his feet and ran. Ran for all his lost life had been worth. Ran and never once looked back. He did not even stay to pick up his weapon that he had left, or the wallet that he had lost yet again.
The shadow had betrayed him. All went by so slow, yet he could not feel his gaze shift. How long had it been since it begun? It was irrelevant. How long would it continue? Irrelevant. How long until it happened again? Would it happen ever again? Probably. He would be there to see it in all probability. He would be there to feel it.... Feel what? The last grains had fallen, yet he continued standing straight, before, when it almost seemed like he would not open his eyes again he took a rasping breath and he went to his knees like a puppet with its strings cut.

He remained silent with his eyes closed for a while longer, while his senses returned to him. Slowly, one by one he gathered them back together in conscous effort and spoke out loud his one thought. The first thing to hear.

“God have mercy on him.”

He knew it was futile, but it was a reminder. To himself. Another one of those displays he did not care much to give. Another display that he loathed. He opened his eyes widely in a snapping motion. The light was blinding, even in the darkness of night. The other sounds srowned in on him. Cars, clatter of garbage, the wind on his cheeks. It all felt unnaturaly beautiful. A few blinks later he had seen the person that had presumably helped him escape this unfortunate - MURDERER! he silenced the voice that screamed in the back of his head- event.

"Thank you for your help."

The adress was superficially calm, yet he could not keep the shaking out of his voice, that had also taken hold on his fingers.

Thankfully, the kid’s mutation didn’t seem to have any connection to physical proximity or physical contact. Otherwise, Tarin wouldn’t have known what to do. As it were, the element of surprise he’d gained by simply bum-rushing the thug gave him the advantage that his less than impressive size usually took away. Momentum carried the two over them away from the young man and Tarin pulled up and shoved, just in time to send the thug careening into one of the dumpsters. He hit with a satisfying metallic thud, then laid still in the gutter.

Tarin sighed as he straightened up, resisting the urge to preen at the success of his attack. He remembered the kid. Turning slowly, Tarin was glad to see that the sand had stopped dropping from the younger man’s eyes. That had just been odd. He spoke of god, and Tarin’s eyebrows rose as he made his way back across the alleyway. The medium kept his distance, there was no point in risking any contact that could prove dangerous. Needless to say, the kid seemed a little shaken.

Tarin just nodded at the thanks from the kid, and turned slowly to look over his shoulder at the thug, who still wasn’t moving. As collected as he seemed, the kid wasn’t completely unshaken. Tarin had seen that kind of calm before, in Lee. It tugged at his heart the same way from this young man as it did from his wife.

“No problem. This is my alleyway.” He said, only a little awkward, “Why don’t you come inside, we can call the police, or if not, at least give you a chance to chill out a little bit before you take off. Muggings can shake the best of us….and about him…” Tarin said, casting one more look at the thug in the gutter, “Don’t worry about him…he’ll either get up and stumble off, thinking twice about bugging someone in my alleyway again, or maybe the garbage truck will come along and scoop him up like the piece of trash he is.”

Rationale. It was all so easy to explain everything, comforting to see the numbers add up to make perfect sense. If one watched things long enough, they all should crumble down to little numbers in ones mind. Numbers would become easy to predict, easy to manipulate, easy to destroy with just a thought. It was Math and Physics. Everything was somehow. The distance that the man opposite to him held was no exception, it was a careful distance, a balance between what the laws of politeness allowed and between what necessity dictated. In this case that was the uttermost distance possible while being polite, or rather should be, for his gloved hands were the reminder that there always was clear and present danger, when he was around. Did he really deserve politeness? That discussion he had held in his head for a hundred times and the results had been most inconclusive.

Other results were pretty clear. That man should be running away, closing that door on him and never set his eyes on his sorry self again. Should. Rationally. Naturally. His hands found their way to some wet plastic waste on the ground, from whence he picked up his wallet -the object of desire that had done so much harm to the thief- and with one swift and efficient motion returned it where it had come from in the first place. The little drops of blood on it left his gloves and pants stained a little, but he either did not notice, or did not care. Could even he himself tell the difference right now? Somehow the plastic bag had also found its way into his hands, where it was now being twisted and turned between his fingers, those numb and claw like beings, giving off bristling noises while being deformed more and more. Tensile strength. Elastic module. Rationale.

When he was spoken to, his eyes remained unfocused for a while longer. It seemed that the information needed some time to settle its way through the twists and turns in his brains, before finally promoting something like a reaction from him.

“If there is a fee for passing through I will pay it gladly.” His words were a little off key, the high notes coming through more and more. He was loosing it. Control. “I would appreciate a little rest, thank you very much.”

Another one of these calm sentences is was supposed to become, yet went down into something like a screech, as his body, being not accustomed to all the different stresses that had just been placed on it was taking its toll. Where his hands had been shaking a wile ago, it was now changing. The spasms and twitches, they spread And despite all his efforts -not that there were much of them right now- from fingers to arms. From arms to legs. After a few seconds he wobbled around like a drunkard, until he caught hold on one of the walls. Shreds of the bag fell down on the ground and added to the litter that lay around there already. A few crimson pieces among all the other ones they were. They did not make a difference. Did they not make a difference?

How much stress a soul could take before breaking? There seemed to be no module for that one. How strange. How natural. How cruel. MURDERER.

The kid was obviously in shock. He was staring off into space like he was almost cationic or something. When he did speak, he sounded almost panicked still. Tarin resisted the urge to reach out and lay a hand on his shoulder or something. After what had just happened, he didn’t want to take any chances with the kids’ powers though, and so slightly awkwardness prevailed as the young man offered to pay for stopping through. The mugger had ran off, though, and Tarin shook his head. Maybe one of the spandex-wearing vigilante crew would pick him up overnight.

Tarin waved a hand, an incredulous look on his face at the suggestion that he’d expect monetary compensation for helping out someone in need. Someone in need on his property nonetheless. “Of course there’s no fee for stopping in. Just come on in, you look like you need to sit down.”

And he did. The kid was wobbling almost like he was drunk and Tarin was reminded of the way that he’d felt when he was younger and not necessarily in proper control of his powers. It looked like he needed help walking and Tarin reached out, then stopped. It was a hell of a dilemma, but then the kid rallied, at least enough to follow Tarin into the shop.

Pushing the heavy door shut when they were fully inside, Tarin moved more fully into the back room of the shop and gestured towards the table where he usually did readings. “Take a seat, kid.” He said, gently but firmly, “I don’t want you passing out or anything and you look a little peaked.”

A glance at the clock made Tarin wince, Lee would probably be panicking about right now. “Let me call my wife and tell her that I’m going to be late.” Tarin said, moving to the phone and picking it up to dial the number to their apartment. “She worries.” He said, chancing another glance at the shaky kid, “ Then we’ll talk…or get you something to drink…if you’re old enough.”

There were so few words on his mind. So few things that mattered, yet they were being repeated in an endless atonal symphony. There was no harmony. Sorry. What did I do?. So sorry. Control. Sorry. Need. Control. I did do. No Control. Sorry. What to do? Bad. Good. Sand. Time. Control. Sorry.

Blank. Blink.

He did not even take note of the fact, that he sat down on a chair after stumbling inside the shop on Tarin's heels. Not that the door had closed, the metal door that had slammed into the muggers face. He was finally sitting on a chair. His senses drove things forward too fast to recognize. Only away from the agony. From the emptiness in his soul. It drove him away from the pain. His mind tried to just take him to some happier time. Some happier place. Void. What was he? MURDERER. Sorry. Discord. Control. sorry...so sorry. Stability. It got him out of the fast forward mode his senses had gotten into. His hands grabbed on the table before him so tightly, his hands started to shake again, just from the strain. It was good. Slowly things returned to normal. To normal speed. Normal time. His last thoughts left his mouth in a cry of agony. A cry of sadness. It held it all, just a few letters that were overloaded with edges that could cut a soul.“SORRY!” He fellt better, now that it was out there. He crouched in front of the table.

The first words he heard were ...get you something to drink…if you’re old enough.

This was just too odd. Him not being old enough. The kid on the table started laughing loudly and heartily. Thankfully the voice had returned to its normal range, but it was still an odd sound. From almost crying to laughter he went in the blink of an eye. And the laughter continued until he saw the look on the helpers face and stifled it with his hand, before closing his mouth. It was very obvious that he thought him to be a madman, so he shut his mouth and grasped for air a little. Things shifted. He himself shifted. His body, the very one that had been crouched on the table a second ago, was now sitting upright.

“I'm very sorry. Since I'm probably as old as you are I would gladly take a drink.”

He then explained in a very polite tone. A mask that had settled on him far too quickly to be all untrained. Now there was no hint of amusement, no hint of sadness, anger, void. It was a pleasant smile on his lips, the hands folded chastely on the table. A mask it was nonetheless. And he was very glad he had it, if it were not for the remnants of tears on his cheeks that gave away his performance for what it was.

Tarin was just replacing the phone in its cradle after explaining to Lee that everything really was okay, that he was in no danger, and that he would be home as soon as possible when the kid sitting at his table screamed out that he was sorry. Tarin blinked. Then blinked again. Emotions did strange things to people, this kid in particular, from the looks of things.

He started laughing and Tarin actually started to get a little scared. It really hadn’t been the most wise thing to do, bringing the kid inside. After what he’d seen in the alleyway, there was no telling what this kid could do. Tarin knew better than probably anyone that intent didn’t necessarily have to be there for someone to do bad things. Especially if their powers were going out of control like this guy’s seemed to be. Tarin was sure he was looking at him like he was crazy.

It was almost momentary, and a change came over the kid as he sat in the middle of the shop. Tarin didn’t trust it one bit and found himself wishing that there were a couple of wayward spirits around, just in case. The problem was, they seemed to be steering their way clear of the shop unless he was specifically working to contact one these days. The calm smile on the young man’s face was unbelievably disconcerting, because the raging emotions from a few minutes earlier were still floating beneath the surface. Tarin imagined that he could almost see them.

Then the kid said that they were probably the same age.

If there was one thing that Tarin had learned since coming to New York, it was that discounting something as immediately possible was a foolish and stupid thing to do. So instead, he just nodded, moving into the kitchen and pouring two cups of Scotch. It wasn’t in teacups, but it was still scotch.

Back to the table he went, setting the cup down in front of the young…other man before taking the seat across from him at the table.

“I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt here.” He said softly, sipping at the dark liquid in the cup he was holding. “Either you can do something really special, or plastic surgery has come a long way.” Tarin paused, this wasn’t supposed to be an interrogation, he was helping the guy out.

“I’m Tarin Brooks, by the way.” He said, holding out a hand to shake if the other man so chose. “ You’re not physically hurt, are you?”

The golden liquid in the cup that he had been given -thankfully given for the seconds had started stretching out again, stretching like a thick glue trying to keep him the way he was- vanished into his mouth in an instant. It burned in his throat and he coughed a bit, but the burning and the burning warmth in his stomach that followed the swallowing were welcome feelings. He embraced them with every strand of his being. The burning it took away the cold he was feeling. The warmth reminded him of old times, when he had not seen a sunrise last for hours. Days. They had been beautiful back then. Always the same time in length. But how long they had been he did not remember. Tears wanted to come back into his eyes, fill them, wash away the dryness and cold with cleaning water. He held them back and focused on the place he was in instead.

The table looked sturdy, the place was tidy and well kept. It looked like a shop but goods to sell were nowhere to be found. How strange this was. How strange the person opposite of him was.

“Special would be a good word to describe it.” His smile was barely a thin line of white skin now, his tone almost acidic at the word special. Just another specialty he was. Nothing more or less. He then started out. How lame these words were, how slowly they left his mouth gave away way too much of his feelings. Speaking of it still was difficult for him. Speaking it out loud was not easy, since he was used to keep it hidden, stocked away form anyone who could hurt him, could know him. Another piece of glue whose force he had to overcome. But it was strangely easy. The feeling of new and wonder from coming to this city, and of course the events a few minutes ago might have finally taken full effect. “It's part of my mutation, of which another bit you just saw outside.” How dry his mouth felt. How chocked he was by guilt pressing down on him. He had to bear it. It was just another set of eyes that added to the ones already there. It was so hard still......after all these years it was still hard.

And of course he had not given away the final bits again. Those bits that he kept secret as second nature. “I am a temporal manipulator named Martin Stein. I'm thirty years of age, though my body stopped aging long ago.” The day it had activated actually. Fire and Shrapnel. His scarred hand turned into a fist. But that pain felt dull and distant now. Distanced by the years it was easy to subdue, so he continued with barely a pause. “Pleased to meet you Mr Brooks. And no I am not hurt.” The phrase sounded hollow from his lips. It was simply thrown out there as courtesy which was pretty obvious, which in turn sparked a bit of anger in him. He was better at this. Also his hand wandered up to his cheeks, where the brass knuckles had just barely touched him. It would heal in a few days, just a little bruise. As would his injured hand. It was the price he had paid. And it was cheap. His handshake was not soft and not firm, somewhere in between the two. Not really here, not really there. It was...him.

Well. If he was only a kid, he was a kid who’d done his fair share of under-aged drinking. Tarin couldn’t remember having ever seen a kid take a glass of scotch like that, even if he did cough a little bit. It did wonders to calm the nerves, though. It looked like he relaxed and that made Tarin relax, even if he was still a little on guard, just in case.

Special, Tarin had to laugh. This was something he could relate to. At least the guy was open enough to admit to being a mutant. People who were shy or had a problem with what they could do instantly rubbed Tarin the wrong way. Part of the mutation, that was what Tarin had seen out in the alleyway. What a unique power. Tarin studied the seemingly younger man across the table from him and tilted his head, “Well, you’ve definitely come to the right place. We’re just full of special around here.”

Martin, Martin Stein. That was his name. Tarin was relieved that he could stop referring to the other man as ‘that guy’. Hold on. Martin had said that he was thirty years old. Tarin studied the man across from him, eyes narrowing slightly as he wondered if he’d been somehow scammed by this whole thing. It was impossible that the body across from him was thirty years old. Then there was the fact that he said his mutation had stopped the aging process. What was it Martin had said he did? Temporal manipulation.

“Wow. If you could bottle that, you could make a fortune in the cosmetic industry.” Tarin said with a good humored chuckle as he leaned back in his chair. “Must be a bitch to try and buy a drink, though. I’ll just bet bartenders peg your ID as a fake all the time.” Tarin looked around and figured that turnabout was fair play, “I see spirits.” He said lamely.

The handshake wasn’t as firm as Tarin would have expected, and as he released Martin’s hand he didn’t miss the fact that he was gingerly touching the bruise forming on the side of his cheek. Rising quickly and moving in long strides to the kitchen, Tarin grabbed a dish towel and some ice from the fridge before scooping up the Scotch bottle and returning to the table.

Setting the bottle between them, Tarin decided to let Martin choose whether or not to fill his glass again. Part of the medium’s mind was still struggling to wrap around the fact that it wasn’t a man in his late teens sitting across from him, but rather someone who shared his generation.

“Well, at any rate Martin, I’m glad that he didn’t do any permanent damage. That alleyway has a shocking amount of dirty history that goes along with it. I’d offer to call the police, but they have a tendency to be slightly less than helpful.”
He leaned back in his chair, sipping at the scotch again for a few moments before leaning forward and propping his forearms on the table. “So…temporal manipulation. You can actually slow down and speed up time?”

Full of special? What was he implying? Surely not that he himself was..... It was just ridiculous. Unbelievable. But then it would only be natural for one like him too hide himself in plain sight, would it not? His thoughts started racing, until their circling made his head spin slightly. What he needed was more information before he could start to make assupmtions that were anywhere near correct. And why was he thinking of analyzing him right now? It was disgusting how quickly the old routines settled in again. For a second or two his fists turned into tightly clenched balls again, before he deliberately released the pressure.

His answer to Tarin's attempt at relieving the tension was the simple raising of an eyebrow. It did not halt there though, for he did feel the need to explain what had just happened. “What you saw out there was but part of the price I had to pay for getting this gift. Anyone willing to pay money for this is entering a fools bargain.” His voice had taken on a cold that was unnatural, ice so cold it seemed to come from the depths of time itself. It was something he had acquired to protect himself. An icy wall around his inner being, a wall that had been cracked tonight. He would have to make it even thicker. “And social difficulties are not the only ones.” He agreed with Tarin, before he told him that he could see spirits. The risen eyebrow fell back into place. So he was a mutant. Interesting. But seeing spirits? Had he understood that correctly? “So you are a medium of some sort?” He was confused and the cold was gone, buried deep beneath masks and pieces of himself. One could almost forget it had ever existed.

As Tarin set off for the kitchen he looked around in the...store a little more. Now that he knew what Tarin was it was easy to pick out the signs about what was done here. Crystal balls as well as the symbolism of an esoteric place. They struck him now that he knew what he was looking for. But this was a real medium apparently, not some scam. A mutant like him, hiding himself from the public eye by simply fulfilling a cliché. Then Tarin was back again with a cold towel and a bottle of the very same liquid he had just poured down his throat. It was a good combination and he helped himself to both. It certainly looked odd, but there was now a boy -thankfully- sipping scotch pressing a towel in his face sitting in that very shop where customers were normally being served. Maybe he was just another one.

“Thank you very much.” He then fell silent for a few seconds. The silence started sounding odd, but he did not care. He was thinking about how to phrase his next words, until he simply got them out there. They sounded wrong still. They hurt still. They hurt a lot. Everything was just so wrong. “Of course. I understand.” For some reason his voice held a note of sadness. It was all the same everywhere, was it not? The police were not helpful, the government was not helpful. Death everywhere and no help in sight. “It is not that thief who did the damage.....” Another bit of awkward silence. “He will have no need for the police any more.... You see, when people touch my skin, it might just so happen that I share my version.... viewpoint of time with them. And for me time does not move. At least not in terms any other would understand.” The amount of time both had spent there was incomprehensible. It had been long for him. And that meant that it had crushed that thug utterly. A few tears made their ways down his cheeks, before he mopped them away with the towel. That poor guy. He simply shook his head in answer to Tarins next question, but a simple “Not for you.” had already escaped his lips. Had he just given that away? He took another deep sip of scotch. Yup. Ops. He tried to quickly gloss it over by asking a question of his own.

“So does your wife know what you do?” The question was more like, whether she knew what he was, but this was a much better way to phrase it. If yes it would be an interesting marriage to say the least.