“Ladies and Gentleman, I’d like to welcome to the stage our loveliest pianist, Layla!” The sound of applause was broken only by a few wolf-whistles. As the lights dimmed, the curved silhouette was seen entering stage left, walking toward center stage where the grand piano was positioned. The spotlight flared to life, illuminating the sultry woman who sat gracefully on the hard bench. Long, tapered digits caressed the faux ivory of the keys, and caramel eyes leveled on the crowd beneath devastatingly long lashes. With the felicitous smile upon her full, ruby lips, Xavia Warshalai, AKA Layla, nodded and turned her attention to the instrument before her.

The notes rang out at her fingertips, which looked like they merely floated over every key without touch. The sparkling black of the dress she wore, glinted with every sway of her body, and the enraptured crowd stared in awe as the musician played. And then she began to sing, her voice pure as gold, filling the auditorium with such a beautiful sound that was taking over the audience.

NYC was in love with the mystery of Layla, a woman who showed up in the streets, wandering aimlessly and not revealing much about herself. She was well versed in the art of the song, and auditioned for a jazz club and soon became a major contender among local celebs. There was something quite enchanting about the brunette, an ethereal typed air about her. Was it the graceful tilt of her chin? Or was it the smoldering brown of her eyes? She was much written about by local papers, the center of gossip that tries to explain her appearance.

To Xavia, she was just trying to make some money. She didn’t seem to care about the small amount of fame she was gaining with the public. This made for more talk. It didn’t matter to her, though; she just wanted to play the piano and eat. The only issue she had was her memory, er… the lack thereof anyhow. See, to her, she really WAS Layla. At least, she thought she was. She knew only that she could play a mean piano, and that she had a good set of pipes. Okay, so she knew she was a mutant too, and even found one clue to her identity, being a small scrap of paper with the Kabal symbol on it, what was left of it anyways.

As she finished her song, the crowd surged to their feet, and she got up to take her bow and exit the way she came. She headed for the dressing room, where there was a large bouquet of white roses waiting for her from one Dr. James Lawrence, PHD. Interesting, she thought, leaning in and sniffing the musky scent, curling her hand around the paper covered stems and heading to her dressing table. She gently placed the roses down and pulled out the pins that held her hair up. Letting out a sigh, she thought for a moment if she should approach her admirer. After all, he was handsome enough and had a kind smile. She shook her head and changed into a pair of slacks and a simple blouse.

“Layla” left the building, stopping by her employer’s office long enough to plead a migraine and get a nod of approval. He was most lenient with her, she brought in the dough faster than any of his other entertainers, so letting her go was his way of thanking her for the hard work. “Hey, get better, Kid.” He said, gave her a sweep over with his eyes like he always did, and then smiled like the cat who swallowed the canary.

She shrugged it off and walked toward the street, raising her arm to hail a cab. The plant mutant could now rest her eyes against the whir of lights that was New York, New York.

The long cab ride wasn’t enough, but she didn’t complain as the cabby pulled over on the respectable curb to the location she indicated when she first entered the Taxi, and politely handed over an even amount of cash, leaving the vehicle before he could get her change, lifting her hand to let him know he could just keep it. A $20 tip was always appreciated, and the Cabby was chipper as he left her standing in front of the Hudson Hotel, near Central Park.

She stood in the courtyard for the, gulping in the night air and gazing at the street, simply watching the world go by.

Hotels were the best place to stay when you couldn't make it home. The night had proved to be a bit menacing and the overload of pscyhotic episodes had taken over the acidic mutant and she felt it was safe to park it for the night rather than to return home to the Sanctuary. It was a little far from where she was, and cabs scared her, that she was confined to a single area by the driver of a dangerous contraption. No, cabs were not her friend, she would rather walk. Dressed in her typical fashion, a long black trenchcoat and a facemask, she approached the front desk.

"Room for two on the highest floor, please," she started before the woman could begin her template speaking. Pausing for a second, the hotel clerk did not know what to say next. Ahorta had clearly skipped the 'hi, how are you's' this evening and she wasn't looking to retrace her steps to begin the whole routine.

"Uh, yes, right, um, did you want that two beds or one?" she asked, her fingers lingering on the keyboard, she wasn't sure what to punch in, not just yet.

"One bed," Ahorta said firmly. The desk clerk's eyes lingered on Ahorta's mask, something seemed to remind her about an odd woman with a face mask who stayed at a different hotel in New York, but she couldn't remember quite what it was all about, only that it gave her a negative feeling. She mentally cursed herself for not looking up pictures to find out what exactly that woman looked like. Ahorta could sense the insecurity immediately and she watched the woman slightly slink back. Sighing, she knew what had to be done and she wouldn't like it at all.

Smiling, she removed her face mask, putting on a happy appearance and a sane attitude. Spending her whole life afraid of people and their fake faces taught her how to put on one herself. "I apologize, this is the first time I'm going to see my husband for 8 months, he's been out on business, top secret stuff, you know?" she winked as if it made it even more believeable. "Anyways, when I was little, there was this boy in my class, Tyler Durdan, who punched me in the face for taking his Pokemon card, since then, my nose has been crooked and while my husband, Mr. Harry Goldfarb, was away, I got plastic surgery. He hasn't seen it yet so I wore this to hid it just in case he showed up early. And if he saw me take it off to show you, I will be most displeased, judging me before you even get my name," she snapped coldly at the end to show displease. Of course, she used characters from movies as names.

"So, Mrs. Goldfarb, can I get your lisence?" she asked, trying to get everything situated.

"Check your system, Harry should have already called," she said confidently. Actually, she had called a few minutes back but spoke to another of the three desk clerks and entered information from a stolen wallet, well, it was a wallet from a man who wouldn't be needing it anymore. She had a night to get away with it. The woman clicked away at her computer as Ahorta put back on her mask. These hotels were getting smarter.

"Yes ma'am, you are correct, here is your key, you're in room 821," she said, passing her the card key. Ahorta nodded and left before the woman could ask again for any verification of her identity. The wallet had belonged to someone apparently very powerful in New York and it didn't matter that the room wasn't for him, he was powerful enough to rent out rooms for his friends when they came to live there. She killed someone powerful?! Oops...

Her attention immediately snapped to someone familiar. Not familiar as if she knew the woman, but sort of local celebrity familiar. Now, if the powerful man was as familiar as this woman, maybe his wallet and ring wouldn't be in Ahorta's pocket at the moment. Approaching quietly as to not startle the woman, she spoke up. "You're sort of famous, right?" she asked, trying not to sound like a fan girl or anything. Her paranoid schizophrenic episodes had toned down since she was wiped out, she was feeling more like herself, or the nice side of herself at least.

Had she been here before?

Layla had the distinct sense that she had, indeed, stood in the very spot where her feet rested. Déjà vu? She felt as if she had stopped here before and stared off, but it was a mere glimmer. As she turned to go into the hotel, she stopped mid step and turned back around. Her head started to throb a little as a feeling of melancholy passed through her. It was only brief, but certainly made an impact. She tugged nervously at a strand of hair and let her eyes roam where they might.

Her feeling led her to believe that the key to unlocking her identity lay in the streets of the city that never sleeps. Central Park was the center of all of this, it was most familiar to her. Sometimes she would catch a distant memory of a large, red figure that felt important when she tried to focus, but it never panned out to more than just a blip. She was frustrated with herself, but never said a word about it. All she did was work, wander, and sleep. Every day was the same monotony: Get up, morning triple S ritual, eat, off to work, come back to her suite, sleep…

She lifted a hand to her throbbing temple and stood there, wondering if she would ever get rid of the 24/7 head ache she had going. All this pondering wasn’t helping, but what else could she do? She was somebody she knew she wasn’t, playing a role as if she was meant to be who she wasn’t. Who the hell was she? What was her purpose? Wh---

Someone cut her off mid thought by asking her a question. Her woolgathering stopped almost instantly, and she snapped back to reality. “Famous?” A look of genuine confusion crossed over her visage and she turned her gaze toward the female who made the inquiry. “I… suppose I am, but I don’t care for it.” She gave a slight shrug and turned her gaze to the street once again. “All they see is a stranger who they pretend to know, and then put them through the wringer when they aren’t the ideal picture in fanatic heads.” The Hungarian of her accent was slight as she spoke, her voice distant. “Why do you ask?”

Her mouth curled upward on one side as she gave a sloppy, but polite smile to the one whom spoke to her. She lifted her arms against her chest as if to hug herself while she waited for the other to reply. If the other looked closely, she would see the slight difference in color to the make up on Layla’s face, the sign of healing flesh covered with foundation and pigment, yet still slightly visible in the light, glowing from the lamps overhead.

There were famous people in New York, it was a given. Most of them were business men and therefore unrecognizable until you, let's say, kill them during a fit of psychotic episodes. Then there were entertainers, well, they were easier to recognize, they weren't as boring as the suited business men. Though something else caught Ahorta's attention about the 'kinda famous' woman in front of her. She was staring off into space, rubbing her head. There was something going on with her, something below the surface and the look in her eyes as she gazed off told Ahorta this was someone who may not be crazy in this world. Everyone was crazy. They had snakes...as pets! Or they were snakes, in their phony human disguises. Humans, they were the masters of all gross infections, all diseases, all vermon, even clowns were designed by humans to make their children happy/make everyone afraid of a red nose a big shoes.

Her words were the best part about her as well. She truly understood that humans seemed to misunderstand a mutant and ignore that one must be treated with respect enough for the human to get to know them. Though Ahorta did not know if this woman was a mutant, all she knew was she had the right mindset. Her eyes widening a little in excitement, she spoke up again. "It's part of human nature to see what they want, not what is," she said broadly. Though while she was talking about how humans see another human infront of them instead of a giant newt or how they see a monster mutant instead of a gifted child, she spoke it broad enough to not scare away the woman just yet. The last time she thought someone understood her, they stared at her with a blank expression and then ran away as quickly as possible. Nobody understood.

Ahorta's eyes scanned the girl, a little too obviously. Her dress was fancy, but there was something about her face that struck her as odd. Still, Ahorta couldn't figure it out. Pulling her eyes from the woman, she looked around the street to not make the woman feel uncomfortable by staring at her face. "I've never met anyone even supposingly famous," she said, shuffling her feet and taking another glance at the woman's face. She would pin it soon enough, but at the moment, she was having some difficulties. Though she was supposedly famous, the Hotel Hysteric, as the News came to call her. She needed to find something else to wear on her face to keep others from staring at her, maybe she could cover it with a scarf or bandages. She could not very well take it off though, not for long periods of time, she could die from inhaling any poisons in the world!

The “famous” one was silent in contemplation, paying attention only enough to know she was being spoken to, and what was being said, but staring off otherwise. A graceful digit lifted and began to tap at her lips, only for a moment, and she seemed hesitant to leave this state of manner for that time. It was only after watching a jogger clomp by toward Central Park that she finally replied, “I am just another, nameless soul who happens to be known for a talent that many other people have. Fame is an intrusion, really. I just try to work so I can survive in this world. One foot in front of the other, you know? I could care less for this…” she paused and pivoted to sweep her arm in a gesture toward the Hudson, which was one of the high end hotels in NYC.

The whole time she had been standing there, she never once looked at the woman who spoke to her. Sure, she made eye contact a few times, but it was more like she looked through her to another location. Unfocused was a good word to use for this circumstance. Yet she was calm and collected, put together, articulated, and sure she stood there in a designer blouse and slacks with those, patent-pizza-slice shaped shoes that looked like a pain, and though the pretty baubles at her throat and wrists and the pretty clothes covered her frame, she didn’t fit that mold. She certainly didn’t have the evil grossness that consumed a lot of those who had money and power. She wore the clothes like a uniform.

Layla turned and looked back at the passing traffic once more, tapping her lips with that same digit from before. “People dream of this…. $!@# (Crap). But there has to be something more to life than this…” The latter part of the statement was definitely directed at herself, but could be interpreted however the other saw fit.

The report of a car horn and the resulting, “Move it, A-hole!” Caused her to flinch and shake her head, as if clearing it. She blinked a few times and then, for the first time, focused on the other. There was no surprise or disgust in her gaze, no contempt, nothing of the sort. It took the jazz singer a moment of reflection to delve deeper into the innuendo that was the statement made about human kind. She tilted her head to the left, her eyes squinting only slightly. “You say ‘they’ as if you aren’t one of them…” Her comment was soft spoken, but not accusing.

She wondered what the other meant by saying what she did. Did she mean that she was like Layla? A mutant, something more than just a mere human being, she mused, someone called a freak even though they felt pain just as anyone else did. This bothered her. Nobody had the right to hurt another person the way they do, yet it happened every day, every turn.

Another thought that came to mind was the small scrap of paper that she found in her clothing after she had recouped enough to get out of dodge. A man had given her a passport and a fake ID, said to go as far away as she could from Romania. She never got his name, only knew that he had been watching over her for some time. She wondered if the woman in front of her knew anything about the symbol on that piece of paper, and what it represented. She waited almost anxiously for the woman to say something, maybe confide in her that she, too, could do extraordinary things.

The more and more the woman talked, the more and more Ahorta appreciated her. Her words were chosen wisely and the whole time, she did not turn to face Ahorta, it meant she was speaking directly through her thoughts instead of molding them to fit that of the other in the conversation. Humans were good at that, when they were with another, their opinions usually changed simply to meet and even exceed the expectations of the other, to gain popularity. Though the woman in front of her had more popularity than most in the city and yet she didn't want it. She treated it as though it was a job, not a career, not a life time love, just a means to an end.

While she remained gazing off into the night, Ahorta continued to scan her face, still not able to piece together what was off. Then it hit her like a sack of bricks, something had happened. Either something happened or she was a mutant and therefor had skin like that naturally. It was growing less and less likely that she was human for Ahorta's schizophrenic episodes would have most likely kicked in by now, unless of course, they were taking a break from the last episode with the rich man. No matter what she was, something had happened to her face, either a burn or a blunder, something happened. Ahorta was not in the proper standing to mention the slight celebrity's face.

While the crazed mutant had never been positively famous, she was sure she wouldn't enjoy it, too much attention from those she spent her life hiding from. "There's always something more to life than what's in front of us," she said, not referring to herself, but rather the city that the woman had her eyes and thoughts focused on. An angry driver drove by and honked his horn only to be met by the angry words of another New Yorker. The scene was typical for New York, but Ahorta could see the vermin in the cars that were arguing through their vehicles. One was a rat while the other was a giant worm. They continued to drive without giving Ahorta any more trouble.

The other woman saw through the words Ahorta had used and picked out the one the crazy mutant could include herself in "humans". A slight bit of fear rushed over her, was she discovered? Was this other woman a mutant as well? Was she a scout for the psychologists? Collecting herself, she decided a sort of elusive answer would be the best. "Being excluded from that wasn't my choice, it was their's," she said, though that was because she was a mutant and insane.

She watched the other carefully, something she had learned to do after she woke up. There was always a fifty percent chance that a person could be telling a lie, the eyes could reveal just about anything. Layla never took a chance trusting someone right away, she reserved her thoughts for later in the game. What made a person tick anyway?

Her gaze was intense for a pregnant moment, the silence somewhat heavy as she openly eyed the stranger in front of her. Down, her eyes roamed, looking for identifying marks or objects, body language, and et cetera, while aware of the possibility that she could put the other at great unease. It wasn’t her intention, of course, it was force of habit more than anything. “If you say so,” she said quietly, choosing not to make for conflict.

Perhaps the younger one wouldn’t have the information she needed. She felt slightly crestfallen that she had nobody to confide in, she didn’t know who to trust. However, she softened and turned away to look at the streets once again. “Besides, everybody is the same somehow. Everyone has faults and secrets, gifts and the lack thereof.” Her accent thickened, as did the tone of her voice, which cracked slightly at the end of the statement. She did not, however, show any sign of emotion aside from that slight change in her voice. Her face was a mask of serenity, neither laughing, nor crying, no smile or frown, just a relaxed expression.

Odder still was the fact that she didn’t ask questions after her initial inquiry. She had clearly noticed the way the other was dressed, her manner of stance, and whatnot, even the mask that she had pulled down before approaching her; she hadn’t missed a detail. Layla didn’t ask what the other was doing at a high end hotel or why, though. She didn’t butt in and had no intention of doing so. There was enough of that happening anyways *If only the local papers knew, they would be in up to their eyeballs trying to sniff for more details.*

She pivoted and headed toward the revolving door of the hotel, pausing to say over her shoulder, “Perhaps if ‘they,’ as you put them, should learn to live with imperfection.” She gazed at one of the topiaries by the door, palming a wilted blossom. When she pulled her hand away to push the door open, the bloom was vibrant once more. It happened so quickly that it would most likely take a moment for the other to realize something happened, or she would simply shrug it off. Either way, she did it to test the waters with the other woman, see if she would follow, perhaps see what the next move would be, and it was done subtly so it could easily be passed off as a trick of the mind.

As she entered the lobby, the clerk gave her a bright smile and spoke to her. If Ahorta remained outside, she would see Layla gesture and shake her head, and if she followed, she would hear a brief conversation between the two, basically an invitation that she declined and then headed for the elevator to get to her suite on the top floor.

The statement sent a shiver down Ahorta's spine. Everyone was the same somehow? Ahorta was not human, in fact, she was furthest from human simply because they were the root of all of her problems, both mental and physical. Without humans, she would never have any need to break her bones and survive, she would never have been thrown down stairs without an abusive human father. Without humans, she would not have as many psychotic episodes, she would not be so frightened. Without humans, she would have never been thrown in a psychiatric hospital for diagnosis. Without humans, she would be...normal.

Though she had to give humans some sort of credit. Without everything, her eyes would have never opened and her powers would have never arised, she would have been human without humans. "I am nothing like everyone else," she said with an overwhelming sense of self-truth. In her own twisted mind, she bore no resemblance to any human life form, only mutants. The stance of the woman, the look in her eyes was nothing to be afraid of and definitely nothing to start a battle over, so she reduced the amount of disappointment in her words, disappointment that the woman compared her to humans.

She turned and went towards the lobby, but Ahorta's eyes were pinned on her, curious as to where her night companion was headed in such a hurry. When she reached the revolving door, she grabbed a flower and made it beautiful. The pair were quite the opposite, while the slightly famous now-discovered mutant could create beauty, instill life in a dying flower, Ahorta could take that life away, disentigrate it until it bore no resemblance to what it used to be. The other woman's power was absolutely beautiful, probably the best power Ahorta had ever seen. With that little show, the woman walked back into the lobby.

Ahorta stood her ground for a moment, not sure if she should follow. Most people already found her odd by her face mask, but the second she revealed herself as a mutant, she became a double threat. The mental instability coupled with acidic powers and unbreakable bones, it was a dangerous mixture to the human race. Though the woman had said something incorrect before she left, it seemed like she called the amazing and beautiful power of her's was an imperfection, a mutation, as human kind had come to call it. When a human began to show signs of being something more, of having powers humans could never achieve, suddenly, they were the mutants.

She caught up with her new comrade at the elevators, eager to use her power to help the plant. Usually, her power was destructive, but there was a hidden feature to it, if you eat away everything she loved to eat through, the concrete, the buildings, the city, you got dirt, you got nature, you got the beginning of everything. At the elevator, Ahorta bent down on one knee and pulled off her glove. Sticking the palm of her hand flat on the ground, the acid seeped through her pores and ate away at the floor. It was a couple of inches before she hit the dirt underneath the marble flooring. "There, you can plant it now. And evolution, which is what we are, is the natural advancement towards perfection. Mutants aren't the imperfect, we're the next step," she said, keeping her voice low enough so others wouldn't hear. Though it was impossible to keep secrets from New York, the buildings seemed to 'spill the beans' on anyone and everyone. No one was a friend to the City.

As the other approached, the woman stopped. She put her arm out to hold the elevator open and watched the other and lifted both brows, not in surprise, and said nothing. And when the words stopped, the plant manipulator gave a slow smile, and gestured with the graceful sweep of her arm to the open space of the elevator. Not here, the gesture said. She waited for Ahorta to enter the elevator, and if she did, she stepped aside.

She didn’t trust the woman completely yet, though there was more there than before knowing that she wasn’t the only one who could do extraordinary things. Layla looked at Ahorta with a measured gaze, pondering what the next move would be. Of course, if she followed, Layla would take the woman to her own suite to speak with her in private. She didn’t even trust the elevator for this type of conversation.

The ride up to the top floor was a long one, and she remained silent in contemplation. When the doors were open once again, (if the other followed), she started off toward the suite she called home for now. She held the door open for her companion and closed it once the other was inside. “So I was right, I’m not alone,” she finally said, her back to Ahorta again as she opened the little fridge and pulled out some carbonated water, opening that with a hiss and pouring some into a glass she reached for. She turned around, offering the bottle to the other without expression. “You didn’t seem like the type of person who would be able to stay in a place like this. You stick out like a sore thumb among all of these blue blooded bastards.” She gestured to the garb the other wore.

Drink in hand, she moved to sit down on the oversized sectional, prim as a princess but without the disgusting attitude. “I suppose there are questions to be asked. No?” A plucked brow lifted inquisitively. She, herself, had questions.

The one who stepped into the elevator was very secretive, which was good and bad. It was good because it was apparent that the other understood how humans cannot understand them and they were so fearful of anyone who could weild any sort of power. OR it was that this other wished Ahorta dead and did not want any witnesses. The door was held open for her, but Ahorta strongly considered not entering the tiny secluded room, just in case anything was to happen in there. Her mouth twitched a little in thought as she debated whether to enter, but finally, she stepped forward to join the other. If anything happened, she could fight in a small space and the cameras would show she was not doing the crime. Though if Ahorta was ever killed an ID'ed in autopsy, she was sure the world would be happy, even celebratory of her demise. Evil beings...

The elevator ride was long and it felt like they were on their way up to see Ahorta's boss and Layla was just the messenger that took her there. Ahorta stood in the back of the elevator, her eyes fixed on Layla in case she got any funny ideas, but she did not and the ride reached its destination. Ahorta had already forgotten which room she was in as they stepped out and Layla made her way towards what had to be her own room. She held the door open for the crazed mutant and Ahorta entered, making a note of where to go if she needed to escape quickly.

"Certainly not alone, there are many others out there, but some are just as crazy, it's hard to tell friends from enemies," she said, speaking on more dangerous enemies than a human who looked at a mutant strangely. The woman offered a bottle of water, but it went against all of Ahorta's life lessons, never accept anything from a stranger that could enter her digestive system or blood flow. Trying not to be rude, she simply shook her head and lifted a gloved hand to inform her companion she was not thirsty. "I'm fine, thank you," she added, trying even harder to make herself not seem so crazy. Now that they were in private, it would be easier for Ahorta to be vulnerable and mentioning her fears could come back to bit her in the rear.

"I couldn't make it home tonight and this was the nearest hotel," she answered, excluding the man from earlier and the fear of dark nights. Being a paranoid schizophrenic had its downsides, one of them was not being able to make it home during panic attacks. Questions? What sort of questions? Questions about how she escaped the mental institution? Questions about the man from earlier in the night? Questions about her overall sense of fear? "Well you don't stick out too terribly in this crowd, but you definitely don't look like you wish to belong," Ahorta said, beating Layla to the questions in hopes that she could prepare for any sort of question Ahorta did not want to answer.

The woman gave a shrug when the other was disinclined to take the offered drink, and set the club soda on the coffee table for a refill for later. She then reclined some, and gestured toward a chair politely. She considered her questions for Ahorta for the time being and pondered upon the situation. Here she was, face to face with another of her kind. The woman hadn’t hesitated to show her powers of to Layla, it was precisely what she had hoped to achieve, but not in the lobby of the hotel.

“It certainly hasn’t been a cake walk on my end. I have a disadvantage.” She gave pause to take a long drink of her bubbly water, before setting the half empty glass down next to the half empty bottle. Layla leaned on her knees then, peering intently at her guest as she pursed her lips. How much could she confide in the other woman? All these questions swirled around in her head and she didn’t know which to ask first. “I don’t stick out because I intend on blending in. You are right in that I don’t wish to belong here. While I admire the beauty of this room, it isn’t a happy place, a home. There are no friends here, only people who think they know me, but how could they? Nobody knows me… Not even myself.” A soft snort is given, and she relaxed back tiredly.

It should have been clear at that point that Layla had no intention of attacking or causing trouble. She would have done so by now, but she didn’t have reason. Her powers weren’t all that strong in any case, so threatening was one thing the plant manipulator was not. Ahorta could have attacked her as well, but she hadn’t. Perhaps fate had a hand in their meeting and they were supposed to help each other.

“Do you know anything about mutants in Romania?” she asked then, and for the first time, had a child like hope in her gaze. Layla was desperate to know who she really was, what her life was, and why she was in Romania before she came to the states. It was a pretty blunt question, quite direct, but it meant business.

The woman got comfortable, which calmed down the schizophrenic significantly. When people remained standing in a tensed position, it generally meant they were ready to attack once Ahorta got comfortable. The woman offered a seat, but Ahorta hovered near it for a moment, listening with her eyes scanning the seat over to make sure there was nothing amiss. Finally, she took a seat, still listening to the other woman's hardships. As if being an acidic mutant was not hard enough to control, but she could not imagine having to deal with another power, especially nature. With nature came bugs...

The woman was quite relaxed, but she leaned in towards Ahorta, which made her shrink back a little. She was trying, in fact, this was probably one of the most calm encounters she had ever had. Still, everything could go wrong in a single instance. She did not know who she was? That was a change, Ahorta was the only person who knew who Ahorta was, she could not imagine what would happen if she found out she did not know herself. "If you don't mind me asking, how do you not know who you are?" she asked, stepping into the confession ring, she knew she would be asked something she did not want to answer eventually.

A blink immediately followed the woman's question. Romania? "Only a few things. I heard they had a Registration Act like what we had a while back, where mutants were put into camps," she said, leaning back in thought, she was becoming more and more comfortable with every moment. "A few mutants around here went missing too, I heard some went over to help. Then it was on the news that the camps broke free and suddenly everyone was back," she said. She only knew this because some people she recognized were in footage of the break out, but she did not know them well enough to ask what happened. "Why?"

"How do I not know who I am? What kind of silly question is that?" She asked softly, but not maliciously or defensively... "I simply don't know... I... Argh, it is so complicated." Layla palmed her forehead at that point and mumbled, speaking to herself in another language completely, clearly frustrated, but not directing the frustration at the other female by any means... She was pretty much searching for the right reply to give to Ahorta and seeming to fail miserably.

"I woke up one day in Romania... And... There was something going on. I mean... I don't remember anything before I woke up, I just remember being told things is all... I just... Want some clues... And I don't know who to trust..."

She sort of wibbled, but it was so brief it could have been missed. Any emotion she just showed at that moment was lost when she steeled herself and sat up ramrod straight, peering at Ahorta with a tilted head.

"Tell me about you... I mean... What are you looking to do? How could you help me?"

Xavia still had no questions about the appearance of the one she spoke to. She still didn't make mention of the mask, or any of the peculiar behaviors... She seemed to treat Ahorta like a human being should be treated, and then some... Perhaps she was afraid to ask questions or to pry into that one's business. Heck, she was peculiar herself, no? I mean, there she was, this amnesiac, standing on the middle of the crowded sidewalk, staring off into the distance as if she was in the middle of the dessert.And then she took some strange woman up to her suite and was holding a conversation. The woman trully was desperate for answers, apparently.

Simplicity seemed to be the most rare concept in humanity today. Everything was complicated, so it was no surprise that the woman Ahorta found herself keeping company with could not explain how she did not know who she was. Perhaps she meant it an a deeper way that Ahorta had originally perceived. Perhaps she did not mean she did not know who she was but rather she did not know what she was supposed to do with herself. It seemed fairly more logical of a question, but still, Ahorta was unsure of what the other woman was talking about. The woman spoke to herself in a different language and Ahorta curiously raised an eyebrow. What was she saying that she did not want Ahorta to hear? Some people spoke in their first language because it was soothing to hear the familiar tones in the language, but it often meant it was a secret.

"Mutants," she responded with a firm belief. "You can trust mutants. Well, most mutants at least, there are some that are...odd," she shrugged, watching the other woman with confusion and curiousity. The lady jumped back and forth from the emotions she projected on her face. One second she was confused, another concerned, another desperate and then finally she landed on determined. It was the better one of the choices, but it was interesting to watch each emotion play on her face, even if only for a second. Ahorta had spent most of her life reading other's body language and facial expressions to let her know if she needed to fight or take off.

"As for what you should do. Well, I don't think much of that can be solved here. If you say you woke up in Romania and things got confusing from then on, then what do you expect to learn from New York? Unless you had been living her prior to Romania, New York can't provide you with much information." The woman turned to Ahorta and directed the questions at her. What could she do to help her. In that range of options, Ahorta was fairly limited. Travelling inside of America was easy because she was already in the country, travelling outside and then requiring re-entry, now that was more complicated. Ahorta was wanted for questioning on the deaths and disappearances of many individuals and she was mentally unstable, something that called attention to herself at an airport. "For help, I have money, but judging by your nice place, I can see you have enough of that. I'm not sure how I can help you if you're not sure what you need to do to figure things out. You've got all the pieces in your head, you just don't know where they all fit and some of them, you can't see. I can't help you with that, but I can help you with whatever you need on the outside. If you need money for a plane ticket, if you need someone just to help you sort things out or maybe a second opinion, I can do that. I can't get into your head though, that is something you need to sort out on your own," Ahorta said, leaning back in her seat. Had she really just offered help to someone she hardly knew? Money and advice and the opportunity to request anything else from her? It was all different though, one mutant to another, mutants had never gone to Ahorta for help, but Ahorta had never sought answers from others as well, other than her biological father, of course.

"Most of them seem to be secretive about their mutations and walk around like normal people on any given day." Her reply was a fact in her eyes, as far as she had seen, that is how it happened. She dropped her hand to her lap and leveled her seemingly bipolar gaze upon her guest, and began to gnaw upon her bottom lip in contemplation. "But I suppose that means I can trust you, yes?" Layla/Xavia tilted her head.

She sunk back against the lush cushions of the couch and continued with her reply, "I have money because its thrown at me. I could care less about it. I am here in this city for answers, yes, but something drew me here... I feel... Obligated to work my ass to the bone for people who just want a pretty trinket, only if it means I will find answers. I sing for people until my throat is raw, but I am not on the stage for them, I am on the stage so I can look at the crowd and see if one face jogs my memories. But it seems as if I am getting nowhere... And money does nothing to help..."

"My question is," she went on, steepling her hands as she regarded Ahorta, "Who are you and why do you want to help me?" Come on, the question was going to come eventually, no? It just took awhile... "Granted, I don't know who I really am, I know who I am at this point in time... I am Layla, no last name, and I sing for the blue bloods of New York. I live in a pretty hotel suite but I am unhappy here because this is not my life... This is... Pretend. But who are you? Why did you approach me? I mean, even before I gave that little trick of the hand..."

With that, she grabbed for the drink she poured earlier and took a healthy swig, finishing it. She stood and took it to the kitchenette, setting it gently in the sink, then walked back and sat down in the same spot she had just vacated. Layla then looked at her guest with one of those roaming gazes, trying to figure Ahorta out without seeming rude about it. Maybe Layla already knew the answer to her prior question. Maybe it was because the two of them were kindred spirits and something about one another drew the line leading to the other person. Who knew? She was no longer surprised by the things that happened in the world, there was no more jade cloth over her eyes. Little did she know that she used to be a sheltered little seedling before she ever set foot in New York, little did she know that she had lived a rich life at one point, and felt the exact same way.

She just knew the right then, and not the before or after.

She also knew that she wasn't going to judge someone by appearance, or cause trouble. Ahorta hadn't come here for trouble, that much was clear. Either one of them could have started something awhile back in the game, but neither did. Were they both in the same boat? Were they both seeking answers to both spoken and unspoken questions? She didn't know about Ahorta, but she certainly was. It was all about finding clues to answer those stupid questions. She just wanted to.... find herself in a different sense than normal people. Nobody, unless they went through it themselves, would understand how it was to have absolutely no idea of who they were, where they came from, how they got to be where they are, if they have family, etc, etc...Did they not know how alone she was in this world?