Had Gina known that the building she was standing before was actually the Sanctuary, she might have not lingered before it at such length. She stood across the street from what she assumed to be a cathedral, arms folded, head tilted back appreciatively. She peered towards the spires of the cathedral, towards the impressive windows, smiling.

How she had ended up so far from the Mansion was no mystery when one considered her tendency to wander. She'd departed from the Mansion early that morning for a flight, and meandered over the landscape of the city, coming to land a block after she had spied the tall cathedral. She'd walked there, then, and stopped to stare at it.

She had been standing there, admiring the building, for a good five or maybe ten minutes. And, having stared at it for quite an extent of time, Gina had come, seen and conquered, and was now ready to leave-- and so, she left.

Had this occurrence been little more than a sightseeing trip, the thread would've ended here-- however, as Gina turned to walk away, she paid no notice to a lingering pair eyes. People stared, what else was new-- over time, she'd learned to ignore it. But it wasn't like when humans stared. No, there was a mutant watching her, and yet she still didn't notice.

And she was on the move; finally he could enjoy himself a little bit! There was no excitement standing around observing a stationary target. When he’s hunting, a stationary target usually is a sign that it’s time to move in for the kill. Today was a slightly different occasion though. He’d had a wonderful catch the previous night that had pumped up his size to a level he hadn’t reached since he first arrived in the city. He felt good, and he wanted to celebrate by going out and seeing the city. Once he got out though, he quickly remembered why he didn’t do so often. It was late in the afternoon, a time of day he was not entirely familiar with, and he was finding the people to be a little more then he could handle, so he did what he did best, he climbed, and he stayed out of sight.

People watching had become a bit of a hobby for him as of late. He’d only recently learned that mutation wasn’t such a rarity, and that there were in fact other mutants out and about walking the streets. He would look for them every once in a while, hoping to spot one, not really know what he would do when he finally did. He could never know though. No one else ever looked like him. If he was looking at mutants, he could never tell which ones they were apart from the crowds of the mundane.

Today had been a break from tradition though. A girl with wings and a tail had landed near where he had been perched and headed down towards the building he now knew as “The Sanctuary.” He’d planted himself across the street from the girl and watched as she admired the architecture of the building. He was impressed with her confidence to just walk out among the crowds of passers-by. He still couldn’t do it. She lingered for what he had thought to be a rather long time, and he began to assume that she was waiting for someone, so he was a little disappointed when she finally lifted her gaze from the gates and continued on her way still alone. However, he was relieved to finally be on the move. Aimless people-watching is acceptable when the people you’re looking at are always on the move – a stationary target can begin to get dull.

So he followed her for a few blocks, admiring her willingness to be seen in public. He wasn’t surprised by she the looks she was receiving from the people that passed her, but she truly didn’t seem to be bothered by it. This was impressive to Shane; he sure as hell couldn’t handle that.

By this point the girl had crossed the street over to his side of the road, and the sidewalk traffic had died down a fair bit. He couldn’t help himself from thinking like a hunter again, and the fact that this would be an ideal time to prepare for a strike. In his mind he began to get lost in the different ways that he could set himself up for a strike, deciding that lying in wait at the mouth of one of the up coming alleyways pulling her into the dark would make for the best strategy. He managed to snap himself out of his haze however, remembering that he still didn’t know if that was the direction he wanted to take this interaction in, assuming there would be one at all.

Unfortunately for him though, his over thinking of everything would prove to be his downfall. He had been far to focused on the girl below him that he hadn’t been paying enough attention to the rooftops ahead of him, and one misstep on an uneven surface sent him toppling down into a alleyway only steps behind the winged girl. His fall had been padded by the trash that filled the alley, but he was far from fine, and the noise that this trash pile had generated was excessive, to say the least.

Gina meandered in her aimless fashion, still partaking in the sightseeing tendencies typical of tourists. She’d been in New York for, what, six or seven months now, and she was still behaving like this? Gina covered a few blocks in record time, her clawed toes clicking on the pavement, eyes roaming storefronts and occasionally peering skyward. It was so difficult navigating from the ground, and there were way too many people present for her to take off then and there.

Gina paused, scowling, surveying her surroundings. She spied a clearer stretch of road that intersected hers, a stretch that would be adequate for potential take-off, unless something on the street-level happened to catch her fancy. The gargoyle checked for cars, saw none, and darted across the street, only slowing when she was on the other sidewalk.

The selection of this avenue had been a fortuitous one—small shops lined it, and there were cute things within the storefront windows. Cute things, Gina thought, practically drooling. She enjoyed cute things, and could live with buying some more of them. She began to jog towards the nearest storefront wingdow, eager to see what waited within—

When something distracted her—or, more like, scared the living daylights out of her her. Shortly after she passed a narrow alley between two buildings, there was a tremendous noise, almost like an explosion, muffled by a bag of trash. Gina nearly jumped out of her skin, doubling back to see what was up. Such a loud noise was not natural. As she turned and peered into the alleyway, she recorrected her previous assumption-- it sounded like a dead weight hitting a bag of trash.

At first glance, she saw only the trash, which was buckled down around some raggedy old clothes. She then noticed the man-shaped mass within them, who she hadn't seen before because of his jet-black skin, and the black bags which had cushioned his fall. She drew closer, hesitantly, heart hammering. Is it dead? Was it alive to begin with? Gina drew closer, scarcely breathing. Her first, most logical assumption was that it wasn't even a man at all, but a giant uncooked sculpture dressed in clothes-- in her heart, she knew nobody would toss out this much clay, that it probably was an actual man (and a mutant). But, nobody could survive a fall like that without being seriously injured or dead. Or so Gina thought.

She dared to move closer, hesitant to break the silence, spare a hesitant, “Sir? Ummm… sir?” Was it the silence that scared her, or the potential for a reply?

Following suit of many movies that she’d seen before, she extended a foot hesitantly, lightly kicking his boot. From this vantage point, she got a better look at him, and saw that something about his physique just wasn't torqued properly, as if he might have broken a bone or two-- or likely more. At the contact, the man gave an unearthly groan, shifting uncomfortably, and Gina flinched.

“Sir?!” she demanded, more insistently. Already, Gina was fishing into her bag, for her cellular phone. He was still alive, but-- there was no way that he wasn't hurt.

((ooc: Took a bit of liberty there with Shade at the end, moving and groaning. It's nothing big, but if you want me to change it, I will do so more than willingly.))

At first he thought he might have blacked out. It happened on occasion after he would consume a new meal. Though usually they would lead to some kind of dream, or memory, or some kind of hallucination. But this time, all he could see was a bright light. He squinted as he tried to make out what it was, lifting his arm to try and shield his eyes. Pain shot all throughout his arm. Everything seemed to snap together after that.

He’d never fallen from that high before. He’d taken a few tumbles out of trees, and he’d even slipped off of a few other roofs since he’d arrive in the city, but never from that high up. Luckily he was only up a few stories when he fell; otherwise this pain in his arm could be something far, far worse. He wasn’t in any rush to get up, so he began checking that he could move. His right arm was spoken for; definitely injured. Everything else seemed to be in pretty reasonable shape though, all things considered. Hw was actually relieved to see that he’d managed to stay in a relatively human state. Often when he would lose focus on maintaining the shape, he would revert to a basic blob. But this time the few rags he was wearing seemed to have keep him in the same basic shape.

That’s when he felt someone kicking his foot. He wasn’t quite hearing everything that was going on, everything around him seemed distant and quiet, and his vision was only just starting to clear up, but the sharp voice of a girl asking “Sir?” cut right through, bringing him back to reality at last. He looked up at the source, shocked to see that it was none other then the winged girl from earlier. The situation had improved moderately if it was another mutant who had found him. He couldn’t handle it if some member of the mundane had found him like this, weak and wounded.

She was digging through her bag and hadn’t noticed that he was looking directly at her. He thought to himself that if he wanted to get away without her noticing, this would be the only time that it would even be possible. Shifting some extra mass to his legs, he attempted to pop himself up in the pile of trash he was currently residing in. His arm didn’t agree with this plan of action, however, and sent waves of pain coursing through his body. Now on his knees clutching his shoulder, he let out a wince that bordered on a growl; some blend of pain and anger. His attention turned back to the girl, who was now looking him right in the eyes.

Gina was a rare breed of teen-- the sort that wasn't fastened to her cell phone, twenty-four hours a day and seven days a week. In fact, she often misplaced it, forgot it, and other such things that teens would rarely dream of doing. It wasn't a particularly good habit, for a young woman who tended to wander just as Gina did. Today was one such day which Gina had forgotten it-- in desperation, she rummaged through her messenger bag, yet the familiar contours of her cell phone escaped her? Perhaps I accidentally pushed it aside? She rummaged around again, but no avail. She let loose a soft hiss of breath, distinguishable as a swear for those who listened closely enough. Of all the rotten luck-- the one time she needed her cell phone, and she'd left it at the dorm.

She hadn't noticed that the man was staring at her, but had heard him try and shift his weight. With the shifting weight, the garbage rustled, and she looked up, more than slightly surprised that, after falling off of the roof, he was still trying to pick himself up. He shifted forward, practically rolling onto his knees, and Gina backed up. Wait, he wasn't hurt? His arms didn't seem to get the message, though, and stuck. He winced and grolwed, a hand going to his shoulder-- scratch that, he was actually hurt. The growl wasn't the kind of groan one might hear from another human, but much more... feral. The other mutant looked up, caught Gina staring.

"At least you aren't dead," Gina breathed anxiously, giving a hollow laugh. He kind of wierded her out, which was was a funny way to feel about another mutant... but... he kind of reminded her of Gumby, but creepier. Creepy, like that guy at MetLife had been. He was still human on the inside, Gina reminded herself, inwardly chastising herself for being so hypocritical. She hunkered down, so that she was at eye-level with him. It felt wierd looking down on him.

"How hurt are you?" Gina went on, swallowing her nerves and looking at him so that they were, more or less, face-to-face. Being without a phone didn't really help, but if he truly needed medical assistance, she knew there had to be someone who'd truly assist him... maybe she could go into one of the shops and ask to use the phone...

It was hard to deny that Shane often forgot that he wasn’t invincible. He made a point to generally avoid conflicts he couldn’t win, and he when he did get wounded, a few meals was usually enough to cycle him back to a fresh outer layer. Hell, even a little bit of impact damage didn’t seem to be all that bad. It had been a while since he’d really done any major inner damage, but right now, he was nervous he might have broken his arm. Even he sometimes forgot that there were bones stored away in there. He rarely needed them, his body just kind of operated independently of them most of the time. As little use as they were though, clearly they still hurt, a lot, and he imagined that setting a bone couldn’t be easy when it’s floating around inside a ball of goo, more or less.

The girl was on to him now though. What ever it was that she was looking for in her bag was no longer an issue apparently, and she was looking right at him. She had attempted a joke (presumably to lighten the mood), though it seemed more then a little forced to him. He was a little disappointed to see that she wasn’t as excited and intrigued to see him as he was to see her. Mutants probably weren’t as uncommon a sight for her as it was for him. She did seem to have genuine concern for him though.

“How hurt are you?” she asked him. Truth be told, he didn’t know, but he was certain he’d never felt pain quite like this any other time prior to his trip to New York. Since he’d arrived, he’d been shot at, electrocuted, and now possibly broken a bone or two from a fall. He missed the woods. Some measure of pride took hold of him though, and he refused to show his pain n the surface. Once again he tried to stand up.

“I’m fine, just a little bruised.” He responded. His voice lacked some it’s usual coarseness and rasp, which he was thankful for. If the girl wasn’t all that thrilled with his appearance, having every word growled out at her wasn’t going to improve things. He started to walk down from his trash pile, trying to force a smile at the girl watching him intently with a highly skeptical face. His footing clearly was not on his side today though, and a piece of trash slipped out from under his foot, throwing his balance and sending him toppling down, face first into the ground in front of the little winged girl. There was no way for him to hide his pain after the groan he let out as a result of that fall.

Gina hadn't been trying to joke-- she was uneasy, had feared that this stranger had actually killed himself, if not really, really, really hurt himself from the fall. Her laughter was a nervous reflex. This time, the creepy-Gumby-guy managed to regain his footing, wheezily replying that he was fine, if not a little bruised.

"Are you sure?" Gina pressed on, still in a bit of shock. Sure, he gave her the creeps, but she was more concerned than much else. As if to demonstrate that he really was a-okay, the man began to stagger down the alley, seeming a bit wobbily on his as he attempted to descend from the trash. He smiled, too, as if the smile would convince her. Gina edged closer, disbelieving. He reminded her or her next-eldest brother, always acting like he was invincible. Needless to say, Gina was not convinced in the least.

Lo and behold, the guy lost his footing on the slick trash. Gina let out an alarmed shout, rushing forward to catch him, but she was a heartbeat to slow. The man toppled over like a felled tree, catching the brunt of the fall on his face. He groaned, obviously apained this time, and Gina moved to his side, attempting to help him up. This guy was more dense than he at first seemed, physically speaking.

"We need to get you some medical help," Gina determined on her own, "Pronto. Are you alright with hospitals?" Some mutants were perfectly fine with hospitals, or Med 7's, or whatever was avaialable, others would rather die before being seen in such establishments. If this guy said no, she only knew of one place that she could take him to, and that was back to the Mansion, to the DocProf. But first, she'd have to find a way to get over there. She would've proposed the Sanctuary, had she known of it, yet she did not. Either way, she was going to have somebody help him out, whether this clay man liked it or not.

He finally seemed to be sitting up, though Gina made sure he sat up slowly so as not to self-inflict any more injuries upon himself. Gina had a hold on one of his arms, the one that didn't looked awkwardly bent or broken (so she assumed it to be the uninjured one).

He really didn’t know why, but he absolutely refused to be taken to a hospital. As far as he knew, he’d never been to one, but some voice in his head just kept telling him that he needed to stay away from them at all costs. He’d never been one to ignore instincts or voices in his head, he didn’t see any reason he needed to start now, pride was important, right?

The girl, logically, opened up with a hospital proposal. He responded with a sound that seemed to rest firmly in the middle of a sigh and a groan. She was quick to add the question “Are you alright with hospitals?" possibly in response to his whining, or simply because she could anticipate his lack of interest. In either case, he certainly wasn’t going to have any of it. Once again he stood up, the girls hands on his good arm. Her help was appreciated, but unnecessary he kept telling himself, he was fine. I just need to eat something, that’ll fix me right up, he thought. He didn’t really believe it would, but hoped he might be able to convince himself if he said it enough.

“No, no. Really, I’m fine” he assured her. His tone was even less convincing then it had been before, and he knew it. There was audible pain in it now, and he couldn’t hide it anymore. He was going to be shocked if she bought it. But the look on her face spelled out that she didn’t. The racket they were making was starting to look as though it was drawing eyes. The street really wasn’t all that busy, but the few people who were walking by were beginning to look down the alley towards them, and they certainly must have been an unusual sight. He was sure he could hear their whispering from where he was.

The sleeve of his wounded arm was beginning to show signs of bloodstains seeping through around his shoulders. He tried to twist his arms shape a bit to move the wound further down the arm away from the main bulk of his body. Yet again though, this proved to be both a poor idea, as well as an incredibly painful one. He abandoned the idea before the effects could become obvious, only sliding the wound down a few inches. Once again, he was left wearing the signs of his agony all over his face. Swallowing his pride, he looked to the girl, still supporting him. “No hospitals. What else do you have to offer?”

"No, no. Really, I'm fine."

Of course she didn't believe him-- Gina was much sharper than that. She remained latched onto the man's arm, fearful that he would take another spill and injure himself even more. People were pausing at the mouth of the alley, peering at the two curious characters in the alley and murmuring in hushed tones-- Gina didn't even take notice of them until she noticed her fellow mutant was peering at them, and she looked up, giving them a cheeky wave without releasing the man. They scurried on past.

She turned her back on them, so as to shut them out and only be looking towards the clay-man, having to tilt her head back to look into his eyes. She studied his wounded arm, as if staring at it could help discern what was the matter, and made note of the familiar, growing stains-- bloodstains. Oh yeah, they were definitely going to get some help. There was a faint squelching sound, and the man winced again.

"Stop moving your arm--!" Gina said sharply, in the stern tone of a mother. She loosened her hold on him, her brow furrowing crossly, "I know you're injured, so stop exacerbating the wound further."

The other mutant seemed to take a moment to collect himself, and finally agreed, "No hospitals. What else do you have to offer?"

"Xavier's," Gina said abruptly, her eyes glittering. If he didn't want to go there, she'd be unable to think of anywhere else to take him, "There's an Infirmary there, run by a mutant man known as the 'DocProf'. I'm certain that he'd take care of your wounds, if you'd go with me. Of course, I'd have to get a ride over." Get someone to pick her up, or hail a cab, even though cabs were pretty dang expensive. However, desperate times called for desperate measures.

This was a place Shane had heard about. Some kind of school for mutants, if his memory served him. He’d been told about it, but he’d never actually been there before. It was a place that had piqued his interest since he’d first learned about it, but ne never really had much in the way of concrete details. This was looking like it could turn into an ideal situation for some learning and discovery for him. He started to get excited, forgetting for a moment that his in to the school was a pretty serious wound.

The girl was becoming more impatient with him, it seemed. She clearly wasn’t very impressed with his claims of good health, and her tone began to reflect that of a mother dealing with a difficult child. It’s never ideal to realize that you are acting like a difficult child, and Shane was no exception. She was trying her best to help him, and he wasn’t making it easy for her. He decided from that point on he would try his best to behave. Of course, being wounded was just the kind of situation that could easily bring out the animal in him.

She mentioned briefly that they would need a ride, yet another thing to add to the list of events today that he had never experienced before, or at the very least, not in a long time. He stood himself back up again as the girl loosened her grip on his good arm. As he climbed back up to his full height, he looked down on the girl, eyeing her wings in particular. He didn’t really believe it was a possibility, but he tried his best to remain optimistic that by ride she meant flying there. Motioning him to stay put, the girl released her grip entirely and began to jog towards the entrance of the alleyway. Shane rested his back against the brick wall, trying to relax a bit and catch his breath. His hat was a quite a few meters ahead of him, but he’d figured out by this point that trouble seemed to come every time he tried to walk through the alley. Forming his good arm into a whip of sorts, he extended it out the full distance, his weak arm shriveling up under his sleeve, out of view. The long tentacle grabbed hold of the baseball cap and reeled itself in.

Placing the hat back on his head, he looked back to the girl, now out on the sidewalk whistling towards the street. “Hey, what’s your name?” he called to her. Perhaps this wasn’t the most ideal time for pleasantries, and maybe yelling wasn’t the best way to exchange them, but for some reason, he wanted to just keep talking. He felt himself sliding down along the brick, slightly diagonally. The puddle of blood that had gathered on the ground beside him grown rather big.

The man nodded slowly, and Gina released him, puzzling over what to do. It'd be easier to hail a cab, and quicker, so that seemed like the most logical thing to do. She could see by the look in Gumbys' eyes that he was wondering if perhaps they'd fly to the Mansion, and Gina smiled, releasing his arm. While being whisked away by a winged woman might have been fantastic and magical for Gina's clay man, it was unfortunately quite impossible-- she could tell just by looking at him that this guy was far too heavy, if not by the density of being mostly clay, than by the fact that he loomed a whole foot above her. Not only could she not fly with him in her arms, she wouldn't even be able to lift him. So, flying back was out of the question. He would have to settle for something a bit more mundane.

Gina nodded, satisfied that the guy wouldn't try getting up and waking away, and jogged back out to the well-lit street, momentarily blinded as her eyes adjusted to the light. She stood on the curve, waving an arm at some approaching cabs and whistling loudly.

"Hey, what's your name?"

Gina cast him a humored glance-- not exactly the conventional method of making one's acquaintance, but she supposed it was necessary, if they were going to be sharing a cab. And why was he still standing in the alleyway? They were trying to catch a cab, and a lot of cabbies were not very patient.

"It's Gina," she answered, hollering down the alley, "What's your's?" A couple of familiar goldenrod cars rocketted past, either intentionally or unintentionally ignoring the gargoyle. Gina scowled, daring to step into the bike lane, and she shouted, "Hey!" A rather bold minivan-turned-cab came rolling up to the curb, causing Gina to step back as it jolted to stop. Gina stepped up, pushed open the door, and poked her head in. The cabby glanced back, using a free arm as leverage, "Where ya headed?"

"I need to go to Xavier's," she said quickly, "Gotta friend that's hurt real bad, so I need you to go as fast as possible. Can you do that for me?"

"You got money, you got it, doll," he agreed.

"Wait right here," she said quickly, "Gotta go get 'im." She patted the seat, and darted back across the sidewalk, making sure that no vultures loomed nearby, ready to hop on her cab, before retreating back into the alleyway. This was going to cost her so much, but it was a good deed, and hopefully karma would smile kindly upon her for performing such a task.

"Come on, I got a cabbie waiting for us, and he'll take us to the Mansion," She led the man over to the taxi cab, ducking in ahead of him. Gina hated cars, but was able to wedge herself in minivans well enough-- she ducked in, lowering the middle row of seats and squeezing into the far back row. It was a snug fit, but she was in. Gina leaned forward, pulling the lever on the seat so that it was readjusted and ready to be sat in, and gestured for the clay-man to follow.

Shane must have torn whatever wound it was that he had under his sleeve even further when he tried to relocate it. The blood that was dribbling down his arm seemed to have been growing in volume every minute or so, and it was certainly having it’s effect on him. As the girl ran back to him shouting something, he could barely focus on anything around him, and every sound seemed to blend together. He had caught the girls name though; Gina, she had said. He mumbled the name to himself over and over as she began to run back towards him. He was able to make out her gestures at least, even if not the words. She was clearly motioning for him to follow. She helped him up again and they worked their way to the cab, leaving a trail of blood drops all the way there.

The driver certainly didn’t appear to be thrilled with his customers, not that Shane could really tell. The obvious assumption was that two mutants in his cab would have been his problem, but in reality, his eyes continued to swing down to Shane’s jacket, stained on both the sleeve and his lap. I just had this thing cleaned, he thought to himself the entire trip, eying him with frustration through the rear view mirror every chance he could.

The entire ride, Shane was trying to keep himself conscious, but he was feeling incredibly tired. His head swayed back and forth with the road’s bumps and holes. He was looking around the cab and out the windows, but none of it was really registering, he was just trying to excite his brain. He knew that if he did pass out, there wouldn’t be much to keep him in a human form other then his clothes. Watching someone melt was probably not the kind of experience either of them was looking for. “You sure you’re friend here shouldn't be going to the hospital?” The driver asked Gina. Most of it went in one ear and right out the other though, as Shane’s eyes started to close.

Gina watched as the clay-man numbly felt his way into the taxi, and shakily planted himself in the seat closest to the door in the middle row of seats. The driver asked if they were all in, and following an affirmative form Gina, the driver closed the door remotely. The cab lurched into motion, the driver gunning the engine as they pulled off of the curb. For a few measures, it was stonily silent, and as the cab jumped over a pothole, the clay-man's head lolled to the side limply, as if he'd lost the urge to support it.

"Hey, how are you holding up?" Gina inquired, leaning forward. She was watching him quite closely, and wore a look of obvious concern upon her face. When her inquiry was met by silence, Gina's panic doubled, and she leaned forward, slender arm reaching between the van's side and the seat, fastening onto a leaver and dropping the seat beside the clay-man. Careful of her wing's positioning, she edged forward, so that she was facing the clay-man and perpendicular to the direction that most normally faced while riding in a car. The only form of acknowledgment that Gina earned was a listless glanced. Gina turned her attention to his arm, where the blood was flowering out from a wound hidden by the coat.

Gina breathed a swear, gingerly hooking a claw on the sleeve of the guy's coat and popping its seams clear up to the inside of his elbow, exposing the wound to the cool air. It was a lot worse than he'd been making it out to be, and the blood was streaming out at such a consistent pace, it couldn't have been healthy.

"Do you have a, uh, First Aid kit?" Gina inquired, her voice quivering slightly. She tried to stay calm, because the last thing that they needed was for her to panic, but-- it was hard not to panic. She was a fifteen-year-old girl with a bleeding stranger in her care, and not the faintest idea as per what to do. She'd never been a Girl Scout or anything of the sort, never had medical training. The cab driver turned in his seat, letting loose a swear of his own as he proclaimed that, "I just had this thing cleaned--"

"Sorry," Gina whined, her breath catching, "I'll clean it for you again, I swear, just please--" The cabby reached into the seat beside him and tossed a large, gray hoodie to her. It was clean, smelled like laundry detergent. Before Gina could ask any questions, the cabby said, "A patron left it behind. Use it as a compress... you'll need mo' than jus' a roll of gauze, doll... jus' try and stop the bleedin'," Gina murmured another apology to Gumby, who didn't seem to mind the treatment-- as she pressed the sweater to his wound hesitantly, his gaze simply swam past her, and he didn't even blink an eye.

"Think yer buddy's goin' in t' shock," the cabby observed, after a few short moments, "Hold his arm up, above where his heart's at... atta girl... it'll also help the bleedin' slow." Gina did as she was instructed, trying hard not to cry. Her gaze went between resting intently on Gumby, to darting to the cabby for advice. It had felt like eons in the car, yet only minutes had passed.

The cabby saw Gina's expression, and he patiently inquired, "Ye sure yer friend's good t' go all th' way t' Xavier's, doll? It's real far, and he's lookin' t' be in a sad state-- I know plenty o' hospitals that're much closer 'n' Xavier's."

As if on cue, Gumby suddenly went slack, head bobbing forward and torso following. Gina let out an alarmed yelp, catching him but barely. She had to drop the sweater to support him, for it took the use of both of her arms to support his unconscious weight. With some struggle, Gina managed to heft him back into the seat and, using one arm to keep him pinned in place, she used the other to grab for the lever on the side of his chair, and recline it. She knew that she'd promised that they wouldn't go to a hospital, but he wasn't looking too good. That sort of thing didn't matter, given the situation.

"The hospital," Gina agreed anxiously, "He isn't going to like it, but please, take us to the nearest hospital, quickly."

"You got it, doll," the cabby agreed, punching the accelerator as Gina returned her attention to the clay-man. Gina returned to tending to the clay-man's arm, her heart hammering away in her chest. It was beginning to ooze, not just the blood, but the flesh, too, which couldn't mean anything good.

"Hey," Gina said sharply, patting the guy's cheek roughly enough for it to sting a little. She knew it was a bad thing if he was unconscious, and wanted him at least somewhat cognizant, "Hey, Gumby-- don't you fall asleep on me! You hear me?" They hit another bump, so she had to readjust her hold on the hoodie-turned-compress. She could feel the warmth of the blood through the sweater, but it had yet to seep through. Gina shook his shoulder with her free hand, and swatted his face again, "Hey, you-- come on, wake up--! Don't you pass out on me--! Gumby, please-- oi, Gumby--! Hey!" It was obnoxious, and she was unrelenting, but hopefully it was doing the job. She didn't even know his name, so had resorted to calling him the closest thing she could think of to her name for him.

The cab zipped down the avenue haphazardly, jumping up onto the curb and coming to an abrupt halt in front of the "Lutheran Medical Center". The cabby hopped out of the car, circling to the door by which Gumby had taken his seat, and throwing it open. Without even removing the keys from the ignition, he darted inside, to retrieve some nurses, and some sort of stretcher or wheelchair, while Gina attended to her wounded friend. By now, her breathing had gone ragged, and she was very, very close to tears-- who could blame the girl for panicking?

"Oi, come on," she said once again, shaking her friend's shoulder, "We're here. Wake up."

With each blink of his eyes, the world seemed to become more and more hazed. Not just visually but his understanding of it as well. He was dreaming. What else could this be? There was a distinct feeling, far different from his normal blackouts this time, like he had more control of what was going on; he felt less like a bystander and more like he was taking part.

Except he wasn’t really contributing at all. He was helpless. He felt incredibly tired, and tired his best to just focus on keeping his eyes open, but even that felt like moving mountains. His head was wobbling back and forth to the rhythm of the bumps in the road. His chin bounced off his chest, and his head, no longer covered by a hat, rattled off of the window of the van. His gaze managed to stay focused out the window most of the time, looking up at the buildings as they whizzed back. There were other voices around him, but he couldn’t see where they were coming from, or make out what they were saying anymore. Truth be told, he didn’t even remember where he was.

One of the voices proceeded to make itself known. A girl climbed in beside him, grabbing at his arm. He didn’t really know why. It didn’t really seem to bother him, though, his gaze moved back to the window; the world seemed to be far more interesting out there. He couldn’t understand what was happening in the van, but what he did know was that the people behind these voices weren’t having a good time, and he didn’t want to take part of their depression. He almost felt like he was flying while the people on the street zoomed by. The only thing crushing the illusion was the feeling of his head crashing into window.

Then bam! He could feel a hand slap him across the face. It certainly woke him up a bit, but only momentarily. He certainly didn’t feel much bellow his chest, so he wasn’t able to retaliate, but he didn’t seem bothered by this, after a brief moment of attempting to make eye contact with the offender, his gaze returned to the window. The girl was yelling something into his face, but he wasn’t listening, or at least attempting not to. Something about “hearing” something he could guess, he wasn’t interested though, far more interested in the fact that the world had stopped flying by outside the glass his head rested against.

The next thing he knew, men who were lifting him onto some kind of bed, where he was surrounded on all sides. His happy bliss was slowly fading away, but his feeling was not. He looked at his own body and began to realize that it wasn’t holding its form very well, his ribs exposing themselves like he was starving. He tried to correct it, but he couldn’t get it to move, unsure if it was the men wheeling him through the doors, or something worse. His hearing was still shot, and his vision still hazy, but the terror of the situation was all too present, and a little too sudden for him to handle. People were shouting all around him as he laid his head back on the pillow beneath his head. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, so instead he opted to watch the lights above him as the ticked past. Like counting sheep, he could feel his eyes getting heavier with each one that passed by until there was just a general white haze.

Then Black.

After the throng of nurses rushed out, coming with stretcher in-tow, and whisked the clay-man off into the hospital, it was all a bit of a blur. Gina had followed closely, nearly running to keep pace with the rushed nurses. They were all talking loudly amongst themselves, only pausing when one of the nurses (or maybe she was a doctor?) asked Gina a question-- and there were numerous questions, which Gina did her best to answer. They were mostly relating to who the clay man was, and what he had done to bring about this unknown injury. And, while Gina was quite detailed in the latter, she was useless in the former-- she confessed that they were strangers, and she'd only brought him in to make sure he was okay.

The medical staff had then attempted to shoo her, stating that only family was permitted to follow them into the back rooms, but Gina had stubbornly refused to leave her friend's side. All the while, some of the nurses were flashing a dim light in Gumbys' eyes, checking for shock, and keeping the sweater on as a compress as they went. They determined that, yes, he was in shock, if his unresponsiveness was anything to go by.

It was at that point in time that the clay-man passed out, and abruptly began oozing once again.

--//--

Gina had to commend the nurses for their efficiency, but no one had been prepared for the melting. They had determined that yes, the clay-man had quite thoroughly broken some bones, on top of some other damage that had been done to his arm. The doctor had admitted that she was alarmed to find that the damage wasn't more extensive, but there was, however, little that they could do considering the fact that clay-man couldn't hold his shape. All that they had been able to do was tie a hard, plastic back brace around his middle-section, to stop him from losing too much of his shape in that area. They had also wrapped his forearm in gauze, and put that in a temporary brace too, until they could figure out how to put a cast on a man with an arm that wasn't consistently the same shape.

This had managed to stop the bleeding, and they were currently trying to get more blood into his veins via a bag and a drip. Gina was slouched in a nearby chair, head lolled back and body numb with exhaustion-- none of the medical staff had been able to separate her from the side of the other mutant, and so here she sat, waiting and watching as if they were old friends. After all this had occurred, she'd paid the cabby the cost of the ride, plus a generous tip for going beyond the call of duty, before sending him off. This had cleaned out most of Gina's wallet, leaving her with very little paper-money left, and even less nerves. For a fifteen-year-old, she'd managed to keep it all together rather well, but even now she trembled a little with anxiousness. An idea struck her then, and she moved quietly past the slumbering (or unconscious?) clay man, towards the phone that was rooted into the wall.

She took the phone off of the jack, maneuvering it so that the cord didn't twist around the base awkwardly. She also grabbed a phone book out from under the bedside table, and set it on the unoccupied hospital bed beside Gumby's. Gina flipped to the back of the book, as the phone naturally called the front desk. A smooth, female voice cut through over a murmur of noise in the background, "Lutheran Medical Center, this is Sherry at the front desk, how may I be of assistance to you?"

"Ummm, Miss Sherry, I-I need to make a call," Gina answered hesitantly, drawing closer to the end of the phone book, "Um, to somewhere outside of the hospital-- can I do that?"

"Yes, ma'am-- one moment please."

There was a pause, rustling, and then a dial tone. Gina flipped anxiously closer to the back of the phone-book, before coming to rest on the page that she'd been seeking-- in a section all its own, a small add for "Xavier's Sister School". Gina fumbled the phone and dialed the number shakily, praying that someone she knew would answer. There was a single ring-- a pause, which seemed to last an eternity-- then a second ring. Gina held her breath, biting her lip as if to bite back the growing worry. Her hand tightened anxiously around the phone itself, and she balled and unballed her fist. There was a third ring, yet this one was cut short--

Finally, someone had answered--!