((ooc: Open to two others. Not joking about the face-punching. Edit: full up. Thankies, folks!))

Calley’s summer had sucked. He wasn’t looking forward to having another one.

“Nice tan. Enjoy your trip?” The man behind the counter asked, with no real interest.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Calley said, which worked for both of them. The nice man stamped the nice passport, and the twenty-one year old slid it back into his pocket. “Thanks.”

“Yeah. Next!”

Assembly-line anonymity. It worked for Calley.

He was wearing faded jeans and a “I <3 Somewhere Else” T-shirt under a fairly slick Armani suit jacket. His shoes were this season’s Kenneth Cole; his socks were, in a word, absent. Yes, the line for the x-ray machines had been long and cold-tiled. No, he did not want to talk about it. His wheely suit case click-click-clacked over the floor to customs.

“Light traveler, huh?” The female specimen behind the steel table seemed to be attempting flirtation.

“Seems so,” Calley smiled back. Force of habit. It definitely wasn’t inspired by the white non-latex gloves currently riffling through his pants. His boxers. No socks in there, either.

“Nice tan. Where were you?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

He moved on abruptly, zipping his suitcase suit as he walked.

The taxi ride was long and traffic-jammed. The driver didn’t seem to speak English, but was well versed in horn-blaring. This very much worked for Calley.

“I changed my mind. You can let me out here.”

“Hare?”

“Not Sanctuary. No. Here. Yes?”

“Here?” As the ‘here’ in question was a random street corner, an English speaker might have been just as confused.

“Here. Yes. Thanks.” He tipped the guy generously. In return, the guy only politely eyed the large wad of cash Calley peeled his bills from.

There was a cafe nearby. At a glance, it seemed to specialize in burned food, poor costumer service, and going-out-of-business specials. It also had outdoor seating. He sat under a faded red-and-white umbrella at a stained plastic table and ordered a cup of water, just to spite the waitress. The waitress returned, and spitefully sloshed his pants as she clicked it down.

“Nice tan,” she said, by way of an insult.

“Nice face,” he leveled back, which earned him the appropriate scowl.

Seriously, though. The next person who mentioned the tan? Getting punched. In the face.

And that would work perfectly for Calley.

Amber was not, absolutely NOT going to let her recent experiences get the better of her. She was not going to let fear cause her to be cooped up inside Sanctuary or the Mansion, only to creep out of her little hiding hole in the dead of night. She was not going to let the mean humans win by transforming her into a quiet little mouse afraid of her own shadow. Fear was such a crippling emotion and she refused to be crippled.

Which was, perhaps, why Amber left Santuary wearing a slightly ragged set of dark purple robes, face safely wrapped in them, in the early afternoon. So what if the clouds from the morning were showing signs of starting to break and allow bright streaming sunlight to pore down onto the earth below, what did that matter anyway? If she wasn't going to let fear win, then she certainly wasn't going to let the sun win either!

No one questioned Amber as she walked out the large, golden Sanctuary doors. No one stopped her to question why she was about to go out at such an unsafe time for someone of her rather particular condition. After all, who would question the daughter of the Abyss? Even if they had, however, she was in absolutely no mood to listen to them.

After Amber's ordeal, what she most wanted was to get some new robes, a rebirth of her life so to speak. Unfortunately, although quite naturally, the sun was not about to allow her to complete such a quest and she was in no position to duel the sun. The clouds, as they had all ready started to do before she even left, continued to part and it didn't take long before the previously overcast day went to partially overcast and, finally, completely sunny. Which was bad.

Amber did have a destination in mind, a destination that would normally have been within walking distance. There happened to be a lovely store that sold the most wonderful fabrics and whose owner had never made a derogatory comment on her eyes at all. Unfortunately, half way there she felt the very familiar itching and burning of her skin. She wouldn't be able to make it the other half way nor, it seemed, would she be able to go back home until nightfall or until the clouds returned. Which meant, unless she wanted, once again, to panic the citizens of New York as she changed into one form of dinosaur or another and ran down the street, she would have to find a place to stay for a few hours.

Place meant cafe or coffee shop and the first cafe Amber happened to notice was the one she beelined it too. So what if it didn't seem to be the most upstanding place ever, it was a place that offered shelter from the evil sun which insisted on warring with her and so it was the place she would go.

What Amber expected to find in the cafe was maybe some coffee or some fancy drink or another and a place to sit and watch people while she waited for the safety of darkness. What she didn't was to see a Calley just outside under a large shaded umbrella, Calley who had been gone for months. Calley who was looking a little the worse for wear, based upon his clothes.

"C-Calley? Are you OK?" Because it was the polite thing to ask, wasn't it? Besides, just because Amber was developing a rather strong dislike for humans, didn't mean she had anything at all against fellow mutants. Plus, she'd probably want a concerned person to ask if she was all right if the situations were reversed. She made sure to position herself under the shade of the umbrella. It might not have been as good as actually being inside, but shade was a large improvement to direct sunlight.

A purple shopping bag was standing in front of his table. Talking to him.

Calley lifted his cup of water, took a sip, and set it back down.

“Peachy keen, jelly bean,” he said, with a distinctively keen-bean smile.

The shopping bag’s voice was female. Young. Hesitant, stuttering. Rather prey-like, all in all, in that weakest member of the herd sort of way. Also: vaguely familiar. And did seem to know him, what with the first name basis and all. This was a person he should probably know. He could probably even remember her, if he cared to.

That caring part. It involved caring.

Calley crossed his legs (flashing a tanned patch of ankle, between designer shoe and old jeans), and leaned back, with the prerequisite nice guy smile.

“You look good, kiddo. Did you lose weight?” A subtly snarky eyebrow lift to the monochrome burlap sack. Clearly not an attempt to edge, just slightly, under her skin.

“Peachy keen, jelly bean,”

Amber tilted her head to the side, considering the response. He didn't seem particularly peachy keen, but it wasn't as if she knew him well or anything. Maybe he always looked a little disheveled. Or maybe he just didn't want to talk about it and it was super rude for her to even ask. Maybe it was best that she didn't pursue that line of thought. The shade of the umbrella sure was nice, though.

"Do you m-mind if I sit?" Amber asked, gesturing towards an empty chair. Because it would be a lot more pleasant to wait until nightfall if she had someone to sit with rather than sitting all alone. Plus, even if Calley didn't want to talk about whatever it was that may or may not have been bothering him depending on how he normally acted, it had to be good to at least have someone to distract him from it, right?

“You look good, kiddo. Did you lose weight?”

Well that certainly didn't seem like a very nice comment at all and to any other female, such a comment might have rankled. Weight, however, had never been a concern of Amber's. A few pounds here and there didn't make much of a difference when your skin was paper white and you couldn't go outside when the sun was shining.

"Um, I don't think so." Amber fell into silence for a moment, trying to figure out what, exactly, she should talk about. Clearly it should be light and informal just in case something was bothering the shifter and he didn't want to talk about it. "That's, uh, a nice tan you've got there." Yes, light, informal and nothing too personal. Perfect.

My, but she was an adept social swimmer.

“Of course you can sit,” Calley replied with pure pleasantry, “sitting is what chairs are for. I do so love having people to sit with.”

Calley took another sip of water, ever so casually sizing her up from across their cozy plastic table-for-two. Her fashionable ensemble was tickling a memory at the back of his mind (which he ignored). So was the patch of white skin he could see around her eyes, between the charming Halloween wrap-job (again: ignored). His foot twitched edgily, readily, just a little cheerily as he waited. Just waited.

Here it came.

>> "That's, uh, a nice tan you've got there."

The foot stopped. Calley smiled; a full tooth, honestly cheerful smile. He lightly set his water down, and stood up. Something tickled again at the back of his mind, and refused to be ignored: a name surfaced.

“Thank you. Amber, was it? Really, thank you. That was just what I needed.”

The twenty-one year old with the excellent tan smiled at his young lady companion; it reached all the way to his baby blue eyes. A thoroughly charming moment.

Then it was over.

You know how much force it takes to kick a plastic table over? Not much. Calley crossed the newly vacated space between them, and punched her in the face. His glass shattered on the concrete; someone screamed; the hit landed with a satisfying sound, even through the cloth.

Perfect.

Amber gingerly took the chair that was offered her and sat down, arranging her ropes so that they wouldn't get in the way. She would have preferred to be able to remove her veil as well but, alas, shade might be sufficient to stop her covered skin from burning to a crisp but only true shelter could prompt her to remove her protective layers of fabric.

“Thank you. Amber, was it? Really, thank you. That was just what I needed.”

Amber didn't even see the punch coming. Oh, she saw the smile of course, heard the words and watched as the older mutant got to his feet. But the punch came out of nowhere. After all, Calley was a mutant, not a human, and mutants weren't in the habit of punching her. Mutants were suppose to be safe, unless they were evil mutants with worms that tried to eat you, but that had only happened once. Calley was not an evil mutant.

Because she didn't see the punch coming, Amber also did not make the slightest effort to move away from the punch. One moment she was sitting contentedly, although a little confusedly, and the next she was on the ground, pain blossoming from her nose, her mind in stunned disbelief. There was only one thing that she could possibly do in such a situation, and that was to start crying.

The punch didn't even hurt all that much, certainly not compared to the agony of shifting, or even compared to the burning pain the sun so often resulted in. No, she didn't cry for any physical reason, she cried because the world had come crumbling down around her, who would always the the perpetually cursed victim.

The thing about MRC is, it isn't about protecting the world from mutants. Sure, more often than not, that's what the job entails. The wrong crowd commits crimes, cruelly causes chaos for all the common people. There was a flip side to the coin. When the victim was a mutant, MRC was there. To protect mutant rights, just as they'd protect human rights.

The boy punched the girl in the strangely-colored veil. MRC was there.

This was assault. MRC was there.

And when the girl, who appeared to be a mutant, fell to the concrete in a tumble of purple cloth and white skin, Ashton was there, a member of MRC to be merciful. To bring down the hammer of justice on whoever broke the law.

This guy, whoever he was, in his mismatched blue jeans, his nice suit, and his casual shirt, had broken a law, and Ashton was there. Drinking a coffee, better than the swell swill at the precinct offices. Bitter black liquid spilled out across the table like a tidal wave as Ashton rose from his seat. He stalked over towards the girl and the man, badge held up in front of him in the palm of his right hand.

Ashton's free jamd was ready at his back suit pocket, itching to snatch up the silver metal handcuffs that dangled there. This thug had made a girl cry. Ashton may have been a pig, a womanizer, and often times, a jerk. But he was an old-fashioned jerk. Maybe. He'd been raised to be better than thugs, any way you sliced it. That's why he knew it was bad form to go around slugging women. Anyone, really, but women and children especially. Even if they were prone to saying the stupidest things.

"I'm detective Drake," Ashton drawled, Irish accent just a bit thicker today. "And that's assault. You're coming down to the station with me." Prompt, blunt, and to the point. Now, that was good form.

And she was crying. Lovely. Calley shook out his fist, not feeling quite as good as he had a moment ago, but still feeling better than when he’d stepped off the plane.

“No no no,” he said down to her, shaking out his hand. “You’re supposed to punch back. Want to try again?” That would require her getting up, first. It was rather hard (and not quite as satisfying, and slightly guilt-triggering) to punch a girl who was on the ground.

A man with a badge, now. Well. He was a brown-haired six-foot-something with a leprechaun accent. His suit was nice. Calley’s was nicer.

The young Italian glanced skywards, and mouthed a simple ‘thank you’ to whomever might be listening. Then he turned his pleasant gaze back to earth.

“Detective Drake. I’m afraid there’s been some misunderstanding. You see, I,” he grinned, “am resisting arrest.”

Calley did two things: he grabbed for the nice officer’s badge, and tried to hit him in the face with it.

One of these actions was slightly more successful than the other. Really, though: it was all good.

Amber had never been the violent type. Sure, she could turn into dinosaurs with all sorts of nasty claws and teeth and horns, and sure she sometimes hunted mice and rats and even the occasional slightly larger prey, but she really wasn't the violent type. She certainly was not the type to punch someone in the face, not unless they had punched her first and she was in dire need of some self defense. Which, of course, now would probably be the time for some self defense, except for the small problem that she simply couldn't seem to stop crying and Calley didn't appear to be trying to kill her or anything he just sort of...punched her in the face. For no apparent reason what so ever.

"I'm detective Drake. And that's assault. You're coming down to the station with me."

Amber looked up from her sea of purple fabric and blinked back tears, the nice detective coming into blurry view. It was only in that moment that she realized that there were people staring and that she really should try to stop crying. Hadn't she come out of the safety of Sanctuary in order to prove that she wasn't afraid and that she wasn't always going to be the victim? Well, that sure didn't turn out very well, now did it!

Hiding her head behind a purple sleeve as she attempted to wipe away her tears (there were less of them coming now, she would swear to it), Amber almost missed Calley's attempt to steal the officer's badge and attack him with it. She almost felt bad for the older shifter, but then he had hit her so maybe whatever happened between him and the officer he had coming to him. Wasn't that the whole idea behind karma? Because it wasn't very nice to hit poor innocent albinos, not very nice at all.

You know what else was good form? The second Ashton saw that fist with his badge start coming, his eyes snapped over to another table and focused on it. He focused on an image of himself sitting in a chair, by that table. Or that table's past location. He put his power to work. As the fist flew at his face, his face ceased to be. A table smelling faintly of cinnamon appeared on the ground, far below fist-level, and Ashton appeared seated a short distance away, one leg crossed over the other, by where that table used to be.

The guy hadn't done anything to endanger his life yet, so he didn't draw his gun, but darn it. When a guy is trying to slug you in the face, isn't that just the sort of thing you want to do?

Handcuffs clicked open as Ashton rose from his seat and stepped towards the kid with his badge. As he passed a table, he snagged a bagel from someone's plate. The cooldown on his ability wasn't up yet, but... he knew where that bagel was going, once it was.

"Are you alright, Miss." He persisted, eyes glued to the boy in the Armani suit, voice directed at the girl on the ground.

Badge, check. Man being punched by his own badge, absent. The sudden lack of a target left Calley’s fist flying a wee bit further than he’d meant it to. The sudden presence of a table made the shifter’s off-balance lurch a bit more airborne than he’d intended. Calley stumbled, tumbled, and generally ended up on the ground on the other side, facing a sky-wards direction.

Well. That—

“—Was interesting,” the winded shifter croaked. He found the ground again (and his hands and feet), and reoriented them all in the proper upright and climbing-to-his-feet position. A bagel and a pair of handcuffs were coming his way. The young Italian blinked, wobbled, and flashed a grin.

“Teleporter, huh? Sweet.” He scooped the detective’s badge up from the ground, and took a casual moment to pin it on his own suit. Said suit was then straightened, and buttoned closed. He rolled his shoulders, still grinning. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll leave my own powers in the bag. There’s just something about a fist fight, you know?”

It wasn’t like he was trying to hurt anyone, after all. He was just trying to punch someone. Big difference. On that note... the shifter gave the purple-wrapped Kleenex an apologetic shrug.

“Hey, Amber. Sorry about that. I wouldn’t have hit you if this guy had come along first.”

True words.

And now, back to the punching. Calley lunged again, not really caring if the hit landed. That was hardly the point.

But if it did, all the better.

It really was quite fascinating to watch as the cop somehow miraculously transported himself from one location to another without ever being in the middle and causing Calley to miss in his intentional attack entirely. It really did figure that the detective who had saved her was a mutant, because in her experience humans simply didn't help mutants. That wasn't how things were done.

"Are you alright, Miss."

"Oh, I'm fine," Amber answered, with a quiver to her voice. She touched her hand to her nose, feeling around just to make sure that nothing appeared to be broken. Discovering that everything did indeed appear to be in tact, she looked back up and gave a more sure and affirming nod. Her only injuries were of the non-physical variety and she was fairly certain that the detective wasn't in any position to help with those.

“Hey, Amber. Sorry about that. I wouldn’t have hit you if this guy had come along first.”

Well that certainly didn't make the situation any more confusing, but at least it wasn't personal, right? Or something like that. Amber wasn't quite sure whether or not that actually made things better, but she did start climbing to her feet. There was, after all, no reason to remain crumpled on the ground like some invalid when she really wasn't injured anyway.

Amber watched as Calley lunged at the detective, not quite certain what to do. Did she try to stop Calley from hurting either himself or the nice man or did she do nothing? And if she did do nothing, would Calley get himself arrested? And if he did get himself arrested, would that be her fault? And did she even particularly care at this point? Her mind whirred with confusing questions as she stood there, mutely watching.

The girl was okay. That was good.

The guy had pinned his badge, HIS BADGE, onto his shirt, and hidden it away. That. Was not good. What did that make? Impersonation of an officer, assault of an officer, assault of a mutant pedestrian and resisting arrest?

Ashton didn't pay much attention to what the guy was saying. It was general street jargon for 'my fist, your face, old man', he figured.

"You got a knack for breaking laws, kiddo." He hauled back his hand confidently as the man in the Armani suit lunged at him. The wait between power uses was up. He lobbed the bagel as hard as he could, towards the kiddo's face. He disappeared in a blink. The bagel appeared where he'd just been. It dropped to the cement. Ashton's fist, with all the speed of a lobbed bagel, replaced that bagel in its old position. Flying directly at Armani suit's face.

Armani Suit had butt touch ground for the second time in as many minutes. His face showed surprise for a moment: a bagel had just turned into a fist, after all.

“Switchy-teleportor?” He politely inquired, rubbing at his face. “Also awesome. Want to see mine?”

The grin was back. This was probably a warning, but probably not warning enough. Very few things could properly warn for what happened next.

Calley’s hand left his face; he made a flicking motion with his fingers. And then all view of Calley would be cut off, from where the good Detective was standing. After all, he’d just had a tiger splinter flicked at his face.

A full grown Bengal, to be exact. It pounced with a cathartic purr, aiming for that most nefarious of outcomes: sitting on the man’s chest, and licking his hair.

If the situation had been any different and Amber wasn't caught in the middle (more or less) of a fist fight between Calley and some mutant detective, she would have found the use of his teleportation powers to be fascinating. Aura and Abyss had both promoted to her the beauty of the mutant condition and their words had helped spur on a love of mutant powers of all sorts. Unfortunately, it wasn't the time to stand there admiring such things.

It was only when Calley somehow summoned a very (very) large tiger that Amber decided it was time to act. She hadn't even been aware that Calley could do such a thing (whatever it was that he actually had done, exactly) but that really wasn't the point. A fist fight was one thing, no one could really get killed in a fist fight, a tiger was quite another. Not only were tigers much larger than either her own small frame or any other human frame, for that matter, but they were also claws and teeth and profound muscle, all of which could easily kill a man.

Although uncertain what, exactly, she could or even should do in such a situation, the one thing Amber was certain of was the fact that she couldn't do much of anything while in human form. Normally she didn't like to shift in public (due to the unfortunate tendency living dinosaurs had to attract angry mobs), but given the fact that there was all ready a tiger standing in the middle of the city, she didn't think a dinosaur would attract that much more unwanted attention.

Decision made, Amber began concentrating and with surprising quickness, her form began to change. For anyone watching, it was likely to be a rather disturbing and grotesque site. Skin dissolved only to be replaced by scales, feathers sprouted and bones and muscles deformed. She clenched her teeth against the agony that ripped through her entire body and, half a minute later, a Deinonychus stood with a pile of robes around it, where previously a teenage girl had stood before. A Deinonychus complete with very deadly teeth and claws of its very own. She let out an angry screech at the larger tiger. She was not going to be the perpetual victim any longer.