Earlier that morning Twyla had realized that she was in desperate need of something--a touch up. Her brown roots were starting to show through the blond and her pink highlights were steadily creeping lower and lower as her hair grew. Counting back the weeks, she realized that she was long over due for a basic haircut as well. Thankfully, these things were easily remedied in a large city such as New York and after only two phone calls the girl got herself in at a salon in Manhattan that wasn't ridiculously overpriced.

The salon itself had been nice enough and the woman who cut and dyed her hair had herself bright blue hair that matched the lip ring and nail polish she was wearing. They'd gotten along great and Twyla was very happy with the result. She took another quick peek at herself in the mirror behind the front desk on her way out the door. Nothing could compare to the feeling that the (redone) blond got from a good hair cut and the way that fresh bubble gum pink highlights looked in the mirror. As she stepped out into the bright Spring sunshine the girl was smiling.

That smile remained on her face as she walked down the street. Unlike her first dye job, Twyla didn't stop and examine herself in the reflection of the windows that she passed--she was confident that her hair looked good and didn't need to reassure herself. There was something almost cocky in the girl's stride as she confidently planted the steps in her worn camo high tops. Her shoulders were erect and the good feelings inside her just showed, as if her mutation had been reversed and she was making herself noticeable rather than hidden. Not that she was probably getting noticed walking down a crowded street next to beautiful women in designer outfits and fashionable men in their perfectly-cut jackets with their perfect sunglasses and practiced smirks--but she felt on top of the world and her body language, for those who noticed it, was projecting that feeling.

The clothes that Twyla was wearing were clean and well taken care of but still slightly worn. She had on a pair of jeans that had holes in the knees and that rested low on her hips while the top half of her body was covered in a gray tank top underneath a pastel yellow sweater that revealed a thin band of skin where jeans and shirts did not quite match up. The bag slung over her shoulder was utilitarian and plain canvas with many pockets. It wasn't filled with much beyond the necessities and a book. The book in question was War for the Oaks by Emma Bull and Twyla was borrowing it from the Mansion's extensive library. The book was the reason that the girl was headed for the park rather than back to school. She quite liked reading outside, and it was starting to get to be the kind of Spring weather that is very conducive to such habits.

Central Park was begging to recover from its holiday season and with Spring coming in the sight of the newly planted trees didn't make Twyla cringe. She looked for a good place to sit as she walked the paths, her fingers itching to pull out the small paper back and settle back into the story that she'd started the night before.

That day found Ilari dressed unusually nicely. Granted, "dressing nicely" for him was finding the cleanest, least-tattered ensemble he owned. What luck, that he'd decided to do laundry the previous night.

What prompted this sudden interest in looking good, one might wonder? Well, Ilari was starving. He hadn't eaten in at least a day, possibly two, and he was in desperate need for something, anything, to eat. Rather than wait for nightfall to rob a store for cash, he decided to blend in with the usual Central Park crowd, to be invisible in the group, which rather involved not dressing like a hobo, though he did still dress like his normal self. Ilari wore a pair of rather tight, faded bluejeans, his usual boots, and a black muscle shirt beneath a loose hooded jacket, which he kept zipped, and the hood pulled over his head. Inside his jacket, he held a book. It was nothing special, just an old, beaten copy of Of Mice and Men that he owned, read a thousand times, and kept with him as he sat on park benches, pretending to read as he scoped targets. He hoped he wouldn't be there so long that he would have to resort to such a method.

His hands were buried deeply in his jacket pockets as he slouched around the park, eyeing potential targets and trying to decide who had enough on them for a quick meal. He didn't want to be greedy - he just wanted to be full. Then, she caught his eye. He had no idea who she was, but something about the confidence in her step drew Ilari's gaze. She looked like she hadn't a care in the world, and that caused the thief's instincts within Ilari to go wild.

The sharp pangs of hunger in his stomach spurred him on, and he followed the young woman, hoping to inch close enough to grab her purse and make a break for it. Not the classiest method, but effective, right? That's when she drew a book from her purse and started to read, and a different sort of hunger rose in Ilari; The hunger for knowledge. Books, Ilari supposed, were his one true weakness, and he hadn't read a new one in so long.

Without realizing what he was doing, Ilari pulled the book from his jacket and moved to take a seat near the young woman, to pretend to read, watch targets, and possibly strike up some kind of conversation. He didn't do well with people, but, well, she was reading a book, right? See! They already had something in common! It wasn't that he was looking to get a date or anything. Just... maybe a friendly conversation would help him out a little. Lift his spirits! Take his mind off of food just long enough for him to get some money.

Awkwardly, he cleared his throat. Can't have a conversation without conversation, right?

"It's a nice day to read... isn't it?" The sound of his own voice caused him a slight cringe. It was far raspier than he would have liked, probably from general lack of use.

The girl couldn't resist any longer, she just had to get the book out. It only took a second for Twyla to fish it out of the main pocket of her purse and a few more for the girl to find her spot. She skimmed the previous page as she searched for a good place in the sun. A likely spot was found among some rocks that were thankfully devoid of much mud and that had a nice view of the rest of the park and a playground. Twyla wasn't the only person who'd liked the area, a group of art students weren't far off sketching the birds or the kids or the muddy grass or something. A moment of envy was enjoyed by Twyla, who had no drawing ability beyond a mean stick figure.

Right after she'd gotten settled, she noticed a shadow and the the noise of someone taking a spot on the smooth rocks near her. The girl barely glanced up to confirm her suspicions before attempting to immerse herself in the story once again. She was only in the second chapter, but already Twyla was addicted--that's how she got with stories though, she found something interesting and that spurred her reading speed. The girl jumped when the person who'd parked himself a few feet away from her cleared his (it had to be a he, the throat clearing sounded very dudely to the young mutant) throat. Brown eyes, looking a bit dazed, once again pried themselves away from the printed words to look at the stranger.

He was older than she was--that much was obvious. It was hard to tell whether he was older than her older brother Nate, but if she had to guess she'd put him in the 'Early 20s' category. Twyla Ashby, on principle, never guessed ages because she knew that she was terrible at it. The man didn't look too freaky, so there was a possibility that he was safe to talk to--not that Twyla was amazing at judging character based on looks either. His clothes were normal and he had a book. Books=kudos points. Creepers didn't carry books with them, did they? The girl wracked her brains for any examples of such and none immediately presented themselves.

The eyes crinkled upwards as Twyla smiled. He'd said her sentiments exactly. "Super nice." She nodded before she continued. "Perfect weather and all that." Leaning over a little bit, the girl tried to get a better look at the book in the man's hands. "What are you reading?" Twyla asked in a friendly tone that was openly curious. Maybe she'd get a better idea of his creepin'-status if she knew what title it was? Surely the wrong kind of person would have terrible taste in literature, in which case the girl would simply move or ignore him.

It was tense, for Ilari, when the silence followed his inquiry. He was aware that the young woman would be sizing him up, making sure he wasn't some creepy old man, or something. That was when he realized he'd left his hood up, and that probably lessened his chances for a nice conversation. He reached up to push the fabric off of his head, revealing his unkempt blond hair and the stubble that he'd left unchecked for a couple of days. Hopefully, he didn't look like too much of a mess. Though, when he was spoken to, he decided he must have looked just fine.

"Of Mice and Men," he replied, holding up the book to show off it's cover, as prompted. "I've read it so many times, but it's still one of my favorites." He didn't care that the book was a classic. That wasn't why he loved it. The story just intrigued him, that's all!

He sounded much more relaxed, with the continued conversation. His voice lacked some of it's insecure tremble that it once held, but was missing none of the rasp that he would likely go the rest of his life with. Surely, he hadn't been smoking for that much of his life, had he? He simply thought it was that he would go for long stretches of time without speaking, the longest being a week or so. Surely, this young woman didn't mind, though. She didn't seem to, and, after all, she had continued speaking with him.

Vaguely, Ilari wondered when he had gotten so awkward around other people. He didn't think he lived that isolated of a life, did he? He would have to reflect on that later, he supposed.

With the hood pulled down the man was revealed to have what Twyla would classify as dirty blond hair that reminded her of the mess on top of Nate's head. He also had a bit of scruff going on that seemed to match the hair. Maybe that was the look he was going for? There were plenty of male celebrities who tired to gruff themselves up, maybe he was trying to look like one of them? It was weird how people with so much money pretended and tried to look like they didn't. If he was emulating that, did it make him a creeper? Twyla wasn't sure yet.

The man's voice was still raspy the second time he spoke, Twyla noted. At first she'd attributed it to the fact that he'd had to clear his throat to talk in the first place (unless that was him getting her attention) and thought nothing of it. "Oh, okay. Nice choice. I read that once for school." Twyla loathed reading assignments for class. She always ended up reading the entire book much too fast, hampering her grades. This was especially cumbersome when the quizzes and tests were based on certain sections--everything got jumbled together and she never answered the questions right.

"I know how that is." She replied to his second statement. "Having a favorite that you read over and over, I mean." The girl paused, deciding if she should continue making small talk. It all depended on that throat clearing--was it to get her attention or did the man simply have a frog in his throat? It was always so hard to tell and the girl really didn't want to bother someone who was a reader like herself. Decisions, decisions.

"Mine's Sense and Sensibility." Twyla made up her mind and threw out there. If she was being too friendly surely he'd let her know somehow--no skin off her nose in any case. It was the only book she'd brought with her when she ran away from home. On various trains and buses she'd read the book cover to cover what seemed like a hundred times and it never got old. That was the mark of a truly good book--you could always find something new to enjoy in it.

"I had to read it for school, too," he replied, laughing softly as he did. That laugh, however, managed to irritate his neglected throat and caused him to cough lightly for a moment, for which he excused himself.

Normally, reading books for school ruined them for him, too. It was something about being told to read it, usually because he felt that he was practically ordered to enjoy it, as well. Usually, he rebelled, and, while he read the books assigned, he refused to like them in any way. This one was different. He had ended up keeping the copy they gave him in school, and was never found out.

Again, Ilari cleared his throat, feeling a bit ridiculous for having to do so several times in a row. It seemed to be helping, at least. He hoped that he didn't seem like a creep for clearing his throat so much. After all, he was well aware that some sketchy guys would fidget a lot or get some weird vocal tick before trying something. That thought caused Ilari to feel some concern for the young woman, as if she were his little sister, or something. A few thoughts darted through his mind, and he hoped like hell that the girl he was talking with had never had to deal with the creepier people of the world. She seemed outgoing enough. Maybe she actually hadn't?

Thankfully, she spoke, and that broke his unfavorable train of thought.

"I remember that," he mused, the thought bringing a bit of a smile to his face, despite the thoughts that had just run through his head. "I never finished Sense and Sensibility. It wasn't really my... cup of tea," he admitted, actually sounding somewhat ashamed for that, though in a rather lighthearted sort of way. Thankfully, the scratchiness of his voice was going down considerably, instead simply revealing the low rumble that his voice always tended to have.

He was right in his assumption that the small conversation would pick his spirits up. He was already feeling a bit better, talking with the young woman, and he was partly - pleasantly - surprised that someone so young would seem to well-read. Normally, even people his age barely read books, nowadays. He reflected, for a moment, on how impressed he was when his stomach gave a loud growl, and he moved his hand to it, as if to quiet the damned thing. Thankfully, it didn't hurt as badly, since he'd taken his mind off of it. Now, however, it was making itself known.

Some classics, like Of Mice and Men, were universal in terms of being required in school apparently. It made sense and all that to Twyla seeing as classics were usually staples in the English classroom. She nodded when the man sitting near her said it was also something he'd had to read for school. After he spoke he coughed, which lead to more throat clearing, which led to the blond wondering if the stranger was getting over a cold or if his allergies were acting up or something. Twyla had no allergies that she knew of, so she really didn't know if anything was in season yet to back up her hypothesis. She also didn't know if there were colds going around--she hadn't noticed anything at the Mansion but that didn't mean that the entire city was totally free of cold causing bacteria or other such things. Maybe he just cleared his throat a lot? Was that weird?

He hadn't finished Twyla's favorite book by Jane Austen, a pity but understandable. The small smile that quirked up the edges of his lips made him seem less weird and more shy. Shy Twyla could relate to, she had her own quiet tendencies--they just surfaced less on bright days when she was still glowing from the confidence of a good hair cut and color. "I understand, it takes a certain sort of person and all that to totally enjoy anything by Jane Austen." She shrugged. "I'm not sure what sort of person exactly, but I'm one of them." Whatever that meant. Twyla just knew what she liked, what she didn't like, and what she tolerated. The tolerated list was the longest, probably due to the fact that once the girl started something she just had to finish it.

And then she heard it.

The all-too familiar grumble and gurgle that was only made by a stomach that was empty. The man seemed embarrassed about the noise and tried to hide it with a hand over his stomach. Twyla just smiled and reached a hand down into one of the outside pockets of her purse. "Did you miss your lunch or something?" She asked as she leaned over the canvas sack, her hair falling out from behind her ears to hide her face as she searched. Finally her hand closed around a thick bar that she proceeded to pull out and hold in the space between man and girl. "I keep a granola bar in my purse, if you want it." Another smile. Actually, the girl kept several granola bars in her purse, along with a water bottle and a first aide hit that included sunscreen and pepper spray. Makeup hardly made an appearance in any of the girl's bags, and in its place Twyla kept a bunch of random things for 'just in case' situations.

Ilari had hoped that the growl had gone unnoticed, and so, when the young woman asked if he'd missed a lunch, a slight cringe crossed his features. He'd missed a lot of lunches. And dinners. And breakfasts. He wasn't about to say that, though, and he was going to dismiss the question jokingly, when food was offered to him.

It took effort not to look in awe of the food, and the woman who was just... giving it to him!? He set his book down in his lap and reached out a hand and gently, almost tentatively, took the granola bar.

"Yeah," he murmured, rather distractedly as he looked the granola bar over, silently thanking the universe that he wasn't allergic to anything, so that was one thing he didn't have to worry about. "I missed lunch, that is- Thank you!" He hastily added the last bit on, remembering his manners. It only took a moment of struggling with the wrapper before he got the snack bar from it's packaging, and he could eat it. He was sure to munch on it politely, rather than scarf the whole thing down.

"I've been busy," he excused after swallowing the first - absolutely heavenly - bite. "Sometimes that means I forget to eat." That was true. Additionally, he seemed much calmer, now, and was allowing himself to make better eye-contact with the woman. He no longer felt intimidated by talking to the other, as this young woman was clearly a kind person, and didn't seem like she would do anything to harm him. Vaguely, he wondered when he had gotten so paranoid about other people. Surely, he didn't have to be afraid of a teenage girl! Surely it wasn't fear. It was more like intimidation.

Either way, the seemingly small act - that the woman likely thought nothing of - restored a great amount of Ilari's faith in humanity. So, he offered a bit of politeness in return. It was the best he could do, really.

"My name's Ilari, by the way," he said, holding his free hand out to shake. Later, he might regret giving his name out, because of some paranoia that he'd instilled himself with, but this girl seemed trustworthy. She certainly seemed to trust him just fine. For a stranger, that is.

Granola bar status: accepted. He seemed a little nervous about it, but that made sense--he could have a food allergy or he really was as shy as Twyla's vibes were picking up on. Content with her random act of kindness, the girl smiled and readjusted her purse beside her. Twyla nodded when he said he'd missed lunch and gave her a thank you. "No problem." A shrug. That's why she kept those kind of things in her bag--it was all about 'what if?' situations with the blond. She didn't carry much money with her but she carried a bunch of random objects that weighted her utilitarian purse down, not that she noticed the weight much anymore.

The man admitted to being busy and forgetting to eat lunch. Another nod. "I know how that is, I've done that before." Sometimes if she had a packed schedule at school she forgot to eat supper because she was studying in the library. She'd stand up, intending on going to her room and then bed only to be light headed. Then she'd have to make a half an hour detour that usually gave her a stomach ache or heartburn when she tried finally to fall asleep. Hunger could be ignored for a while but it always caught up with you eventually.

A hand made its way into the girl's field of vision and a name made it's way into her ears. Ilari, huh? Twyla had never heard that name before, but that didn't mean much as she wasn't the most worldly person ever to walk the streets of New York. One of her own hands met the outstretched one and she looked the man, Ilari, in the eyes as she replied and shook. "Nice to meet you, Ilari. I'm Twyla." And it was, nice to meet him that is--he hadn't given her any reason to think it wasn't nice to meet him. If he had, they probably wouldn't have gotten to introductions because the girl would have bailed--either going back to the Mansion or going to a different section of the park. Innocent until proven creepy and all that.

Ilari had decided that he rather liked Twyla. Her name was just as light and upbeat as she seemed to be, which was a pleasant change from the shady characters he usually associated with. Plus, she seemed about the age of his little sister. Just being around the young woman - Twyla - seemed to curb some of the pain he felt from missing his own little sister so much. He'd have to save money to visit her, some time.

"It's nice to meet you, too," he replied, surprised at how sincerely he felt that. He finished the granola bar off and glanced around for a trash can. The bar certainly would help him focus enough to get money to find a proper meal. He drew his gaze along the surrounding area, and he not only spotted a proper trash receptacle, but he found a good mark to take some money from. He stood, then, and brushed his clothes off.

"I'm going to have to go get some lunch." He laughed softly as he spoke, lighthearted for the first time in a while. "Like I said. Was nice meeting you!"

That done, he started off, first moving to throw the granola bar's wrapper in the trash. He hated to rush off from Twyla so quickly, almost not wanting to leave her alone in the middle of Central Park. So, he kept a watchful eye on the young woman as he tried to find his target, again.

She smiled when the man, Ilari, said it was also nice to meet her. The smile remained on her face as she watched him stand up. Twyla nodded and laughed a bit quietly as well when he said he needed to go get some lunch. "That would probably be a good idea. You too!" Brown eyes watched the man walk away and throw away his wrapper from her granola bar. More kudos points were awarded for not littering and then the girl's mind was off on other things, more specifically the book that still sat unopened in her lap. 'Come on!' It begged. 'It's a wonderful day to read outside, don't waste your light!'

And then the light was gone.

For a second the young mutant was confused and then she realized that a shadow had descended across her sitting form, making it difficult to read the tiny print of the paperback. "Um, excuse me..." She twisted her torso so that she could look at the light thief. He was tall-ish, a bit stocky and wearing athletic shorts with a purple and white basketball sweatshirt of some kind. A baseball cap was placed backwards on his head and he had a face full of freckles and acne scars. If Twyla had to guess she'd place him as a college student--a few years older than her self but not yet thirty. (She didn't guess, as she knew anyway that she was terrible at guessing ages.)

"Excuse yourself." He looked down at her and then squinted to, she assumed, get a better look. "Am I in your way, cutie?" Ugh a million times over. 'Cutie' was a word that should never be used on anyone over the age of ten--it was creepy otherwise, a fact not lost on the blond since the last time she'd been called 'cutie' she'd been hit on by a many with a creeper soul patch. "Nope." Twyla replied curtly, gathering up her things and scrambling to her feet. "I was just leaving." Avoidance. Don't look back just walk. Walk don't run.

"Oh, I'll leave with you--where you headed, cutie?" She absolutely dreaded the repeat of that word so of course, there the college kid was, using it twice. Twyla said nothing in response to this, just tried to keep her walking not running--a difficult feat as her pace began to increase the more she got agitated and nervous. They were in the middle of a park and there were a decent number of people around but Twyla was still getting nervous, it was just a natural reaction to an undesirable situation.

And then there was a hand.

Even worse than bad pronouns was physical contact. This particular contact was in the form of a meaty paw on her shoulder, causing her to whip around and stop in her tracks. "I said, where you headed?" Closer inspection of his face showed dilated pupils--maybe Baseball Cap was high? It sure explained his instant touching and the slightly feral way he was looking at her. The situation was becoming less and less desirable and Twyla's eyes scanned the park for any helpful-looking passerby.

Ilari had taken his attention away from Twyla long enough to lift someone's wallet from their back pocket. He fished around and picked about forty dollars from the thing. While he slipped the money into his pocket and tossed the wallet back, to land somewhere by the target, so that the man would think he'd only dropped it, he glanced back to where he'd left the young woman.

She had moved from her spot, and Ilari had a very slight moment of worry before he finally managed to spot her again. At first, he'd relaxed, having spotted her again. However, she was with another person, and a quick glance told him that it was not someone that the young woman liked. A closer inspection showed that the situation was very tense, and that Twyla didn't want to be there at all. And so, he rushed forward, pushing through a group of people in order to stalk toward Twyla and the baseball cap wearing idiot.

The man seemed unsteady on his own feet. Ilari didn't take that as good news. If the man was under the influence - and he certainly looked like he was - there was the chance that he was capable of doing things no sober man could do. People on drugs could do some truly frightening things.

"I said. Where you going?" Baseball Cap had snapped. His grip on the young woman's shoulder tightened, and he was clearly not in the mood to continue this verbal spar with Twyla. He'd probably take what he wanted, or make sure no one else got it. At least, that's how Ilari saw it.

There were many reasons that hot rage was coursing through Ilari's veins. One, Baseball Cap was picking on a smaller person - a female, whom he must have perceived as weaker. Two, he was under the influence of something, and things like excessive alcohol and drug use disgusted Ilari, especially when it lead to conduct such as this. Three, and the most important little detail, Twyla seemed to be the same age as Ilari's little sister. She even looked a bit like the girl, and it was good that Ilari wasn't looking too far into that connection, or he would have completely threw away his usual method and flew into a fight with no previous planning.

Step one was to get his attention.

"Hey, asshole." Ilari spat pure venom at the other man, his voice suddenly deeper and more gruff than it was when he had spoken to Twyla, earlier. He was practically growling. "She's not interested."

"An' who're you to tell me that?" Baseball Cap whirled around, keeping his hold on Twyla, though she might be able to slip away if she tried. He spotted Ilari and laughed. The blond mutant was tall, but not necessarily intimidatingly muscular. He looked like some kind of street punk, whereas Baseball Cap looked like a football player.

Regardless, Ilari wasn't scared that he'd be squished like a bug. He was worried that Twyla would get hurt, and that transformed into pure older-brotherly rage.

Step two was to intimidate.

"Does it matter?" Ilari hissed, glad that he wasn't wearing his hood, as he used his face to communicate the protective rage that coursed through him, projecting it at his new target. Though, if Baseball Cap was under the influence, he probably wouldn't be swayed so easily. "Get the hell away from her, and you won't get hurt."

"I said. Where you going?" His grip on her shoulder tightened and mild fear turned into panic as the girl's eyes began to dart about frantically, searching for help and her mind whirred through the random self defense moves she'd been practicing. Thankfully, helpful passerby were apparently not all that hard to come by. Helpful passerby came in the form of an almost-stranger named Ilari. Ilari's first step in extracting her from Baseball Cap was to swear at him. This made Twyla's eyes widen as she looked between the two men, waiting for a response. Before the college boy could say anything the blond man proceeded to tell him that she wasn't interested.

The girl realized that at first baseball Cap hadn't been able to tell where Ilari was, because a moment later his head and torso spun around to better lock his eyes on the man she'd seen a few moments previous. With the distraction she hoped that his hold had loosened, but she was being dragged along for the ride as it so happened. Twyla's fears were slightly abated, since she was no longer facing Baseball Cap alone...

But Ilari, for all his sudden helpfulness (and anger) was a bit on the scrawny side. Apparently Baseball Cap was thinking the same thing, because he gruffly asked who the other man was. More semi-scary anger came by way of reply from Ilari, who also threatened Baseball Cap. Baseball Cap apparently did not like this. "Oh, you're gonna hurt me now?" His hand dropped off of Twyla's shoulder as he stepped closer to the smaller man, half raising his fists.

Freedom, sweet freedom. The girl's initial response was to run away and her second response was to stay, and watch the scene to make sure that the distraction came out okay. It seemed silly, to ruin his distracting appearance by sticking around, but Twyla only got a few steps away before she had to stop and turn around. The college boy took another slightly shaky step forward, his face reddening in anger. "Huh, little man, you gonna hurt me now?" He was decidedly under the influence of something, his slight slur and shaking body were proof of this. A few other passerby had glanced their way, but none had been inclined to stop, apparently. In the back of her mind, Twyla weighed the merits of screaming until someone came and dealt with the situation.

"Huh, little man?" Baseball Cap slurred. "You gonna hurt me, now!?"

That was a good question. Or, at least, it brought up a good question.

Step three was where Ilari's normal plan of action forked, and he could take two ways. Step three was either to cause a distraction and escape unharmed, or to really get into a fight. Normally, the decision was easy. Ilari didn't want to get injured. At all. Ever. For one, he preferred to avoid pain, and, for two, it was hard to perform as a professional thief while hurt. Especially if the injuries were of the broken-bone variety. So, which way to go?

His elder-brother instincts weren't helping much, either. On one hand, they were telling him to escape, to protect Twyla. On the other hand, they were telling him to beat the ever-loving shit out of the man who'd tried to hurt her. Funny, how that worked, right?

The more he thought about it, however - the more he stared at the swaying, intoxicated man in front of him - the more anger built in Ilari. It didn't help that he hadn't been to the gym in a while, and so he hadn't managed proper stress relief in a long time. He felt as if his anger was disproportional. He'd only known Twyla for about twenty minutes, and yet, there he was, fists clenched tightly with the same anger that gave his voice a low, rough, and icily fatal edge.

It was only natural, what happened next.

Of course, he had the advantage of surprise. Still, Ilari only looked scrawny because he wore over-sized clothing. It was all about making your opponent under estimate you. With a wordless, sharp cry, Ilari drove his fist forward, and he had to resist a sick grin when his hand collided squarely with Baseball Cap's nose. He recoiled sharply, after that hit, and spared a look to Twyla.

"Get out of here, kid," he called, his voice strangely calm, given the situation. "Run, while he's dealing with me."

Unfortunately, his division of attention cost him. He'd underestimated the man in front of him, expecting that, because he seemed drunk, he would be mostly harmless. However, that assumption - as well as most thoughts - were driven from his head with the returning blow of Baseball Cap's large, meaty fist. It knocked him back several feet, and off of his feet.

Ilari wasn't surprised that no one was helping, but, rather, they were forming a crowd. Ilari wasn't surprised that Baseball Cap was sauntering over, grinning like the cat who'd got the cream.

So, why was Ilari surprised when a foot collided harshly with his chest? Why was he surprised when it happened again? Why the hell was he surprised that Baseball Cap was stomping on him while he was down?

Good question. He'd have to think on that later. At the moment, Ilari focused on rolling out from underneath the larger man's foot. He scrambled to his feet, not taking a moment to pause and breathe. Pausing would give Baseball Cap too many openings.

So, against what he would later look back on with better judgment, Ilari launched himself at the larger man's face. He extended a palm, as quickly as possible, and let off a flash of light. It was, perhaps, only as bright as a camera flash, so that others wouldn't be bothered by it. However, he sent it off right in Baseball Cap's face.

As the larger man recoiled, covering his eyes and giving a howl of pain, Ilari fell back, clutching his chest and breathing hard. He swept his gaze around, wildly, for Twyla, and ignored the shocked and confused stares he was getting from the crowd. He ignored the mixed reactions, the approving whispers, the terrified murmurs, and the one or two yells, because his head was swimming, and it hurt to breathe.

Nothing seemed broken, though, so his chest wasn't the priority. No, Twyla's safety was priority. Breathing was priority, too, though. He had to make sure he kept doing that.

There was a few tense moments and then...

and then Ilari lunged towards the other guy and punched him in the face. Right in the nasal sector. Hard enough that Twyla could hear the noise it made as all the pieces of his face crunched together. Did he just seriously...? It didn't matter. She had an opening to leave, the stranger was making it for her. He also took his attention off the larger man to tell her so. Twyla took a few steps back and almost turned around again but the sight of the blond getting knocked off his feet stopped her.

There was a small crowd. They were staring. This made Twyla angry. None of them made a move to help stop the fighting. People sucked so much sometimes.

Twyla took a step forward when the larger man did but he was too fast for her and soon he'd slammed his foot hard into Ilari's chest several times. She still hadn't run. She should have ran. She could have ran, there was plenty of time for it. And then Ilari got up and lunged at the man again, although this time he didn't strike him, a strange light erupted from what looked like his hand (but it happened too fast for the girl to tell) and Baseball Cap recoiled, covering his face.

Ilari was a mutant too.

The girl finally found her legs again and she walked quickly closer to the man who'd just manipulated some kind of light somehow. It was her turn for some physical contact, becuase she grabbed him by the arm and started dragging him quickly away from the crowd and the man who was still rubbing at his face as if there was something in his eyes that he could rub out with his meaty fists. When they were a safe-ish distance away Twyla finally spoke. "Are you alright?" A brief pause, not enough for him to respond. "I saw what you did. You're a mutant, right?" It was straight forward and to the point and a little bit rude, but the girl wanted to make sure she saw what she saw.