The boy rested in his wheelchair without moving a muscle, his feet rested as a few days ago in the supports of the wheelchair. At least now the chair was electric and he did not dependent on anyone else, courtesy of Cielle as always money was relate to Fausto, a sophisticated and safe seat as she had said.
His hands seemed dead on her lap and his eyes continued looking melancholy at the moving figures that were having fun with nature. Was it always that way? Children and teenagers were playing happily despite the cold. They ran, jumped, laughed, openly using their powers to play and have fun together ... someones disappeared in clouds of colors to appear elsewhere, leaping impossible distances, all those things were amazing ... but what kept him even more surprised was that all of them were smiling ... . He no longer smiled. His former fiancee (because she did not even reach the title of wife) had stole a smile from him, but that was not enough.

Fausto preferred not to meet Katrina, he was very careful when leaving his room ... anyway he did not do it so much now, because outside of his room everything was so alive and he was so dead, the contrast always make him sad. He choose to avoid his eternal rival too, the lizard. His room was already fixed, and nothing prevented him from returning to it. He felt more comfortable staying in his own room, with no one to remind him that he could not even walk.
Thinking of it, always broke his heart... someone like him, that was always the enemy of passivity was now condemned to be passive at all. For example he must wait for the illness to get better, having faith in the pills that did not seem to do anything but keep him alive, he never improved but at least he was not getting worse. Now he always was waiting, which he always hate more than anything. What else was left to do but wait? For how long? He did not know. He could not even have his mother there and he took the trouble to avoid all others beings.

Of all the things that Gina loved about New York, her favorite thing had to be the snow. Back at home, in California, snow was limited to the Sierra Nevada's and the areas closer to the California-Oregon border. It had never snowed in her hometown. It was only really, really foggy at best. Gina loved the snow, but wasn't playing in it like the other children. She sat casually on the roof, legs dangling over the edge of it as she watched the other children play. She was appreciating what the snow did for the landscape, especially from the vantage point of a roof.

Buildings stood like silhouettes against New York's skyline, rising out of this mist and snow like giants. The snow seemed to quiet the sounds of the city, which made it seem almost tranquil. That was the impression that the mansion gave her-- respite from the city, from the noise, and from humans overall. And, from her spot on the roof, she could sit and enjoy the view without threat of being interrupted by someone. She redirected her attention down below, towards the other students that were playing. Her attention was drawn to one figure, a figure that seemed to contrast against all the others.

A dark haired boy sat rigidly in a wheelchair, hands in his lap and his expression nothing short of miserable as he regarded the other students. Gina shifted, regarding him with a sympathetic frown. Though her tough-skinned feet could withstand the snow, she still hesitated to go out there. For, though her feet were tough and resistant to the cold, she wouldn't be able to feel if they were too cold. So, in a sense, she was also stuck from playing. Gina got up carefully, wandering down the roof towards an isolated area, so that she could jump off without drawing too much attention to herself. He was probably just lonely. Which was nothing that a little gargoyle's company couldn't fix. Gina paused at the far edge for the roof, regarding the ground below with speculation.

Just below her was a bare patch of grass, which had escaped the snow by virtue of the roof's overhang. It made for a perfect landing area. Gina jumped, spreading her wings slightly so as to hinder the fall, and then landed gracefully. She looked around as she stood. No one had seen her. Gina smiled, and took off back around the building, jogging towards the somber boy in the wheelchair. Though he was sitting, he neither seemed tall nor short, but average, and very slender. And, though his attention was not on her, she could see that his eyes were a very dark black. How mysterious.

Gina approached cautiously, wedging her hands into her pockets as she went. She said nothing until she was practically right in front of him. She shifted, lacing her arms across her chest.

"It's beautiful out today, don't you think?" she tried experimentally, casting the boy a sidelong glance. In an airy tone, she continued, "The snow really does something for the scenery, and the air feels so crisp and calm--" Gina inhaled and sighed, to show how great the air was, "--It really does something for the soul."

She hoped that he'd receive her observations well, but if he was determined to be a little storm cloud about the whole ordeal, Gina was determined to make his day at least a little better. Sulking in a wheelchair was no way to pass the time, and however resistant he would be to enjoying himself, Gina could be equally as stubborn. She wouldn't let him be miserable-- she simply wouldn't allow for it, even if she didn't know the boy.

The voice startled him, it was so close but he could not hear as she approached. Fausto was so busy feeling bad.That had never happened to him before, he was always noticing everything and ready to run anytime. Now he could not run... Why to be alert to the dangers and injustices? Anyway he could not run behind them and save damsels in distress. “Damsels in distress, nice name for a song.”
He was extremely busy hearing the laughter of children and teenagers playing with their own thoughts. He was dreaming of a time where “impossible” was not a word for him.
As always a situation kept him quiet for longer than he was used to, he feared his voice would have been extinguished for ever, perhaps together with his former life. His fear of losing his voice could be what pushed him before to keep talking shooting words like a machine gun without rest. The silence makes you feel alone.
But the words came out clearly from his mouth. He even thought his voice sounded more alive than he imagined it would sound.
Even without paying much attention he replied, his black eyes fixed on the snow and it´s entertainments. All he wanted was the winter to end... for him and for all.
"Yes, it affects the soul ... but in so many ways ..." Then he looked at her and his eyes came alive, she caused a great interest in him. It was a simple sensation, he felt identified with her. He did not just look but appreciate all the details, her skin was gray as the rock and probably as hard as it... she had wings that looked like wings of a bat.Obviously ignoring the size, the wings were very similar. Could she feel something with that skin? If your skin is made of stone, Are you able to fly...? She had a gift and also a curse, just like him. Maybe that's why, and just why he smiled and allowed himself to ignore the fact that these wings were a mockery to his mobility.There is always someone more unfortunate than you.

Then the teenager slowly shook his head, it was something that previously would have done differently, like shouting from the rooftops to destroy the peace and tranquility created by the white snow. But now, saying it was good enough.
"Is all white, so calm ... i would usually be jumping and running around..." He looked at his legs with sadness but also (if possible) with incomprehension and comprehension. There were things he did not understand about his illness but he knew something, a small piece of information that gave him a little hope. His muscles were fine. He realized she could misunderstand his situation, so he moved his legs happily. He first lifted one, then the other as if he was swimming in an invisible sea. "The saddest thing is that i could walk, but my bones do not support my weight." His eyes went down upon his chest and then his arms contemptuously and then back at her. "Even when I'm a bag of bones..." He smiled again with that thought. That bag of bones had been able to survive big battles, his body was perfect to survive. He loved it. Could have been in the wilderness alone worrying only about extreme temperatures without having to think about food or water. He never tried it but he was sure could survive eating just sand.
Many "could" and many "had" crossed his mind. There was an irrefutable certainty, he was still there.

Why girls stole so many smiles from him lately...? Although not from the girl he wanted. He smiled again but this time bitterly, another memory jumped on his head. Koga and katrina in the room together ... Did that lizard catch his prey ...? It was not her fault. If Fausto had been staying at the mansion for more than a month...
"My name is Fausto, maybe you've heard of me and Corrosive Revolution." He extended his hand toward her, whispering quickly... "Do not squeeze hard please." ... And a glimmer of hope came into his eyes with a crazy thought, he could eat stones. Hopefully she would know the band and that would give them something to talk about to help him escape his negative thoughts.
His disease fiercely attacked his bones but also his brain fulling it with melancholy and memories ... or was his heart the affected?
It was something unlikely for her to know the band with only three concerts, two in a local level and the other in a very different place in the world. With the Internet you never know ... did they have internet in that little school of Colombia?
Hopefully he will recover his health, and the world would surrender to his feet again. He smiled.

It was obvious that the boy was distracted when he first spoke to Gina—he didn’t acknowledge her with his gaze, and spoke disjointedly about what sort of effect the snow had on one’s soul. The way in which he replied convinced the young teen that he was either depressed or psychotic, or a mixture of the two. His eyes, she decided, were like two black windows into a dark, dreary soul. Man, she’d really given herself a challenge when she picked this boy as her humanitarian effort of the day.

“It’s peaceful, is what I mean,” Gina murmured in clarification, mildly annoyed that her statement had been misinterpreted. As she said this, the boy looked over at her, and something seemed to click into place as he finally regarded her. Gina went rigid, recognizing the look in his eyes—it was curiosity, with a fair measure of academic interest, paired with something she didn’t know. Sympathy? She’d seen the look many times, though mostly from humans. It was usually followed with either one of two things—questions, or darting off in an irrational fear. Gina much preferred it when people ran off in terror, for it was a lot less invasive then a game of 20-Questions. It was apparent that the boy wanted to ask her something, yet he managed to restrain himself. Gina relaxed a little as she noticed that his scrutiny wasn’t as critical or disgusted as human scrutiny typically was, but it was still obvious that she was tense—her hands were balled into fists and wedged deeply into the pockets of her jeans, and she was uncommonly silent. As he studied her skin, and then moved onto her wings, she counted it among her blessings that she’d drawn a knit cap on over the mess of curls that was her hair. It hid her horns, and the tips of her very pointed ears.

Just as she thought that he’d move on to studying her tail, and after what seemed like eternity, the boy went off into explaining that he’d normally be running around and enjoying himself, except that his bones wouldn’t support his weight, though his muscles were fully capable of motion. The explanation as to why he was wheelchair-bound, though well-meant, was hardly necessary. Also, rather than clarifying things, it just confused her more. As he spoke, Gina listened, and said nothing or very little, occasionally contributing an “uh-huh” into the conversation, to acknowledge that she was listening, to show that she was pretending to know exactly what she was saying. Her expression, however, was quite obviously confused. As he spoke, though, her stance went from blatantly uneasy to a little more casual, her shoulders easing into a more comfortable, less perpendicular slope, and her arms losing their rigidity. Her hands were still wedged in her pockets, though.

The boy hastily leapt from the subject of his mobility to his name, smiling at Gina as he introduced himself as “Fausto, from the Corrosive Revolution”, before extending a hand for a handshake and pleading for Gina not to shake his hand too hard. Gina regarded the boy’s hand for a moment, her brow furrowing, before regarding her own, pocketed hands.

She’d never been much of a hand-shaker. She preferred hugs, preferred not to draw to much attention to her hands, which were clawed and speckled. It wasn’t that her skin felt strange—it felt human, spare being slightly more unyielding than most human flesh was. And, no matter what, she was always warm, as if in a room-temperature area. Her resistance to extreme temperatures could go on to explain how she was outside in no more than a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a knit cap. So long as she didn’t get wet, she wouldn’t get too uncomfortably cold. Coats were more precautionary than much else, and since she hadn’t the intention of going out into the snow (and thereby didn’t plan on getting wet), she hadn’t bothered with a coat today.

Gina extended her hand as well, taking the boys hand delicately in her own, as if picking up a hollowed-out eggshell, and shook it with an equal amount of carefulness. She had a mental image of her just touching the boy and him crumbling, much like fragmented concrete, into his chair. It was a humorous, drastic visualization, but it still bothered Gina—she didn’t want to be burdened with the responsibility of breaking a fellow student. As she shook his hand, as all of these thoughts darted through her head, she introduced herself as, “Regina Schuyler, but everyone refers to me as ‘Gina’. It’s very nice to meet you, Fausto.” With that said, she released his hand, glad to see that she hadn’t broken him in the act of shaking his hand.

“I must admit, I haven’t heard of Corrosive Revolution,” she said with a note of embarrassment, “But I haven’t been in New York for too long of a time, so I wouldn’t take it too personally.” She smiled, glad that he’d found a vein of conversation that in no way pertained to the way she looked, “Is it a band of yours? What genre of music do you lean towards?”

His standard greeting had changed, shaking hands and warn of its fragility was common now. At first he thought people would think he wanted attention, but after a couple of broken bones for that and several other causes, he started taking preventive measures without worrying about what people could think. One was the use of a wheelchair, another measure was to tell others of his fragility.
It seemed to work because since he had stopped trying to stand on it´s own, his leg´s bones were fine, he was giving a lot of work to the medical team.
He was surprised that his eyes deceived him that way, his hands touched her skin while shaking hands. Despite the gray color and these nails like claws that hand was just as human as him. As human as can be a mutant. It was interesting...

Fausto was always good at two things, to talk and draw people's attention. Not necessarily talking to get people's attention ... but this time someone was willing to listen without him having to eat things like umbrellas and coins in front of a crowd. She even showed interest in his band ... well it is also true that if he had not said something about the band she would never have realized about the existence of such a wonderful band, especially for mutants rebels. Could it be the genre of their music? Maybe he just should say ...
"It's a rock band, it has a touch of rebellion and mutant pride in the letters that some would find a little much ..." His face turned into wince while he say the word mutant. The singer had no choice but to say it, or should have used a big break in the promotion of his band to explain that they were evolved beings and not a mutation, a mistake ... The teenager avoided that comment and continued after a little break that helped him to find the word in question. "... Extremist." He nodded with satisfaction finding the exact word he wanted. "But really all we do is play and give our point of view ... we are messengers." He liked that idea. Their were the angels sent from heaven to deliver an important message: The mutants should count themselves lucky to have their skills and above all ... not to be humiliated by anyone.

He very much regreted not having the guitar there at the time. It would not be like with the whole band but at least she would know the music and the message they conveyed.
Where he had left his guitar? The last time he saw it was ... Fausto could not remember where he had left the guitar he use in their last concert, in fact, two weeks vanished since the last time he tried to write songs and worry about leaving his room.

"You're a separatist?" Gina gasped, before she could stop the words from spilling out of her mouth. It wasn't as though it mattered to her-- everyone had their own opinions, after all. It was just that Xavier's struck her as a pro-coexistence place. Also, she'd met very few separatists in her life, as her town had been of the "come together" mindset. With the brightly-colored cliff-side town and the "make love, not war" mindset, Gina was often sure that her hometown had been stuck in the 70's and never really left.

All-mutant bands were nothing new to her, though. There'd been a few in her town, but only one came to mind. There'd been an all-boy band that traveled to the small, neighboring towns, practiced in the garage of one of the boys' parents, and played in a popular local cafe. Gina had been forcibly dragged by her best friend Constance-- numerous times-- to these concerts, even though it was always no more than a mess of noise to Gina's poor hearing. You see, Constance had been in love with the bassist, and so she took every opportunity to go see him.

Gina smiled in recollection of her friend. Wrapped in her thoughts, she hadn't noticed her gaze wander over to the kids playing nearby. Two boys were fooling around, one of which wielded a large clump of snow. They were taking turns spinning around, snow curled into one arm, and throwing the clumps of snow like a discus. Gina smiled. What idiots. Their antics reminded her of her brothers.

One wayward clump of snow actually managed to catch some air, and came spiraling towards Gina and Fausto. Gina's body went tense as it drew closer, the arc of its path sailing straight towards them. She stepped forward and, when the clump was within reach, she batted at it. The clump had been mostly powder, so when she smacked it, it became a scintillating mist of snow particles. She knew it wasn't on purpose, that they were just being silly, so she put her hands on her hips and glowered at them, a smile touching her lips.

"Bad form!" Gina chastised.

"Sorry!" one of the guys hollered, smiling and shaking some powder out of his hair. His eyes were completely and totally black. Gina shrugged, and returned her gaze to Fausto, still smiling. Even if it was an accident, she didn't feel like hanging out within the firing range anymore.

"We should find something else to do," Gina decided, brushing the snow off of her bare arm, "You know, something not within the firing range of wayward snowballs." It wasn't so much of a request as it was a command. She wouldn't have Fausto just sitting out there on his own, in the cold, catching his death while he sulked. Gina began to walk slowly towards the door, waiting to see if Fausto decided to come with her. She didn't really know what his hobbies were, or what he could do in the state that he was in.

"Hey, Fausto, what would you like to do?" Gina inquired, pushing the door open and stepping aside, still holding the door open. It was a good way to avoid saying that they should do something, and then having him not being able to do it, "I mean, I'm alright with pretty much anything."

The young singer moved his eyes in despair and impatience ... he never was labeled as separatist, what was next ...? The holy inquisition? He smiled foolishly at the thought of a angry mob carrying torches ready to burn them at the stake for heresy. Rock music had a long history of affiliations with the devil, but they just used it as a medium for their messages. What teenager in their right mind would listen to a politician? In contrast with the music was easier to reach more people ... Despite his impatience, his new self taciturn and melancholy replied calmly. Quietly. "We are not separatists ... we just believe that the mutants, like any living creature should not be humiliated by others ... or let others tell them they do not deserve something." He used to defend their ideas with nails and teeth, more teeth than nails but this time he could just let it go. He did not felt that inner fire that drove him to be ... impulsive.

Then he remembered his father, his death and the work that led him to his grave. He repeated one of his phrases, which always ended his speeches. "We want the same laws and rights for mutants and humans." His father had been an activist for the rights of people with different skills or characteristics, the so-called mutants. But still no one had called him a separatist. What he did was try to unite, not separate.

The memories of his father did not stay long in his head, as they were being attacked by the kids that could run and play. A huge snowball flew menacingly in his direction. It was not going to make anything even in a direct hit on the head, but Gina stopped them with quick movement. The snowball exploded in a cloud of the same material as a small dust like a curtain dropped with no other option on both viewers. That snow war seemed endless, Fausto had been watching from a while ago, and still continued with the same intensity from the beginning. These hyperactive children were not good for his mental health ... but the claws that her companion alighted on her hips might well have kept away a lion or a bear ... these nails looked really sharp. Although his own teeth had nothing to envy. Just maybe at first glance he did not seem so threatening ... the surprise factor is also important.

The question was simple, but it does not deserve an answer as simple and unnecessary. With just say they could go inside to eat had been enough, but a part within it, the great part of him that wanted attention constantly needed to further strengthened its tragedy. He looked at the boys who were still playing in the snow, his eyes followed them as they left footprints on the pristine white snow. "I would like to run without any particular direction ... but I'm in a wheelchair ..." Remembering his current state was simple, he just had to look down or pay attention at his hands rubbing the surface of the chair. Remember how he felt while running was more difficult ... Why he had not kept his memories in a safer place? He never thought that those times that nothing prevented him from running could be a treasure.

With a flick of his wrist the wheelchair started to move toward the door that she kindly held open for him. He stopped his vehicle next to her for a moment, long enough to tell her what they might do and then another quick motion moved his chair right to the kitchen. It was downstairs so he would not have to climb those damn stairs or wait for the small and slow elevator.
"We could go in and enjoy my second favorite thing ... eat. I think i have some "sweets" in my pockets but we should find something for you. " He smiled again, remembering he still had that ability, not all of his previous life had vanished. At least he could still enjoy the pleasures that allowed his skills.
The chair moved forward with it´s peculiar purring into the kitchen. She would have no problem following him, after all, she could walk and fly ...

Gina held her hands up in placated submission, frowning at the misunderstanding. Her tone climbed up a few notes as she murmured, "I'm sorry, I misunderstood you! I mean- you said rebellion and extremist and I got kind of... confused."

But it was too late for her to convince Fausto of otherwise. He'd already broken into a litany of exlanations, reading Gina what she'd assumed to be the mission statement of the band. Gina deflated, her shoulders sagging, as the boy described his band as a mutant-rights based band, which made a lot more sense.

"That's cool," she agreed, combing her curls with her hand, "Putting the equality thing to music, I mean. People are a lot more receptive to ideas when put into song... sure as heck beats community service anyways." She chuckled. Community service was such a drag, and she never liked the concept behind it-- it was as if they were trying to prove that they were capable of functioning like human beings, that they were trustworthy just because they picked up trash along a street or served soup at a soup kitchen. Gina enjoyed community service, she just didn't agree with its purpose.

Gina frowned as Fausto said that he wanted to run without direction, and she gave him a look. Her look said, "Fausto, I'm not a miracle-worker, so there really isn't much that I can do for you, dear." He dropped the idea and, with the simple twist of a knob, the chair lurched into motion, walking through the door. She followed him down the hall, walking to his side and just behind him. She still hadn't acquainted herself with the building, so she'd leave navigating the halls to Fausto.

As they walked, Fausto suggested that they could get a snack. He said that he had something for him to eat in his pockets, but they'd have to find something for her. Gina arched an eyebrow at him, curious as to what he ate that she couldn't. She didn't ask, though. She just shrugged one shoulder and said, "I am kind of hungry."

Her stomach contradicted her with an uncommonly loud, complaining growl. Gina's hand flew to her stomach to silence it, and she laughed in mild amusement. Where the heck did that come from? Now that she thought of it, she couldn't recall eating breakfast that morning.

"Okay, scratch that- I'm really hungry." Her stomach burbled in agreement, quieter this time. They arrived in the kitchen, pristine and tiled. Gina looked around uncertainly, still trailing behind Fausto. She didn't know where the pantry was, if there was a pantry, and so she hesitantly approached the fridge instead. There was always food in the fridge.

She popped the fridge open and peered inside, not really knowing what to expect. There were certain aspects of the fridge that appeared to be normal-- bread, milk, eggs, jam-- and parts that seemed to be wayward science experiments, or rather eccentric dietary preferrences. Gina hummed indecisively, leaning over to look at the lower shelves and then standing on her tiptoes to see the top shelf. It didn't help that she was short, nor did it help that the only person in there was a wheelchair-bound boy.

She finally opted for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, having found grape jelly, peanut butter, and bread within the fridge. She really didn't want to spend too much time looking for anything else. She took the jam container in her tail, tucked the bread box under one arm, and took the peanut butter container in her free hand. She began to carry them to the nearest counter, kicking the door shut with her foot as she went.

"This was a good idea, Fausto," Gina smiled, depositing the goods on the counter, "I think I was starving." Her stomach let out another burble of agreement as she looked around for a knife. Finding none, she inquired, "Do you know where they keep the knives?"

He knew the way to the kitchen by memory, he visited the kitchen half sleep for a quiet breakfast long before the right time, even at night without making much noise to enjoy an extra plate with the remains of dinner. His silent steps now had been replaced by a constant hum like a big cat purr.
That was his favorite place in the mansion, many people knew it, he loved to go through the kitchen while being at the mansion.
Very often he meet there with the guy who had this strange but interesting ability to remember every taste, that guy was great for cooking because he remembered the best ingredients and flavors for all. Very often it was there cooking. Fausto was not lucky this time, they would be happy with anything they could find there instead of his tasty food.

The teenager who once had been able to run behind the injustices mocking of the dangers decided to omit that what he did could be considered community service. Not the band, that annoyed many when doing a concert. The human community would be grateful for him to not make so much noise, or give things to think to young and scared mutants ... but his hunts could be considered community service. It was not a clean job, but he liked to think that to a lesser or greater extent he punished people who would otherwise go unpunished.
He sleep more comfortable knowing that there were people like Luke who followed his dream and went on patrol every day prepared to put their skills to serve the community. How he called himself ...? His suit was fancy enough to be in a comic book.

He reached the place before her, which seemed to follow him with caution. Probably she not even remembered the way ... the mansion was too big to learn all their places. Fausto in particular had many problemse difficult by not staying there long enough. Eventually he managed to learn all the places. Why you should stay locked up? It was a simple question that he had asked too many people, not all responded as he wished. The mansion was simply enormous, but without reaching a labyrinthine level.
The kitchen was large enough to move easily with the wheelchair, so it did not take long for him to find a good place.

Fausto grinned, just seeing the food would turn him hungry, he was sure. There was no need to be hungry to enjoy the food, anyway she was in that state. Her stomach was more sincere than herself, and confessed it´s desire long before she realized it.
The boy looked at her while she was looking for food, with the intention to give some indication if needed, after all, he knew the kitchen better than her. "Can you use the tail as a hand ... ?" He asked very interested but not expecting the response, it was more an exclamation of surprise than a question. Since he was seeing for himself that she could do it. Then a cruel thought came to his mind."Just like a monkey."

The boy quickly nodded and went to the drawer where knives should be, along with other elements of the same type. (More properly, he shook his hand and the chair moved in that direction) There were knives, several different types, quietly waiting to be used. Fausto took the one that seemed more suited to the task of spreading, and give it to Gina. "Are you going to make enough for the two of us? I also want some ... " While wondering her answer, he pulled some metallic things from one of his pockets. Various nuts and bolts with different states of rust. Fausto launched one into the air and deftly caught it with his mouth.
He just took a few seconds to enjoy the taste of rust before it virtually disappeared transformed into liquid, liquid metal without flavor, to quickly lower for his throat.
"Delicious"

Gina smiled at Fausto's inquiry, laughing faintly. She rathered it when people asked, instead of just gawking at her. When people stared, she didn't know what they were thinking, but when they asked, it assured the young gargoyle that they weren't just staring in abject horror.

"Yeah, I can," she answered, bringing her tail to her side, so that it was in view. She flexed the muscles towards the tip of her tail, so that the "fingers" peeled back like a blooming flower. She went on to explain, "It comes in handy for carrying things, but I haven't gotten quite enough dexterity to write with it, yet. Just one of those weird, wonderful things about me, I suppose."

She let her tail drop and skipped over to Fausto, and accepted the knife which he was passing her. It was a simple butter knife, a good deal heavier than the knives that she was used to, but equally worthy of the job. She skipped back over to the sandwich fixings, coming to a halt with a jump. Now, sandwich time.

As Gina went to crack open the bread box, Fausto inquired if she'd make enough for the two of them to eat, since he also wanted a sandwich.

Gina arched her brows out him and, with a measure of humored scrutiny in her gaze, she said, "I thought you already had some sweets to eat!-" she wore the same expression for a while longer, as if sizing Fausto up, and then replied, "Yes, I'll make you a sandwich, too."

She finally popped the bread box open and withdrew the bread, digging into the bag for four slices of bread. She saw Fausto move out of the corner of her eye, and looked up, the glint of metal catching her eye. Gina replaced the bread in the box absently and sealed the breadbox, noticing that Fausto held a variety of nuts and bolts, some dulled by rust and others not. He then tossed them into the air and, in a very practiced fashion, caught them in his mouth. Gina's mouth opened just a fraction, hardly believing what she'd just seen. The mutations of others, especially when not visible, always intrigued her. To her, it seemed to much more interesting to have a mutation that no one could see, rather than having to wear your mutation around wherever you went. So Fausto's was... eating?

"Did you really just eat-?" she broke off, pointing the knife at Fausto casually. She was slightly awestruck. Gina went to wrestling with the lid to the jam jar, with a simple, "Fancy that. And here I thought you were just being rude when you said you didn't have munchies to share with me." She laughed lightheartedly.

"Crap," Gina hissed as her hand slipped on the lid, losing traction as the result of her claws. She repositioned her grasp on the lid, and after some struggling, finally managed to pop it open, "I hate jars."

She went to the work lathering on a thin layer of grape jelly upon two of the four slices of wheat bread, working methodically yet efficiently. While she worked, she casually inquired, "If you don't mind me asking, you're mutation-- you eat things? Metal things?"

At first glance she looked like a monster, Fausto did not care to much, others might run and scream. He could imagine a bunch of humans looking at her like a weirdo, accusing her of any nonsense that has happened in his lives. As they did with the witches .
But what caught his attention were the skills she had that others do not. She could use his tail like a hand, well almost like a hand, which was quite impressive and useful in various circumstances. Not to mention that probably would have the ability to fly. It was very interesting to admire other mutations, and as each was unique. She could be a excellent side kick.
"I think everyone here has at least one wonderful thing."
While some mutations appeared to be related, he had never seen two exactly the same. He had learned while in the mansion to see all these "changes" objectively, some mutations were somewhat problematic and difficult to understand, like that girl who could turn into a small living swamp. A large accumulation of mud moving from side to side ... still he had to admit that she attracted attention.

He felt unique. That's what he wanted them to understand, it was the message to all the mutants around who were alone ... maybe they were a bit more than ordinary humans. And despite having for humans a bit of distrust, Fausto never came to hate them. One can not condemn an entire race for the atrocities of a few...
The singer thought she would feel very uncomfortable outside the mansion... or would use some sort of costume or something to hide some of his qualities as mutants as did many of his class. That really would make life much more complicated... Maybe that's why Fausto was accepted to be the band´s singer ... not to feel guilty for not having a visible mutation. Now with a pro mutant band, it was obvious that he mutant. Had he ever shown his skills on stage ...? He was not sure.

The way Gina replied to his question reminded him too much of his mother. Perhaps not with the same words or the exact gesture... but her mother also used to do that without the complicity that indicated it was a joke that Gina used. His eyes floated around her, remembering...
Although that gesture from his mother was not entirely welcome, as it indicated that even if he was willing or not he was going to finish all his food (probably some kind of deadly poison vegetable) before getting dessert. Instead this time it seemed a nice gesture, a bit weird but kind of cute. Even with her appearance ...
The teenager felt for a moment back at home, waiting for his mother to prepare lunch, and for his father to return from work in his free hour.
Then the three could eat together.

His smile grew bigger as she wondered about his mutation almost to look like a normal smile, still retained in it some of the sadness that followed him for some of the previous days. But he was more alive than in the past few hours. That little smile made him look healthier, it was good to get back to his previous life and enjoy all the things he liked before. Like a good conversation, or to watch the face of admiration of the people seeing him eat.
Fausto lifted with his left hand one of the screws, it was partially covered by rust. The screw remained between his thumb and index finger, exposed to the public. Like a magician before starting his act, everyone should check that it was truth.
That brought back many memories to him, good memories of when he went to the streets to earn some money by eating things ... he should try again now, with the wheelchair could make more money.
Then he took out his tongue, covered with his saliva, and deposit the screw carefully of not touching his own tongue. Trying to make the process visible, keeping his mouth open along with his tongue hanging out, not all, but enough for her to see.
The countless chemical processes in his saliva began to take effect quickly on the metal. Such material would take enough to melt to achieve a dramatic effect on the public, other material would disappear too quickly. Not so fast as to miss it, but not slow enough to appreciate what happened.

The portion of the screw in contact with his salivary fluids began to unravel the solid object into all it´s chemical components, giving way to a kind of liquid.
The simplest comparison to what happened was that the screw seemed butter in a hot skillet. Exactly in that way the screw began to disappear.
Fausto then drank it quickly, not wanting to shed his saliva with the partially melted screw on the ground ... or would be in trouble.
He began to explain. "My whole digestive system has different characteristics that allow me to eat and drink anything." His black eyes looked up at an imaginary spot in the top right corner where his memories where stored.
"I can drink gasoline, any type of liquid poison ... I can eat any kind of thing... metal, paper, plastic, wood." He smiled again, this time with pride, because he was really proud of his mutation and the possibilities that this provided. Obviously he decided to ignore the negative details, that she could find another day. By now it was enough that she know his greatness. "My digestive system transforms everything i eat or drink in nutrients." then he gave the word to his attentive audience. "Any questions?"

"Indeed," Gina agreed, as Fausto said that everyone had at least one wonderful thing about them. She didn't know if it was entirely true, as she didn't know everybody, but there was always some sort of good quality even in the worst of people. It was a fact of life she had come to learn at a very young age. She'd often given thought to her physical appearance, how most could hide their differences with costumes. Or, even better, seem completely human. Gina was none such mutant. Her mutations were so drastic that, even if she'd chosen to costume herself, there were always the wings and the tail. It wasn't so different from the nonphysical mutants-- circumstantially, she had just been forced to come to terms with herself sooner than most. And she was still working on coming to terms with herself.

After finishing with the jelly, she closed it, and moved to the peanut butter. This jar was even easier to open, because it was corrugated plastic and not a slick, smooth metal. It grew quiet, for a while, but it wasn't as though Gina minded. While Fausto dwelt on his own thoughts, she dwelt on her own, though her mind lingered on no specific subject at all. She was more focused on making the sandwiches. As the peanut butter had been refridgerated, it was unyielding against the bread, and more difficult to spread than the jelly. What kind of dork put the peanut butter in the fridge? You never put peanut butter in the fridge! Gina sighed, glancing up at Fausto as she continued the peanut butter battle. Fausto was smiling, a genuine, unrestrained smile, which Gina could only surmise was good.

He lifted the only remaining screw purposefully, and so Gina looked up, assuming that he wanted her to see what he was going to do next. She indulged, inclining her head and ceasing in trying to fight the peanut butter. He then stuck out his tongue and dropped the screw on. Now, he held Gina's interest. There was the faint sound of sizzling, as the screw began to melt and dissipate. Gina's eyes widened. Just as soon as the reaction began, it was over, and Fausto quickly closed his mouth. Gina was speechless, and so was grateful fo when Fausto began to explain his ability.

So he could eat and drink anything, and it wasn't determental to his health? Fascinating. Fausto asked if she had any questions, and Gina paused to think. She had very few questions, pertaining to the control of his abilities, particularly his corrosive spit.

"How do you keep yourself from drooling in your sleep?" Gina inquired, returning to working with the peanut butter. She finally managed to separate a stubborn glob of peanut butter from the knife, and went on to smearing it on the first piece of bread. Once finished with that slice, she went on to the second. Once she'd done that, she put each separate slice of bread together so that two, finished peanut butter and jelly sandwiches now sat on the counter. She didn't bother with napkins of anything of the sort. They were probably going to eat them right away, anyways. She took one in each hand, strolled the short distance to Fausto, and offered one out to him.

"I mean, even if your body is resistant to your saliva," she paused purposefully, as if waiting for clarification. Was it just his digestive system, or was he wholly resistant to it? "Your pillow isn't. I could imagine if you drooled on your pillow, there'd be a good many holes in it..." Gina broke off, taking a pensive bite of her own sandwich. That was really the only question that struck her. At least, for the time being.

"That wasn't too invasive, was it?" Gina inquired, striding back over to the sandwich fixings, so that she could clean up before she could forget to do so.

((OOC: I couldn't resist having Gina actually ask that question in the thread. It's just something that she'd ask. XD))

It seemed that his greatest tragedy, according to others, was drooling on the pillow. People did not realize he could not kiss? Nor enjoy a taste for long enough...
"I do not drool while sleeping ... How many people do it?" Why do people always wondered about that ...? Fausto was decided, when he go on a tour with the band (his first world tour) would make a survey. He would surely discover what he already suspected, drooling in bed form a smaller percentage than mutations.
He suspected that this particular activity was carried out by some evil gene.
Then he do not understand why they chased mutants instead of the evil people that soaked their own pillows in saliva soaked every night. It was almost impossible not to realize their malice and cruelty to the pillows. While mentally wandered about the cruel fate of the these soft creatures, he watched Gina preparing the sandwiches, What she was doing was not easy.

Fausto feared that at any time Gina would ask about the chemistry behind his skills and how that could possibly happen, scientifically speaking. Fortunately she did not asked that, he would not have known how to respond.
Then continue with his explanation. He loved to explain its abilities and that everyone realized he was more than a boy that could eat anything. He patiently answered. "No, you got it wrong. Just my digestive system is immune to my saliva. The rest of my body like my skin can be burned as anything else. I do not understand how it works, but it produce a chemical burn ... "
The teenager took the sandwich that she offered, and looked at it with sadness just for a second. He knew it would not last longer than the screw. It disintegrated much faster, disappearing at the same time as the flavors did. That really was a tragedy ...

The boy rushed to respond, he did not want his new friend to feel guilty. He talked faster, rushing to finish before she had the time to feel bad, but without hesitation. "Of course not, I think my question about your tail was more invasive. I would also like to know if you fly, but I will not ask. " But to let her know he really wanted to know he just winked hoping her to tell him. He knew it would be much harder to wait for her to just fly just as happened with the tail.

He bit a big piece of the sandwich without even having time to chew it began to lose its shape in his mouth, chemically disintegrated into a liquid that his bowel was responsible to use to obtain nutrients. Fausto was never able to find out how it worked. With his food in his left hand, he approached to try to help with the cleanup. He take a piece of kitchen paper towel of the other table with his right hand and began to remove small spots of peanut butter and jelly that where closer.
"Once I used my saliva to break a pipe in my room, which led to further flooding and relocation. Luckily it's fixed now. " He even remembered the face of Sam when he reported what had happened in his room, he remembered very well how he said that inadvertently drooled while sleeping, and that was the source of the disaster.
While cleaning, bread crumbs fell to the table with every bite, the singer did not seem to care and continued his work as he enjoyed the amusing story .

Gina chuckled, setting her sandwich down as she once again picked up the bread box, the jelly and the peanut butter. This time, she didn’t make use of her tail, but instead tucked the bread box under her arm, and took one jar in each hand. She carried the sandwich lightly in her teeth as she went. Gina pulled the door open by way of her tail, deposited the fixings for the sandwiches in the spots from where they’d come, and then closed the door behind her, taking the sandwich out of her mouth

“A lot of people drool in their sleep," Gina said with a shrug, “At least, I think a lot of people do… it’s an involuntary thing, never really dawned on me to ask someone else, since I’ve never come across another person with corrosive spit.” Gina took another bite out of her sandwich, and gave another small shrug, “It was just the first thing that came to mind.”

She came to think of kissing only moments after she'd first asked the question. It wasn't something at the forefront of her mind, at first, but when Fausto said that the rest of his body was not resistant to it, thinking about his body made her think about other people's bodies, and how they might react to it. In turn, that made her think about him sneezing and covering his mouth, and then she thought about kissing. Sure, he could peck someone on the cheek, if he was careful, she figured, but there'd be no... passionate kissing. As she'd figured this out on her own, she didn't bother asking. Kissing was a bit too

"I would also like to know if you fly, but I will not ask," Fausto added on hurriedly, giving her a wink. Gina gave him a skeptical, dry humored arch of the brow, smirking skeptically in response. It was a question that was bound to arise, but she found humor in the fact that he was asking her without really asking her. She'd rather that he asked her, and thought it was funny that he was trying to be so polite about it. As if to cover up his question, he quickly led into a story about how he broke a pipe in his bedroom by drooling on it, accidentally flooding his room.

"Remind me to give you a call if I ever get arrested," Gina mumbled, "That way, I will not waste my time trying to dig to freedom with spoons. You could just spit a hole in the wall, and then I could sneak out." She smiled, gave a short laugh to show that she meant it as a joke, and then took another bite of her sandwich.

Questions about her mutation, when in small amounts, didn't bother her. She didn't like to show-off in general, but if another mutant asked to look at her tail or her wings, she would oblige, but with hesitance. And, though she was a very touch-oriented person, she didn't like it when people asked to touch her tail or wings. It was just a really awkward concept for her, like asking someone if you could touch a bad sunburn that they had, or asking them if you could touch a wart of theirs, or something.

“Yeah, I can fly,” Gina admitted, "I can make really good time, too, if weather permits. The biggest pain in the butt, however, is shopping. I have to alter everything I get in the way of clothes so that it accommodates my wings. Needless to say, I've become rather adept at sewing." Gina broke off when she realized that she'd deviated from the subject of wings and had jumped over to talking about clothes and sewing. From her experience with her brothers, she'd learned that guys didn't really talk about clothes the same way that girl's did, so she was probably crossing into an area that wouldn't interest him.

"Would you like to look at my wings, too? Unfolded, I mean?" Gina asked politely, her tone bearing some unease. She only asked because Fausto had shown her his mutation, and thought that, as a fair exchange, she should offer to show him her wings. It was only fair. The fairness of the matter, however, did nothing to quell her unease.

He took another big piece of his sandwich and kept it in his mouth trying to concentrate on its taste, it did not last long but tasted good. Still not sorry for it, continuing with great optimism until he finished his sandwich. It was pretty tasty.
"It would be instructive to see your wings." The curious teenager replied. He was excited and eager as a toddler. When was the last time he feel like that? He could not remember, but he was sure it was a good feeling, he felt it many times before. It was as if little by little he wasl finding pieces of his past life. It was an stupid thought, but he had the silly idea that if keep discovering more things he could still do in that state in which he was, he could stand and walk normally agan.

Of course the making or mending of clothing was not one of his favorite subjects, not because he thought it was useless, it was a cool skill. But because he lacked the ability or knowledge to have a conversation about that. The fashion for him was about what kind of clothes he could take off the room of charity clothes. Sometimes it was not the most modern clothes, but always allowed him to be dressed and have a change of wardrobe whenever he wanted.
He remembered that room as the second one the entered in the whole the mansion.

Then his eyes that were glued to an imaginary point of the room, came back to reality with a sudden certainty, he stared at her. He had remembered something interesting, very interesting. He felt he had been special all her life, but he was not... his mutation appeared whe he was eight years old. He could not imagine the faces of her parents if she had been born with wings and tail... He supposed that the most logical thing could be that she had changed little by little over time... but it was not logical either. "Did you born that way or your mutation shower in another point?"
He also wanted to know how she felt her own wings, such as moving them was the same as moving one arm and so many other things but that question was much more interesting. He did not have a lot of friend with visible mutations, not because he had some prejudice, but because he was always out touring around the city. While most of them could not find sufficient courage to go to the mansion´s grounds.