((The song in question))

“Run, run, run, run, run, runrun run run, runrun run run, let's have some...”

Mat needed sleep. He desperately needed sleep. Even despite his phobia, Mat knew that his body wouldn't be able to cope with being awake one day longer. He spent the past few days floating around in a half-daze, unsure whether he was dreaming or awake. The only times that Mat was certain that he was awake were the moments he lay his head down to get some sleep. When his body would seize up with fear, cold sweat pouring from his pores, his heart hammering in his chest. When his head would spin so fast and hard that he was certain he would be sick. When his stomach would tie itself into a noose, ready to hang itself. When his breathing became hyperventilation, short, shallow, and nowhere near satisfying enough. When Mat tried to sleep, and these things happened to him, he could be certain he was awake.

And so he wouldn't sleep.

“...fun, fun, fun, fun, fun, funfun fun fun, funfun fun fun, fun fun, we'll...

The cold of a New York winter seemed to be the contributing factor to Mat's stress. It had completely blind-sided him with it's intensity and merciless nature. He, in hindsight, had been completely unprepared for it, and now it was all starting to get to him. All starting to be too much. Ice winds, snow, rain, sleet. The weather was making him miserable, making him stressed. And stress meant that his somniphobia ran high.

“...drink, drink, drink, drink, drink, drinkdrink drink drink, drinkdrink, drink drink, a toast to the...”

The fact that Christmas was just around the corner, and he was all alone once more, may not have been helping matters either.

“...sun, sun, sun, sun, sun, sunsun sun sun, sunsun sun sun sun suuuuu-un...”

Still, Christmas had meant that people were scouring the streets and stores of New York, searching for presents and gifts in the mad rush that was last minute Christmas shopping. Business with his art had improved dramatically in the last week or so, which meant that he had some more cash in his pocket than usual.

So with a pocketful of cash, a mind of haze and fog, and running on whatever lapses of conciousness that happened without his knowing, Mat had come up with a scheme to get some sleep. Namely, getting sh*t-faced drunk. He had found a small, nondescript bar tucked away between two stores, not more than a door and a tiny sign. Despite being of age, Mat had no form of I.D on him whatsoever. He hadn't carried any since he had his learner drivers licence, back when he still lived with his parents. So to compensate, Mat had strode in, sat at the bar, and slapped down a wad of cash. The barman, being the non-discriminatory type he was, had made sure that Mat's glass did not reach empty. Until Mat had begun singing, dancing and generally making a ruckus. At that point, he was politely asked to leave. Seeing no reason to kick up a stink, and being grateful to the barkeep for his hospitality, Mat had requested one final purchase. A bottle of the cheapest red wine available for his journey onwards. The barman indulged him, sold him the grog, and then booted him out into the street.

Drunk and alone, Mat had started to feel depressed. Not wanting to sink into a maudlin mood, Mat's mind had turned to happier drunken times. Times with old friends, whom he missed deeply. Old friends he could replicate and control. And so wine in hand, in a paper bag of course, Mat had made his was onto the side of the road and begun stomping his foot.

Despite his intoxication, Mat managed to create perfect replicas of the friends he had in mind. Their faces were burned so deeply into his mind and his heart that he could replicate them in any state. Trip, of course, was first and foremost. There were many, many warm memories of that man to make Mat grin, countless moments of silly laughter, wasted philosophical ramblings, and deep conversations about life and the nature of things. Trip...tall, thin, and lanky, and made from asphalt. Next was Pockets, short and stocky, with hunched shoulders and no neck. He always had a glum expression on his face, yet when he and Mat would speak, he would always be ready with some joke, or anecdote that would leave Mat on the floor, howling with laughter. Third, but certainly not least, Downpour. Even as a statue made of road, she was sexy. Full lips, curves in all the right places, and that grin that forever lingered on her face. The grin that teased and taunted with silently seductive promises. Mat's relationship with her had been...complicated. But it had never gotten between their friendship.

His old crew assembled, or created depending on how you saw it, Mat and the golems had stood on the footpath and faced each other in a circle. With their sculpted 'bottles' in their hands and Mat with his own, a song had entered Mat's mind. A song he hadn't heard in a long time. A song that denoted a ritual between the four of them, and old habit that Mat wanted to participate, if just once more.

And so, music flowing through his mind, Mat began to sing and dance.

The song and the dance were always the same. The circle, numbers not mattering, would sway and raise their drinks. Feet were stomped, people would move in and out of the circle. During long instrumental sections, people were required to pair off, jig, and frequently switch jigging partners. And as the tempo rose, so did the frenzy of the dance, until people would simply break off and do their own thing.

Which is where Mat now found himself. On the footpath, with three bitumen golems, all staggering and dancing around drunkenly while Mat sung as much of the song as he could remember.

“Oh what a beautiful day, today! Today's the day to celebrate...nuh nuh nuhnuh, nuh, nuh, nuh...” Mat trailed off as he forgot some of the lyrics. “I'm drunk, I'm singing, I'm happy and loud! Two o'clock in the arvo but hey, that's allowed...” It was definitely night time, not the afternoon like the song said, but Mat could let that slide.

What Mat hadn't noticed, during his drunkenly nostalgic reunion, was that eyes were beginning to turn, and people were beginning to take notice. Curious and amused glances were quickly becoming hostile. While most New Yorkers could at least tolerate having to share their city with mutants, it was not a very wise decision to flaunt powers in public. Still, when in the moment...

“I'm having a good time and of that I am proud!”

Why Andrew was wandering around the city after dark was a mystery to him. It had started off as a trip to possibly obtain a gift or two for some of the people at the Mansion that he knew well. He'd given up after the third store because he simply didn't know them well enough to give them presents and the shopping frustrated him. This was one of the few times he'd driven into the city instead of taking a bus. The black '97 Honda Accord was stashed in a parking lot a few blocks away. After ditching the Christmas shopping effort Andrew was left with nothing to do and no desire to head back the Mansion just yet. So he walked.

That solved the why he was out wandering question at least. Satisfied with that explanation Andrew turned his attention elsewhere. Namely toward deciding whether to go left, right, or straight now that he'd reached the end of another segment of sidewalk. Opting for right Andrew turned only to see something that he could only assume was the result of yet another mutant. There was a man dancing, drunkenly by the look of it, in a circle with three moving statues.

What caught Andrew's interest aside from the absurdity of the scene was the looks the man was receiving from the general populace that were out on the streets. This blatant flaunting of his mutation wasn't very smart at all and would end up with people hurt on both sides if it continued. Deciding to step in a way that would probably net him a few injuries if things went wrong, Andrew walked up to the man and tapped him on the shoulder.

"You know, doing that out here in the middle of the street is liable to start a riot."

Andrew looked around at the people with a stern gaze in an effort to keep them away.

"Whooooooooooooo-opa"

Mat was finally starting to feel happy. He was drunk, in full swing, and was as close as he could get to spending time with his friends, even if they were sculptures. For such a long time, Mat had been alone. And after having lived in the commune, well, it was getting to Mat more than he thought. Despite the hardness of the streets, Mat liked to think that he didn't let it get to him. That he could push all the stress of being homeless down, and rise above it. Normally he could. The liquor however, was bringing forth emotions that had been long ignored. Still, that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy himself.

Until he felt a tap on his shoulder.

Swinging himself around to confront whoever was interrupting his amazing performance, Mat spun around quicker than anticipated and stumbled to the side. Regaining his balance, he whipped his head back and took a deep swig from his wine bottle. A man stood in front of him, probably not all that much different in age to Mat.

“Whaddya want mate?” he slurred.

>>> “You know, doing that out here on the streets is liable to start a riot.”

The guy's accent had a twang to it. Mat knew very little about American accents, but he knew enough that this guy was probably from down south somewhere. Mat stared at the man a moment, ready to tell him where he could go, and what he could do with himself. The guy was lucky he didn't get a smack for interrupting the song. But then Mat followed the man's gaze as it swept around, and finally took notice of his surroundings.

Oh...

People had stopped in their tracks and were now staring at Mat and his dance troupe. Not just staring, but snarling with their eyes. Suddenly, Mat could feel the weight of their collective glares. He could feel the tension in the air. In his drunken state, he had forgotten that mutants were not received well. Flaunting powers was always a good way to get on the bad side of a crowd.

Mat liked to think that he didn't get angry very easily. He liked to think that he let his anger and his frustrations roll off his back. And normally, he did. He did let things go, didn't hold on to anger.

“Wha', none of ya ever see a mutant before? Bloody yanks...”

Well, he was drunk...

His indignant anger beginning to rise, Mat spun around, sending venomous glares back to the crowd. Normally, Mat tried to stay out of the entire human versus mutant debate. He was smart enough to know that both sides had their good and their bad. But something about the way the crowd were looking at him, as though he were a pile of refuse to be swept away and thrown out, was rubbing him the wrong way.

“You god damn people, don't you have homes to go to? Families to see?” Mat pointed an accusing finger at a pretentious looking, middle aged man who was glaring daggers. “You! You gotta family, mate? You got somewhere nice and warm to go to?” Mat spat on the ground in the direction of the man. “Not all of us are as lucky as you, ya prick.”

Mat stuck an accusing finger out in front of him, and slowly began to circle. He wanted to make it very clear that he was addressing everybody.

“All of you...what the f*ck do you have to riot about?”

Yeah the guy was drunk. Andrew could smell it on the breath that wafted his way when said drunk whirled around to face him. Somewhere underneath the drunkenness was someone that wasn't native to America but Andrew didn't care to guess when the man's speech was slurred with drink. The glares were getting worse as more people stopped to gawk and glower. Hopefully Andrew could get the two of them out of there before things got too bad. At the very least Andrew was keeping an eye on the direction his car was in so that if an escape needed to be made the exit wouldn't be blocked.

It even looked like his gentle reminder had succeeded. The drunk looked around at the people that had gathered with realization. And then he spoke to them. Andrew's dread solidified further with each word that spewed forth. He was going to get them killed! Andrew could just see it now. The morning newspapers would have a headline about two young men being beaten to death by a mob for being mutants. They'd probably have a lovely statement from Jorge or something. His parents would pretend to care long enough for the press to stop hounding them and then go back to their lives.

Somewhere amidst the hateful speech the man alluded to not having a home. So he was a drunken homeless mutant? Andrew thought of the Mansion and the Sanctuary. If they got out of this Andrew would have to see about finding this guy a place to bunk. He was a Mansion greeter after all. Andrew glanced at the man before he stepped forward to address the crowd.

"Sorry folks. Don't pay him any mind. He's just had a little to much to drink. Has no idea what he's saying."

With that Andrew stepped back, grabbed the man by the arm and hauled him as close as he could.

"I know you're drunk but you really need to shut up now or we'll be running from a mob in a minute or two!"

>>> "Sorry folks. Don't pay him any mind. He's just had a little to much to drink. Has no idea what he's saying."

Whoever this guy was, he was trying his hardest to settle things down. Trying to play the things Mat was saying off as nothing more than drunken nonsense. Mat wasn't sure whether or not to be insulted by the excuses this man was making on his behalf.

Drunken? Yes. Nonsense? Not a bloody chance.

Still, the fear in the man's eyes shone like reflected light. There was always the distinct possibility, despite what Mat currently thought of the situation, that maybe this guy had the right idea. That at any moment, things might just get out of hand. As if reading Mat's mind, the man grabbed Mat by the arm and pulled him real close.

>>> "I know you're drunk but you really need to shut up now or we'll be running from a mob in a minute or two!"

Mat spared the crown one more glance. A lot of angry faces in there...

“Fine,” he attempted to whispered, his flapping hands gesturing the whisper more than actually whispering. Whisper hands, Downpour had always call them. “I'll assume you got a escape route. Leave the distraction to me!” he announced, jabbing a thumb into his chest.

He commanded his golem of Pockets to walk towards the part of the crowd. Trip and Downpour stayed where they were, but he commanded them cross their arms across their chests in an attempt to make them as intimidating as possible. The crowd didn't know that the golems weren't simply other mutants, that he controlled them. That could work to his advantage.

A man stood face to face with Pockets, not willing to stand down. He stared down the bitumen man, chest puffed out. Others who stood behind were beginning to take heart from this man, and started shuffling forwards to lend their support. The crowd was looking like they were getting ready to make their move.

THWACK!

Pockets' rock-hard fist landed square in the man's face with a sickening crunch. Those who had started forward for action, were now shuffling backwards, taken off-guard. It occurred to Mat belatedly, that these people may have seen him actually make the golems, and could therefore assume that it was him that was in control.

“RUN!” Mat yelled to the interloper, before tripping over his own feet and landing hard, face first onto the pavement.

Everything descended into chaos in a matter of minutes. The man stage whispered a plan where in Andrew provided the escape route and he provide the distraction. It seemed plausible for a few precious seconds. Andrew didn't start to worry until the statue man was standing dead even with the human. Then it reached back and Andrew knew he wouldn't be able to stop it or the man controlling it in time. He choked down a shout at the action and the crack he'd heard from the victim's jaw. The drunk shouted to run, turned, and promptly fell on his face. Andrew was left essentially alone to deal with a group of angry humans. Well first things first.

While he moved over to the drunk's side to collect him Andrew noted the street and the name of the bar they were in front of. Digging around in his coat pocket he fished out a cell phone. Like his car it didn't get much use but was around in case it was needed. He dialed 911 as he picked up the drunk and requested an ambulance for the poor schmuck that had gotten hit. Once he was sure that the ambulance was on the way Andrew tucked the device back in his pocket and put his mind to escaping.

The group had since closed in and the gap for their escape was closing. There was one small space between a woman with a purse akin to a saddle bag and a man who somehow had a baseball bat. Andrew tossed the drunk over his shoulder and ran for it. Thanks to speed he managed to barrel through the small opening. Not stopping to look back at the crowd Andrew fled down the street toward his car. It was only a handful of blocks away, three at best. Andrew muttered under his breath at this turn of events.

"You better be worth the trouble buddy."

“Guh!”

Pain. It was filling his head like beer filling a glass.

“Son of a...”

How hard could it possibly be, to simply turn and run?

“Ugh!”

Seriously?

Mat lay on the ground, writhing and moaning. He had hit the ground hard, and now every inch of his face was now feeling the results. As he tried to push himself back to his feet, Mat's head spun wildly, almost causing him to slip back down onto his face. Blood streamed from his nose, making a small pool of crimson on the concrete pavement. All sound seemed muffled, like he was hearing it from underwater.

Someone knelt down next to him, and started helping Mat to his feet. As the world began to circle and twirl, Mat could hear a voice asking for an ambulance. With a glance up, Mat saw that the interloper was the one who was both lifting him and calling for help. Mat was touched. Not only had the man decided to assist Mat in standing, he was so concerned for Mat's well-being that he was calling an ambulance to come fix him up.

What a nice guy.

Suddenly, the man threw Mat over his shoulder and began to run. Mat, puzzled beyond belief, was in no shape to go against it. Instead, he resigned himself to jostling and bouncing on the man's shoulder. Still, it seemed a strange thing to run from where the ambulance was going to come collect Mat.

“What about the ambulance?”

And the drunk man was back. Well, he was talking again at least. He'd apparently thought that the ambulance was for him. Under more normal circumstances he might have bothered with that. Instead he cast glance behind to be certain that the crowd was indeed following them. They were. There were about two and a half blocks to go before they got to the parking lot.There was time to explain to the drunk man, though he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to.

"The ambulance was for the man your statue thing punched. Besides, I happen to know of someone who can fix you up a bit quicker than a trip to the hospital could."

Though considering the fact that the entire mess was the fault of the guy that was slung over Andrew's shoulder he was tempted to spare DocProf the work. He could just snatch a few bandages and such and let the guy do his own doctoring.

"Besides, those folks back there aren't too happy with you and by extension me right now. There wouldn't be enough left for the ambulance to transport by the time they arrived if we stayed there and waited."

They passed bars, stores, apartments, and more as Andrew ran. Angry shouts followed him, letting him know with the need to look back that the crowd was still angry and still there. With weird stuff like this becoming more and more commonplace Andrew really should have stopped being so surprised when it did happen. With a growing irritation at the fact that yet another weird thing had thrown a wrench into his mostly peaceful life Andrew kept running, just barely dodging bottles and such as the crowd found things to use as projectiles.

>>> "The ambulance was for the man your statue thing punched. Besides, I happen to know of someone who can fix you up a bit quicker than a trip to the hospital could."

Made sense.

Actually, now that Mat thought about it, it made no sense at all. Someone who could fix him up quicker than a doctor? Who? And when had he made a statue thing punch somebo-- Oh. Riiiiiight. That. So why the hell would this guy call an ambulance for someone who was ready to attack them?

People did baffling things sometimes...

>>> "Besides, those folks back there aren't too happy with you and by extension me right now. There wouldn't be enough left for the ambulance to transport by the time they arrived if we stayed there and waited."

Head throbbing, nausea rising from being shaken around while the man ran, Mat looked behind them. Seems the crowd hadn't been willing to let bygones be bygones, and had taken it upon themselves to mob up. The drunk part of Mat was somewhat flattered that he had had such an impact on these people, that they had taken the effort to chase little ol' him. The quickly sobering part of Mat, however, realised that mobs lead to pain, and possibly death. Uncomfortable, sick, and generally tired of being carried, Mat began to wriggle and writhe.

“Lemme down.”

His struggling seemed work, the man could no longer carry Mat, and proceeded to let him down. Standing back on his feet, Mat gave a wobble. There was some distance between the two of them and the mob, but not enough to escape. They needed to buy more time. Mat looked at the man next to him. If he had already called an ambulance for someone that Mat had injured, deserved or not, than chances were he was a bleeding heart. Which meant that causing more injuries may be a good way to alienate the guy.

And alienating the man who was helping you escape was never a smart move.

Mat stepped out onto the road, in front of a parked car, and made up his mind. Image in mind, he began to stomp his foot repeatedly, building up enough force to make a golem large enough, but not so hard that he would overdo it. In his state, it would be easy to put too much mental energy into the sculpture and have it go rogue.

A giant hand grew from the road, followed by another, then by and head and a torso, until a golem was standing fully formed in front of him. Standing at about 11 feet tall, pitch black, and made from asphalt concrete, Mat hoped that this golem would be a touch more intimidating than the others he had been forced to abandon. In a last minute decision, Mat commanded the golem to kick a parking meter over. As it picked the meter up from the ground and slapped it against it's empty hand, Mat felt it was now complete.

Mat slumped to his knees and gave a throaty cough, his vision beginning to swim. He had overused his powers, and the fatigue was now catching up to him. This golem would most likely be his last shot. The mob, down the street from where Mat had made the golem, had seen the entire process. If there had been any doubt that Mat was the one responsible, that was no longer an issue. Seeing a giant road monster had been enough to slow their run to a cautious walk, but it wouldn't last long. They looked to be getting ready to charge again.

A parking meter smashing into a shop window, shattering the glass, was enough to give them pause for a moment.

Mat looked up at the man. Hopefully, this would work out smoother than the last distracton. “You gotta trust me mate,” he said. Pushing himself to his feet, Mat gave a shaky step forward and wore the most demented facial expression he could manage. He needed to look like a man on the edge. Like a man about to snap.

Like a man with nothing to lose.

Taking a deep breath, Mat let out a scream, releasing as much anguish, and rage, and insanity as he could into the howl. Like the sort of mad animal these people thought mutants to be. With a mental prompt, the golem charged at the crowd, brandishing its parking meter like a club, swinging it around in wide arcs.

The mob stood in shock, unsure of what to do. The brave few looked ready to stand their ground, their own improvised weapons in hand. But for the majority, it was a rout. People broke rank, and began to flee from the charging monstrosity. Panic spread like fire across a haystack, and soon even the brave were running for their safety.

“Go,” Mat urged the man next to him. Now was their chance to escape, while panic and confusion was rampant. They needed to get away before these idiots realised that Mat wasn't going to have the golem hit anybody.

They needed to get away before these idiots called Mat's bluff.

And the drunk was down. He didn't drop him. No, the man had started to struggle to be let down and Andrew was annoyed enough to drop him if that was what he wanted. If he stumbled and face planted again then it would be on his head. The guy stopped and Andrew was tempted to keep running but he didn't. Andrew stopped to watch and see what he did. After all, as annoying as he was he wasn't nearly as angering as that blonde, whatever her name was, had been. Not to mention there was a reason he was acting so bloody stupid. Did alcohol make everyone like this?

Regardless of that Andrew stood back and watched as a huge statue thing appeared as the drunk...stomped his foot? Ok that was an odd activator for a mutation but sure, why not? The darn thing had to be like four or five feet taller than he was! Andrew was used to 'towering' over people but jeez! It kicked over a parking meter and proceed to arm itself with it at it's master's behest no doubt. As long as the thing didn't hurt anyone else Andrew was fine with it. It was doing a good job intimidating the crowd at any rate.

Then the man told Andrew to trust him. In his drunken state that was difficult to do but since he was coherent enough to ask it of Andrew he'd give him a shot. What followed was a cry of animalistic fury and the golem charged the cowed citizens and sent most of them screaming off into the night. It didn't make any moves to actually attack though. Andrew actually smiled at little at that. If that sort of control was an example of what he could expect out of him when he was sober then Andrew figured he wouldn't regret this too much. When the other man prompted him to run Andrew didn't need telling twice. He took off toward the parking lot. It wasn't too far now. He could just make out the entrance on the right up ahead.

"My car isn't too far. As long as that thing of yours can keep them busy for a bit longer we should make it there. I know someplace we'll be safe from them."

While running away, Mat realised two things. Firstly, he wasn't as fit as he used to be. Life on the streets, not sleeping regularly, not eating properly, all these things had taken their toll. Being sloshed wasn't helping matters either. Secondly, he really, really, hated running. His head and face was still aching from his earlier faceplant. His nose was still releasing the odd drip of blood here and there. The metallic taste of blood lingered on his tongue. His lungs burned as he tried to keep pace with the man ahead.

>>>"My car isn't too far. As long as that thing of yours can keep them busy for a bit longer we should make it there. I know someplace we'll be safe from them."

“Okay,” Mat wheezed in reply. Though truth be told, he was probably already out of range. With a glance over his shoulder, Mat could see the golem frozen in place, parking meter held high in mid-swing. Yup, out of range. The connection had been broken the moment he had gotten too far, and there was no reattaching it. Still, the crowd hadn't seemed to have caught on yet. All in all, it seemed that Mat and partner had gotten away. Still, one couldn't be too careful.

So Mat took a deep breath, between desperate gasps, staggered unsteadily, and continued following the guy.

He wondered idly where the guy would take him. As long as it was warm, Mat wouldn't complain. If it had free food, then that would be a bonus. Mat was pretty sure that he had spent his last dollars on the wine. The wine which he had dropped when hitting the pavement. All wasted.

A drink, a drink, a drink. Maybe there would be more alcohol wherever he was going...

His companion seemed a little out of breath. He probably wasn't in all that good a shape and the alcohol didn't help Andrew guessed. That didn't matter too much. The giant had done it's job. Most of the group had scattered to the winds and didn't seem to be making a reappearance. The downside though, as Andrew looked back to check, was that the brave ones were regrouping and following. They were far enough back though that Andrew and whatever this guy's name was would be in the Accord and out of there before they could catch up.

The two turned into the parking lot and Andrew was grateful that he wasn't the sort that forgot where he was parked. The black car's doors were unlocked, open, and shut again with both passengers inside by the time the mob turned into the lot. Andrew backed out of his space and was met with a line of people. He'd been hoping they'd give up once they'd gotten to the car. Instead they stood there, confident that he wouldn't run them over. It was unfortunate that they were right. Andrew wouldn't run them down so he had to find another way. There was another exit but Andrew didn't have space to turn the car around.

He made a snap decision and chucked the car in reverse. Using his mirrors to guide him as best he could Andrew backed down the row of cars at a fair clip. It wasn't perfect. He was no stunt driver. One bad twitch of the wheel cost him his left rear tail light and part of his bumper. The owner of the car would likely be pretty angry about the loss of his own bumper as well. At the end of the row Andrew turned the car again to face another exit. One particularly fit gentleman managed to come even with the passenger side window and punch it before Andrew took off. They were on the road and speeding away from the lot and the entire mess as quick as Andrew could make the darn car go.

The man led Mat to a carpark, and consequentially, a car. Mat started to make his way to the left hand side, until he realised the man was doing the same. Remembering what country he was in, and remembering all the things he had seen in the movies, Mat remembered that American cars were all backwards and promptly made his way to the other side. The doors unlocked and both men piled into the black chariot of escape. All was good, and soon they would be--

Face to face with a line of people. Angry people. The type of people who chase, people.

Mat's eyes slid across to the man in the driver's seat. If he was smart, he'd just floor the accelerator. These people were angry, but they weren't stupid. They'd move. At least Mat assumed so. It took a special kind of idiot to try and stand down a speeding hunk of metal. Instead, the man threw the can into reverse and began escaping backwards. Mat gave a quiet sigh, but held his tongue. An escape was an escape. There was a loud bang, and the car jolted as it collided with another parked car. Mat's eyes slid across to the man once more.

He knew what he was doing, right?

The car spun around, and they were face to face with an exit. Mat let out a breath that he hadn't been aware he was holding in. A smack on the window next to him caused Mat to jump. One particularly eager bloke had kept pace with the car, and had punched the glass. Mat grinned and gave him a wave. Then, for good measure, Mat flipped the guy off with a wide smile. A big ol' F you gesture.

Their escape made, Mat slumped back into the seat, and began to laugh.

“Close call, eh mate? Should've just driven at them, they would've moved out the way. If not, then, well, you get that on the big jobs. Some people are just stupid by nature...”

The irony of the statement was wasted on the wasted.

Andrew almost smirked as the guy jumped when the last member of the mob had punched the window. It was, as he said a close call but other than the one injury it had come off fairly well. Not bad for his first real bit of action. So it was just running away from a mob and trying to keep a drunk mutant from doing anything too stupid or harmful to the humans. It still counted. Since they'd managed to escape with only one person and some property damaged Andrew decided to call it a good showing and not begrudge the drunk his rude gesture.

"I'd like to avoid getting myself an any more trouble with the police than I have already managed thanks. If I'd driven at them and they hadn't gotten out of the way..."

One upcoming trial was more than enough for Andrew. There was one thing Andrew agreed with the guy about though. Some people really were just stupid by nature. The drunk, though now that he seemed to be sobering that name wouldn't be appropriate much longer, didn't seem to realize just how well that statement applied to him. Andrew really did smirk at that.

"Amen to that."

Hmm...it probably wouldn't hurt to introduce himself to the guy and get a name from him in return. That way if someone asked who it was that he'd brought back to the Mansion he'd at least have a name to give along with the ridiculous story he'd be telling.

"I'm Andrew. You?"

So the bleeding heart had had a run in with the cops at some stage? Now that was interesting. Mat shrugged at the man's explanation. If he wanted to be a coward about the escape, then that was his choice. Not like it was Mat's car that got damaged in the attempt. He still maintained that any idiot dumb enough not to move out the way of a car deserved what was coming to them. Still, they were away, and that was all that mattered.

No point dwelling on it.

>>> “I'm Andrew. You?”

Mat glanced over at the guy. “Mat. Or Effigy. Take your pick, I seem to go by both nowadays.” Though, truth be told, since the commune he had only given his mutant name out once, to Mute. And that was simply because they didn't exactly trust one another enough to give out real names. Mat briefly wondered what her real name was. He doubted he'd ever find out.

And he was unsure as to whether or not that fact depressed him.

Staring out the window, Mat watched as the city raced past. The drunkenness that Mat had worked so hard to achieve had been pushed aside by the adrenaline and excitement of the chase, and was only now beginning to slowly return. Too slowly. Especially after all that just happened. Mat glanced down at his hands and noticed they were shaking. He bit his lip, and clenched his hands into fists. That escape had been closer than he would have liked. Mentally, he berated himself for his body's involuntary reaction to the mayhem and violence. He should have been used to this sort of stuff by now.

It bothered him that these things bothered him.

“I need a drink,” he muttered to himself. As if he wasn't having enough trouble sleeping lately, now it would be damn near impossible.

He glanced once more to the driver. Andrew. That was his name. Mat furrowed his brow, trying to figure out why this guy had gone out of his way to help. It was clear, from the smell that lingered on him and the shabby condition of his clothes, that Mat was homeless. Clear enough that you could tell if you knew what to look for, anyway. Who actually cared enough about the homeless enough to step in the middle of a near-lynching? Especially the mutant homeless?

“You're a mutie, aren't you?” Mat asked, accidentally verbalising the last part of his thoughts. “No one else would be stupid enough to try and stop another mutant from getting himself killed.” Most people would be getting in line for the mob, pitchforks in hand.

“So,” Mat began, deciding he should probably find out a few things, “where're we going?” Seemed a prudent thing to know, despite the fact that Mat didn't really care. His whole life now seemed to be going from one place to another without a clue of where he was, or what he was doing. Bitterly, Mat remembered that that sort of living was what he always told himself he wanted.

Outside the window, Mat spotted something that caught his immediate attention. “Wait, stop the car!” He was already moving to leave his seat before the car had even come to a complete stop.