Staring at the tall glass in front of him, Mat debated with himself as to whether he was dreaming or not. Picking the drink up, he felt the weight of the glass. Cold, amber sweetness slid down his throat, filling the hollow gap deep down that seemed to be increasing as his time in America stretched on.

It was taking more and more to fill that gap, lately.

He decided that he was probably awake.

Downing the dregs of his beer, Mat slammed his glass back down on the table, harder than intended. Grasping the handle of the three-quarter full jug, he quickly refilled his glass, foamy head spilling over the rim. Smiling down at his beverage, Mat sculled the contents and repeated the process. Red-rimmed eyes blinked rapidly as he suppressed yet another yawn.

Sleep. His body demanded it.

He refused it.

How long now? Three days? Four days? Five?

A week?

What day was it?

One day?

He had lost track.

Every muscle in Mat's body ached, protested against movement. Demanded respite. Fog was filling his mind with every minute, like an early morning mist, impossible to penetrate. His sinus burned, his eyes burned, his throat burned. The beer wasn't helping, but at the moment it was the only thing keeping him occupied. That and the occasional cigarette. The effects of the shower he had taken earlier had long worn off. Now that the weather was pleasant again he had, once more, taken to the streets, occasionally returning to the mansion to eat, bathe, and very occasionally, sleep. The rest of the time, he found himself walking the footpaths of New York from pub to pub. Which is how he'd landed here, tucked away in a small booth at the back of the room.

The Black Horse.

It was a dank little place. Dirt, unwelcoming, and dingy. That was good.

Mat was in the mood for dinge.

…

…...

..........

He awoke with a start, beer still in hand. Micro-sleep. He had nodded off where he sat. That meant sleep was gaining ground. Frowning, Mat rapped his knuckles on the side of his glass jug and brought an image to mind. The glass began to expand, before peeling off. A small figurine stood next to the jug. It didn't have as much detail as Mat would have liked, but it would do. Smooth surfaced, the sculpture began to twitch to life on Mat's command. Reaching across the table, Mat's hand found the cigarette packet that sat there. Slipping one of the sticks free, Mat grasped it in his lips and lit it up, taking a long inhale.

Not that he particularly enjoyed it, but it was something to do. Something to pass the time.

Had he been a touch more alert, and a touch more sober, he may have remembered that smoking in pubs these days was frowned upon. Usually illegal.

Still, blissfully unaware, Mat took a swig of beer, let the cigarette dangle from his lips, and watched as his glass puppet danced away.

Tonight, Quincy Archer was drinking alone. Well, as alone as a person could be in a bar that was filled with people. There were various cops there, but Quin didn’t know any of them well enough to approach them and try to start a conversation, and she wasn’t feeling very forward. Not that there weren’t good looking guys around, but…meh. If they wanted her, they knew where to find her.

The bar was its usual combination of dim and slightly dingy and Quin thought it suited her mood admirably. She’d dressed casually in a simple pair of jeans and a top with a cowl-neck that draped rather dramatically down to reveal the lace edged camisole she wore underneath. Minimal jewelry, understated shoes, she thought she looked approachable without trying. At least that’s probably what the magazines would have said.

Quin sipped her beer, and took a deep breath, intending to sigh. Instead, she got a nose-full of cigarette smoke, something her hippie roots protested against with the power of a thousand bright-yellow daisies.

Spinning on her bar stool, Quin scanned the bar for the offending patron, eyes falling on a man sitting at a table. He looked rough. Not that the guy didn’t have potential…but for one he was smoking…and he looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Had some random crack-head wandered into a cop bar? If so, it was definitely not his lucky day. People were starting to notice the smoke. People who were bigger, meaner, and had more Y Chromosomes than Quin did. This was going to get bad for the smoker if nobody warned him, so with much eye-rolling and an air of self-sacrifice, Quin approached.

“You do know that it’s against the rules to smoke in here.” she said, trying to keep her voice moderated, and her nose from doing that wrinkly thing it was already doing.

>>> “You do know that it’s against the rules to smoke in here.”

”Hmm?” Mat looked up from his dancing sculpture. If you could call the haphazard gyrations it was making, dancing.

The moment Mat’s eyes looked up, all he saw was red.

Luscious, luscious red.

Beautiful red hair.

He was entranced. Moments before, he had been sure that he was awake. But now, looking at this gorgeous woman, he figured he must actually be dreaming. Woman like this only appeared to him in his dreams, after all.

She had mentioned something about rules… Mat racked his brain trying to figure out what she was talking about. Thinking was becoming increasingly difficult, more so with this new distraction. This woman seemed to be the only thing keeping his eyes open at the moment. He looked back at the table and saw his figuring, still plodding on.

Was she talking about being a mutant?

Was it against the rules here to be a mutant?

Still staring at this woman, lost in his own thoughts, Mat took another long drag of his cigarette. As the smoke filled his lungs, his mind finally caught up to him, remembering the woman’s words.

”Oh, the ciggie? Oh yeah. Sh**! Sorry…”

Idiot. You weren’t allowed to smoke indoors. He knew that.

Sleep deprived idiot.

Taking it from his lips, Mat dropped the cigarette into his beer. May as well punish himself for being stupid. Figuring he could salvage this, he grinned sheepishly at the woman and let his full accent slip into his voice.

“Sorry ‘bout that. I, uh, haven’t been sleeping well. Forgot where I was for a moment, aye?” Mat looked down, then raised his eyes back up, coyly. “New to the city and all. Forgot about the smoking rules. I don’t even smoke, really.” He glanced over his shoulder and held his glass up to the bartender, signalling a fresh one. Once more, his eyes began to roam.

God, she was beautiful.

It took the guy with the cigarette a few moments to realize what she was talking about and Quin resisted the urge to do any arm crossing or foot tapping while she waited for him to get with the program. Why was he looking at her like that anyway?

When the disheveled man finally figured things out, his reaction was immediate and the cigarette was quickly extinguished, in his own beer. Such a waste! Quin mourned for the amber liquid as an explanation flowed forth, and she frowned slightly. The guy still seemed a little off…and was that a little glass figurine dancing around? She blinked and stared at the thing as it lurched around on the table. Exactly what was going on here?

“It’s, uh, fine.” she said, still watching the little man on the table. “Just don’t let it happen again…” As if she had any power in the bar aside from pulling cop rank and giving out a ticket.

“Is that a little dancing man, or did someone drug my drink?”

“Someone slip you a bit of the ol’ Lucy in the Sky, did they? Nah, that’s me mate. He’s not much of a dancer. Too much beer and not enough sleep. Still, he tries his little glass heart out.” Mat grinned again, his cheekiest possible. His sculpture had caught the woman’s attention. That was enough to break the ice.

Much better than focusing on the cigarette.

He wondered how long until she figured out he was a mutant, and that the glass man was his doing. It may have been a tad foolish, in hindsight, displaying his powers so openly. But really, who could be bothered caring?

The bartender approached and sat a fresh glass of beer on the table in front of Mat. Reaching into his pocket, he paid the man with an apologetic grin. Then he turned and gestured to the bench across from him and the jug in between.

“Join me for a drink? My way of making up for the smoke.” Whoever this stranger was, Mat definitely wanted to get better aquainted.

That was his mate. The little lurching glass man was his, mate. Oh good lord, this was going to be an interesting night. Quin stared at the little guy some more, impressed that it was still going and smiled at the explanation. The little guy really was dancing his little heart out. It didn’t look like there was any kind of motor or propulsion system powering the movements, so that just left one option. Cigarette guy was a mutant, and he was inviting her to have a drink.

The smoking was a serious turn-off. Serious. He had offered though, and Quin didn’t want to be unfriendly. The little dancing glass-man was interesting too, and she wanted to find out more.

”One sec.” she said, and moved back to the bar to grab her drink. She knew it was safe because the bartenders always watched for the cops that drank there. Returning to the table, Quin sat and went back to studying the little guy as he moved around the table.

“How long will he do that?” she asked, then figured proprieties might as well be observed. “I’m Quin by the way.”

“’Til I tell him to stop.” Mat smirked and made the little glass man cross the table and bow to the woman, with none too much trouble controlling it. His control was lagging due to lack of sleep. Still, it got there in the end.

”Mat.”

Taking his fresh drink, Mat drank long and hard. It tasted so perfect right now. Though, that may have been due to the company. ”He’s a good bloke, does most things I tell him to do. Like, say I want him to stop…”

Mat leant across the table, and looked at the sculpture like it was just another person he was talking to. ”Oi! Stop dancing, idiot!” he directed to the tiny golem. In response, Mat commanded it to give back a rude gesture. He looked up at the woman in mock shock.

”You see that? Cheeky little bugger. He’s the reason I smoke, y’know. Bad influence. I used to be sweet and innocent ‘til I met him.”

Smirk. Grin. Repeat.

And the show went on. Quin laughed at the exchange between Mat and the little glass man. His part in both sides of the ‘conversation’ was obvious, the entertainment value remained though.

”You should go on the road with that act some time.” she said, shaking her head and taking a sip of beer. “So that’s what you do? Is it just glass or is there more?” The guy wasn’t shy about his powers, so Quin didn’t have any problem asking about them. What else were you supposed to do in such a situation? As to bad influences and smoking?

“I'll just bet you were white as the driven snow. But as to your little friend, he should know better than to get someone smoking. It’s 2011, there’s nothing hot or cool about it these days.” Okay, so that had been a little harsh, but Quin wanted to get her point across. She worked on softening the blow with more curiosity and another gulp of her beer.

“The dancing glass man is far more impressive. Trust me, I have it on good authority.”

“Y’know, the idea had crossed my mind.” More than she probably realised. An idea had been growing in his head, one that had been taking shape ever since his time with the Bass Man, and his meeting with Raven. “But he’s too unreliable for show business. I’d have to replace him.”

A grin.

“Pretty much anything, so long as it’s natural. Glass, stone, rock… metal.” She seemed comfortable enough asking about his mutation, so Mat figured he could answer just like any other question. “I can’t work with plastics and stuff like that. Too complex. Can’t use living matter either, like wood. Can’t complain though, I get a nice variety of materials to use.”

Quin, it seemed, was not going to let Mat off with his wise-arse answer in regards to the smoking. In fact, she made it quite clear just how she felt about it. None too subtly. Mat could only smile sheepishly as the woman gave him a piece of her mind. When she was finished, he looked at her in wonderment.

Mostly, Mat saw how false people were in this city. Saw the fronts they put up, the roles they designated for themselves. Quin, it felt, wasn’t playing a role. She had told him what she thought, in no uncertain terms.

Mat could appreciate that.

“You reckon?” he asked with a smirk. Glancing over his shoulder, Mat called out over the din. “Oi! Anyone in here a smoker?” He felt the eyes shift his way, pairs of eyes, several still looking annoyed from his lighting up not too long ago. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of silent scrutiny, someone yelled out, “I am.”

Looking over to where the voice had come from, Mat swiped the packet of smokes from the table and launched them across the room, over to the person who had answered.

“There you go mate, Merry Christmas,” he yelled to the puzzled looking man.

Turning his attention back to Quin, Mat sipped his beer and leant back in his seat.

“There we go. Good authority prevails.” Another sip. “So, Miss Quin, what do you do with yourself? Other than berate poor little artists and their tiny glass overlords?”

His mutation…well his mutation sounded a heck of a lot like hers. He could only work with naturally occurring materials though. That was almost the opposite of what she did with polymers. She couldn't make little men though...or anything that could move on its own.

”Very cool.” she said, holding back her own information until a better opportunity presented itself.

A few moments passed and well, at least he threw away the cigarettes. Why someone would smoke ‘just because’ was beyond Quin’s mental capacity at the moment, but no cigarettes at the table was a vast improvement over having the things in front of her face.

Mat wanted to know what she did with herself, so Quin pulled out a chair at his table and sat down. The better to see who she was talking with, of course… Geez the guy looked rough. He’d said he wasn’t sleeping, but Quin knew when it was time to pry and when it was time to mind her own business. This situation was definitely one of the former.

Apparently it was okay to talk about herself, though, and Quin smiled.

What did she do with herself?

”Arrest punks who smoke in non-smoking establishments.” she said. ”But only when I’m on duty.”