Chase never had the pleasure of having a mother fret over his every move. Even when he still had a home, his parents had kept very loose tabs on Chase or his comings and goings. Thus, he felt as though he'd missed out on part of the "liberating" aspect of running away.

This was one of many incongruencies between what the romanticized version of running away was, and its actuality. For example, Chase was always hungry because of his reservations about stealing. He therefore couldn't sleep because of his empty stomach. And, since his sleeping pattern was erratic, he tended to always have the chills.

But, not now-- Chase had just stolen and consumed a rather large hotdog. Having eaten, he no longer had the chills, and realized how sleepy he was. Much in the fashion of an exhausted child, he had made it to a bus stop, sat down to wait for the bus, and wound up falling dead asleep by the bus terminal.

If anyone had noticed him, none had bothered to wake him. It was mid-afternoon, so most anyone who was boarding the bus hadn't time to bother with slumbering bums, however young they were. Chase was wedged in a corner, between the wall of the shelter and the end of the bench, so it was likely that nobody had even noticed him. Chase had enough wits about him to draw his hood and clung to his backpack, utilizing it as a pillow in which he burrowed his face. With the sounds of the street as his lullaby, Chase slept quite soundly.

A kid was sleeping in the bus stop.

Mama had her hands full. No car for the day, obviously, and an awful lot of shopping to do, in an awful lot of places. She did not mind the walking, and the weather was nice, but the more stuff she bought the more she realized she was going to be in trouble. Especially when she saw the buses and all the people getting on and off. She was just about to give up and get a taxi when she saw the tiny sleeping figure in the corner.
Mama had eyes for lost kids.

"Hey" putting the shopping bags down to hve one free hand, she nudged the bundle that was probably a kid, or a really small adult, not that it made any difference "Hey, wake up."

Chase stirred yet didn't awaken when the woman with the shopping bags approached-- his human facade slipped as her aura engulfed him, but Chase paid no notice. He was sleeping like the dead.

The woman, having set down her shopping bags, nudged Chase and urged him to wake up. Chase stifled a yawn as he unfolded from around his backpack, his vision swimming blearily. He blinked a couple of times, gaze focusing on the Amazonian woman before him. Chase gave her a dopey smile, got to his feet, and slurred, "Must've missed the bus."

It was the best line that Chase could concoct, given his grogginess. He stood there spacily for a moment, stretched and yawned. As he stretched, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. It was at that point in time that Chase realized that he wasn't exactly human-looking at the moment.

A wave of dread hit the eight-year-old like a pail of ice water, startling the child into wakefulness. He tried to slip into the human facade, but couldn't. And, here he was, cornered by a woman who was easily two feet taller than him, stuck looking like a freak. At least she hadn't screamed, yet.

"Umm, excuse me," Chase stammered apologetically, ducking his head as he picked up his bag and stumbled out of the sheltered bus stop. He began to make his retreat, anxiously running a hand through his hair. That's what he got for sleeping at a bus stop.

Mama knew a lie when she saw one. She also knew a mutant when she saw one. It was kind of hard to hide when she was nearby. Also, the kid did not look like he had been waiting for any bus at all.

"Hey." reaching out, she put a hand on his shoulder; not grabbing, just holding him up "It's okay I'm not gonna hurt you."

She had that voice that went really well with what she was saying.

"Are you alone? It's dangerous out here for mutants. Do you want me to call someone? Do you have a home?"

The woman stopped him with a gentle hand on the shoulder, a sweet hey, and the promise that she wasn't going ot hurt him. Chase stiffened at the contact, yet didn't pull away. It wasn't that he didn't believe her-- who could doubt a woman with a voice like that?-- it was simply that he was self-conscious about his appearance, and greatly unaccustomed to people touching him.

Chase nodded his head shyly to show that he understood that she didn't mean him harm. He was polite enought not to jerk away, yet obviously still had the urge to run away. Chase turned back to the lady as she continued speaking to him.

>> "Are you alone? It's dangerous out here for mutants. Do you want me to call someone? Do you have a home?"

The rapid-fire inquiries caught him off-guard, so Chase once again froze, stammering a little before uttering a coherent answer. While he spoke, Chase tugged at his hood, and kept his head down, only looking up at the woman with sidelong glance, through his eyelashes.

"No," he began quietly, "Thank you, but... th-that won't be necessary. There's nobody to call. N-nowhere, I mean."

That being said, he tried to shy away again, but less hastily this time. Perhaps a slow retreat would prove more effective?

>>"No," he began quietly, "Thank you, but... th-that won't be necessary. There's nobody to call. N-nowhere, I mean."

So, he was a runaway. Alone. Nope, Gemma was definitely not letting him out of his sight.
Hand still on his shoulder, she leaned down to look at him.

"My name is Gemma" she told him "Don't worry about your powers. You won't be able to use them when you are near me, that's my... ability. I am sorry it must be uncomfortable." she sighed "I work in a school for mutant children. A safe school. I can take you there if you want to come. I'd hate to leave you out here alone. But it's your choice."

The lady's hand remained. Chase did, too. Not in an entirely willing fashion, but the lady was persistent. And now, she was bent down to his level, trying to look at his face. Chase squirmed, now-- she was in his little, imaginary bubble of personal space, and she was trying to look at his mutant-face, which made him beyond uncomfrotable. Chase barely heard the introduction as he tucked his head even lower. Was she one of those weirdos who liked looking at mutants?

>> "My name is Gemma-- don't worry about your powers. You won't be able to use them when you are near me, that's my... ability. I am sorry it must be uncomfortable."

"Yeah," Chase agreed, to which the lady only sighed. He lifted his head, though, when she said that, his eyes roiling with emotions against the black sclera-- inquiry, confusion, and perhaps a little fear, set against the typical turquoise iris.

>> "I work in a school for mutant children. A safe school. I can take you there if you want to come. I'd hate to leave you out here alone. But it's your choice."

Chase was so tempted not to bite, but the scary-lady (Gemma, Chase corrected himself, had an interesting proposition). A school for mutants? Were there such things? He wasn't so enticed by the "safe" line. The same thing had been said about his human-school, and look what had happened there-

The bait had been laid, but would Chase bite?

"A mutant-school?" Chase echoed hesitantly, "Are you a teacher?"

Hook, line, sinker.

He was uncomfortable, that much was clear. Gemma considered stepping away from him; but she was not entirely sure yet that he would not bolt. So she stayed.

>>"A mutant-school? Are you a teacher?"

"I used to be a teacher" she nodded "Now I am a guidance counselor. I make sure everyone has a place in the school, and I help with whatever I can." she smiled "Sometimes I even cook."

Most of the time, she did. The kids needed some decent food.

"We have regular classes, and then we have teachers working with students to help them learn about their powers."

>> "I used to be a teacher. Now I am a guidance counselor. I make sure everyone has a place in the school, and I help with whatever I can. Sometimes I even cook."

Chase had become well-acquainted with counselors and social workers in the past few months. He deflated a little, but listened out of politeness rather than self-interest. She knew how to get a boy's attention, though-- she mentioned cooking. Food. Suddenly, the hot dog didn't feel so filling any longer. Chase's gaze flickered from the pavement to her face searchingly.

Chase didn't know of residential schools, so to him, school was just a seven- or eight-hours-a-day sort of thing, which generally ended in leaving and returning home. A home which he didn't have. Chase wanted to go to school, sure, but he wasn't going to come to school looking the way he did, in the same pair of clothes, throughout the entire year.

>> "We have regular classes, and then we have teachers working with students to help them learn about their powers."

But, where better to go, than a mutant-school? Chase wanted to go to a school, but not a human one-- not anymore, not after what had happened.

"Wh-what about-- what about the kids who can't go home?" Chase dared to inquire, his eyes still searching Gemma's face, "I don't want to go to school like this everyday." He was quite dirty, and he tugged at the sleeve of his hoodie to show her what he meant. Even eight-year-old runaways had standards.

>>"Wh-what about-- what about the kids who can't go home? I don't want to go to school like this everyday."

Gemma smiled a bit. She was winning this battle. Against an eight-yeat old... but still.

"Most of the kids don't go home" she nodded "They can't, or don't want to. And even the ones who do, they still live in the school most of the time. You'll get a room, and clothes, and food. It's like a boarding school, really." she smiled "We even have holidays together. If I can get someone to help me with the shopping, that is." she chuckled, nodding towards the bags that she put down. "So, would you like to come and see the school? You can still say no after that."

Curse his curiosity. Whether or not Gemma was cognizant of it, she had indeed piqued Chase's interest. And, every time she spoke, the answers she gave sat well with Chase. Yes, she was succeeding, and she now had the little mutant listening very closely.

>> "Most of the kids don't go home. They can't, or don't want to. And even the ones who do, they still live in the school most of the time. You'll get a room, and clothes, and food. It's like a boarding school, really."

A boarding what? Chase didn't even care to ask. He was listening too intently. A school full of kids just like him? And they lived there?

>> "We even have holidays together. If I can get someone to help me with the shopping, that is--"

She smiled and nodded towards the bags. Chase smiled, too. Holidays. He had always liked holidays, yet had always disliked them. Holidays were all about family, which always seemed to make them bittersweet.

>> "So, would you like to come and see the school? You can still say no after that."

It was difficult to say no to a room, clothes and food. Especially food. Chase searched Gemma's face, and hesitated... It could be a trap. But, if it were, would the option have been his? No.

"Okay," Chase agreed quietly, giving a decisive sigh and a very faint smile, "I think that I might like that."

>>"Okay... I think that I might like that."

Gemma smiled and nodded.

"All right then. Let's go."

She had a lot to do. Now that she had just picked up a new kid, she had even more...

Picking up the shopping bags, she looked around.

"All right, the bus is hopeless, let's just go catch a taxi. Hm?"

It took some time to find one; the could have gotten one sooner, but Gemma was looking for a driver wh did not stare daggers at the kid. Finally, she found one. God bless New York City.

>> "All right then. Let's go."

Chase nodded as the woman released him, and once again hefted the shopping bags into her arms. Chase watched with muted interest as she did so-- how women managed to do that every time, without ever seeming to drop one, was a truly great feat, indeed. Though, Chase wasn't so amazed that he forgot to inquire, "Would you like any help, Miss Gemma?"

They began to leave the bus stop, which probably meant that Gemma had it all under control. Thus, Chase trailed close behind her, as she explained what was going on.

>> "All right, the bus is hopeless, let's just go catch a taxi. Hm?"

"Okay," he agreed. He stood, silent as a shadow, while the tall woman attempted to hail cabs. Chase kept his gaze trained downward as he studied his worn Converse, as well as the sidewalk surrounding them. Though Chase wasn't even look at them, the cab drivers seemed to have this sixth sense about mutants. They just gave him a glower, and continued on-- they didn't want that sort of riff-raff in their cabs. Chase was about to propose that they suffer through the bus, when a decent cab driver finally pulled up to the curb.

As the cab driver did so, it dawned on Chase that, while Gemma had told him her name, he'd never given her his. However out-of-the-blue it seemed, Chase clearly yet quietly informed Gemma, "My name's Chase."

>>"Would you like any help, Miss Gemma?"

"No, I'm fine" she smiled at him. Shopping bags sge could dea with "Thank you though."

He really was a polite young man.

The managed to get a taxi and pack all the shopping bags in the trunk before they got in.

>>"My name's Chase."

"Nice to meet you, Chase" she nodded with a smile once she gave directions to the driver "Where are you from? If you don't mind telling me."

She would allow him all the choices she could, for now. This was still a test. Of trust.

Chase slid into the cab ahead of Gemma, to the far, street-side seat. He shifted his gaze towards the cab driver shyly, and the cab driver regarded him in the rearview mirror. The cabbie smiled, and Chase dipped his head, pulling his hood low once again. Gemma slid in beside him, and clicked the door shut. Chase listened as she instructed the cab driver on where to go.

The taxi cab felt so alien to Chase-- he hadn't been in a car since before he'd run away, so it was something he'd grown unaccustomed to. Chase nearly forgot to buckle his seatbelt, until the cab driver made that request. Oh, yeah-- Chase buckled himself in, and folded his hands upon his lap, looking out the window. Storefronts and buildings rocketted past as the taxi lunged into motion.

>> "Where are you from? If you don't mind telling me."

Chase's gaze flickered from the surroundings outside to Gemma, a small frown touching his face.

Syracuse.

That was the one thing that he didn't want to talk about. Even if he liked Gemma, even trusted her, he neither liked nor trusted anyone enough to ever talk about that awful place.

"Upstate," Chase mumbled, his voice going husky with hesitance, "I came to the city about a month or two ago." His gaze trailed from Gemma to his hands. Was where he came from really so important? Or was it something that people usually asked one another? His gaze went back to Gemma.

"What about you?"