> “There was another place for mutants—it was called the Mansion. I took some classes there”

Sonya nods in recognition – she’s heard the name before, the other group not run by this Hunter fellow. Though she hadn’t realized Calley had been affiliated with them. Interesting.

> “I got the impression that Issie really didn’t like the Mansion, so I don’t think I
> ever told her that I went there, sometimes.”

Sonya is starting to get the hang of interpreting Calley. In this case, she concludes that the evasive language and the shifty body-language translates roughly into: Calley didn’t want his girlfriend knowing about it. Maybe the Mansion residents and the Sanctuary residents don’t get along? Shades of Romeo and Juliet!

> “It’s just kind of weird, having her be in the camps.
> I mean, I don’t know at all what’s happening. Do you
> know anything about them? The camps, I mean.”

“Some,” nods Sonya, “but not much. They have some kind of bracelet things they put on the prisoners, that zaps them when they use their powers. At least, that’s what they say it does. Don’t know what they’re like inside, but I can imagine, and it isn’t pretty, y’know? And with those robot things working for them… it’d be one hell of a fight breaking in, or out. But we’ve got to do something.” She sighs. “I asked Syn about it last night, but, well… I don’t know. This ‘Resistance’ of hers doesn't sound too organized, really. Though maybe it’s just that she didn’t trust me with the details… guess I can’t blame her for that, I am pretty new. If they’re the same llama-kidnappers you’re hanging out with, you probably know more than I do about that.”

She considers telling Calley about Rupert, then decides against it… too much can go wrong if that information gets out, and she has no way of knowing what other personalities are spying on their conversation, and besides she doesn’t even know if Rupert will turn out to be reliable.

“I guess what we could really use is someone with invisibility or something like that to sneak in and check the place out. I never met anybody like that at Sanctuary, though. Least not as far as I know; the truth is I still don’t know what half of those people’s mutations are… like Syn, for example; she seems to be in charge, but what can she do? I’ve got no idea.”

She shrugs. “Sorry I don’t have better news. It must suck knowing she’s in there and not being able to help.” Privately, though, Sonya is beginning to wonder. Calley seems concerned, admittedly, but he doesn’t seem particularly desperate-boyfriend concerned. She wonders how close the two of them really were, after all.

Calley laughed shortly, and Slate echoed it with a snort in the back of their mind. “ ‘Too organized’ is definitely not something the Resistance would be accused of. And yeah, Syn’s working with the same people I am. Too be honest, I’m not sure how much we’re going to get done. It’s great having a ton of people in one place, but our goals have been rather... fuzzy.” Really really fuzzy. The Boss Man tended to be like that, though. He was more of a ‘slam people against a wall, think rationally later’ kind of person. Which really was not a good way to lead an underground secret movement.

What Sonya knew about the camps was nothing new, but he still listened quite intently to every word, on the off-chance it was. But nope. It wasn’t. Now he, for one, happened to know exactly what Syn’s powers were, and he’d heard rumors—though he hadn’t seen for himself—that Fade of X-Men fame could fit the bill of ‘invisibility’ quite nicely. This did not seem like information that a normal teenager would know, though, so he decided on keeping it to himselves.

“Sorry I don’t have better news. It must suck knowing she’s in there and not being able to help.”

Sonya shrugged as she said that; Calley shrugged back, somewhat sheepishly. “To be honest, we weren’t really that close—we’d just hung out a little.” And she fed me cat food, gave me baths, and let me sit in on important Order meetings. “But it would still be nice to get her out of the camps.” He spun his fork over his hand and caught it. ...Cool. He hadn’t been sure if that would work. “What about you? Are you close to anyone in the camps?”

> “To be honest, I’m not sure how much we’re going to get done.
> It’s great having a ton of people in one place, but our goals have been rather... fuzzy.”

Sonya laughs for just a second at the image of Calley with fuzzy goals, then frowns. “That’s a damn shame. Seems like with that kind of power in one room you ought to be able to do something, you know? Who’s running the show up there?”

> “To be honest, we weren’t really that close—we’d just hung out a little.
> But it would still be nice to get her out of the camps. What about you?
> Are you close to anyone in the camps?”

Sonya blinks at that. “I thought you said you were dating? Or are you more the love-em-and-leave-em type?” She sighs… Figures. She was probably dating some other personality. This is one guy it’s going to pay to be careful around. “Anyway, no, nobody in particular. Hell, I don’t even know if they’d remember me… I mean, Syn introduced me around and I sat in on some group stuff, but…” she shrugs, “well, you know how it is, being new. But like you said, I still want to get them out.”

She spreads jam on another pancake as Calley plays with the fork, and starts methodically eating around the edges. She’s hungrier than she remembers being… she’s not sure if it’s depression or the example Calley is setting or what… and is definitely appreciating the existence of food.

After a moment of chewing she adds, somewhat despondently, “I guess there’s not much a healer and a tiger can do, though. And any support we get from the Sanctuary folks, well, I guess Syn’s already working on that.” She feels a little bad keeping her other powers, and her inside contact, a secret… on the other hand, she’s not sure what difference it would make. “Hey,” she adds brightly as the idea occurs to her, “what about the place you were taking classes at – the Mansion, you said? – is there anybody from there who could help?”

Calley shrugged noncommittally at her question as to who was leading the Resistance. “It seems to be getting run by some young businessy-looking guy in a suit. With a ponytail. I wasn’t all that impressed, to be honest.”

“I thought you said you were dating? Or are you more the love-em-and-leave-em type?”

Calley raised an eyebrow, and pointed a fork across the table at Teresa. “Dating, yeah. Dating doesn’t mean madly in love. It means she’s fun to hang out with, and she seems to think I’m fun, too. We haven’t even really kissed yet.” He blushed a little—Issie had kissed him on the cheek, but he didn’t think that really counted. “I just like her, is all. And just so you know, I’ve never left a girl before.” Mostly because Issie was his first girlfriend. And her being taken off to a concentration camp was not him leaving—it was an Act of Congress.

“I guess there’s not much a healer and a tiger can do, though. And any support we get from the Sanctuary folks, well, I guess Syn’s already working on that.”

He nodded, and began to create a pancake sandwich. Was flat layering better than rolled? The world would soon know the secret to this ancient culinary mystery. “I’ve been thinking that, too. The not-much-we-can-do thing.” The ‘we’ there could have been either referring to himself and Teresa, or to himselves, plural. He really didn’t stop to figure out which in his own mind. What with it being correct either way, and all. “I mean, the healing for both of us is good, but it really doesn’t help much. And tigers can get shot just as easily as humans.” He brought his legs up to sit cross-legged on the chair. “I think... I’m going to try and do what I can, from backstage. ‘Cause I’d probably just get in peoples’ ways in an actual fight. I don’t know exactly what I can do, really.”

“Hey,” Sonya said, sounding like she was working to cheer them both up with shiny new ideas, “what about the place you were taking classes at – the Mansion, you said? – is there anybody from there who could help?”

Calley paused to think, rolling his eyes up slightly as he nibbled experimentally at his pancake sandwich. Hmm... hmm... nope, too flat. As for the Mansion issue: he didn’t need to think about that. Yep, he knew quite a few people there that would be good for something like this. Unfortunately, “Almost everyone got captured, from the Mansion. I’ve heard from the people who were there... it was bad. Really bad.” And really fun to watch. He hadn’t even minded the lightening storm—it had really set the mood of the scene. It was like he’d been watching a dramatic movie clip. “Maybe even worse than what happened at the Sanctuary—I’m not sure. But it seems like fewer people made it out.” He finished off the pankwhich, and came to a sad conclusion: his stomach was physically full, but he was still very hungry. Stupid hyperactive metabolism.

“So, umm, what do you think you’ll do? For the Resistance, I mean. Is there anything you’d be good at? Though I guess I should ask first: are you planning to join us? I mean, no pressure.” He reached across the table, and returned the lime green squeaky hedgehog to its rightful place on his right shoulder.

Sonya raises both hands in the face of Calley’s defensive fork pointery with respect to his girlfriend. “OK, OK, I take it back. You are loyal and true. And humble and lovable. Speed of lightning, roar of thunder, fighting those who rob or plunder. Sorry. None of my business, anyway.” Privately, though, she’s not entirely convinced. Not that Calley’s loyalty to his girlfriend is a particularly high-priority issue at the moment for her… no, not at all. They have more important things to talk about, like the Resistance and how hopeless everything is.

> “It seems to be getting run by some young businessy-looking guy in a suit.
> With a ponytail. I wasn’t all that impressed, to be honest.”

“Is that Hunter Whatsizname? Antonescu? Syn said something about him leading some other group, and them being all working together… but I have to admit, I can barely tell the players without a scorecard, let alone keep track of who’s in charge. But if he managed to keep his team from being attacked by the cops, he gets points for competence in my book, that’s for sure.”

Calley’s summary of the state of the Mansion only reinforces that feeling. “Well… so much for that idea, then. Damn.”

> “So, umm, what do you think you’ll do? For the Resistance, I mean.
> Is there anything you’d be good at? Though I guess I should ask first:
> are you planning to join us? I mean, no pressure.”

That gets a laugh out of her – a bitter one with no trace of humor in it. “Yeah, no pressure at all. Just, you know, the government puts me and everyone like me in concentration camps if we don’t find a way to stop ‘em. Other than that, it’s all just pancakes and jam, right?” She sighs. “Yeah, of course I’ll do whatever I can. I just don’t know what that is. It was good to finally get back in touch with Syn last night, but, well... ah, the hell with it. We’re just going around in circles now, aren’t we? And we’re out of pancakes. You have any coffee? It’s always easier to think with a cup of coffee.” She stops and considers that plan more carefully, then shakes her head. “No, on second thought, never mind – I don’t think I want to see you on caffeine. How about ice cream? That’s a traditional depressing-situation food, isn’t it?”

“Is that Hunter Whatsizname? Antonescu?”

“Yeah...” Calley’s eyes rolled upwards slightly. “Antonisyu... or something. The Hunter part sounds right, for sure.”

“...It’s always easier to think with a cup of coffee.”

That is a very bad idea.

“No, on second thought, never mind – I don’t think I want to see you on caffeine.”

...Teresa is a very wise young woman.

...Hush, Slate.

“How about ice cream? That’s a traditional depressing-situation food, isn’t it?”

Calley nodded happily. “I’ve got ice cream! Have I ever got ice cream.” In one jump and two bounding steps, he was at the refrigerator and, by extension, the freezer. One-fifth of a second later, his head was inside of it. “I’ve got Neapolitan—that’s the chocolate and strawberry and white one—or I’ve got mint chocolate chip, or there’s ice cream sandwiches with M&M’s around the edges.” He backed his head out far enough to look at her. “Anything sound good?” He was already grabbing out the Neapolitan for himself and Slate. Slate was, predictably, a vanilla fan. Calley, on the other hand, loved all forms of frozen ice and cream-related products equally.

Yes, he was over the whole ‘depressing state of current mutant oppression’ thing. Rather quickly, too. But that was mostly because, ah...

Ice cream!

Sonya nods smugly at Calley's recitation of ice-cream flavors... somehow she'd figured that he would have a large supply.

"What, I have to choose? Ice cream is best when flavors are mixed up!" She grabs the mint chocolate chip to start with and scoops a scoop of it into a bowl, then gestures for Calley to pass the Neopolitan when he's done with it. "What, no hot fudge?" she adds, only half-serious.

She eats in silence after adding chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry to her bowl, methodically arranging to get a little bit of each on each spoonful. She's always eaten ice cream this way, ever since she was a little -- she pauses with a spoon halfway to her mouth and shivers slightly at the realization that no, she never used to eat ice cream like this.

Teresa did.

It's not the first time this has happened, some fragment of a template's personality showing up when she doesn't expect it, but it's been happening more often lately, and it's creepy. But this isn't the time to worry about it, she decides, and empties her bowl methodically and quietly.

She stays silent after that, thinking about the situation for a while, watching Calley finish his own bowl. "Yeah," she finally says, "ice cream helps." She still can't think of any brilliant ideas, though... at least, nothing beyond maybe coordinating Rupert and Syn, which she'd rather not tell Calley and his entourage about. "So, this Hunter guy. He was clever enough to keep his team from getting nailed by those robot things... you think he's clever enough to find a way to break folks out? The way Syn talked about him it's hard to be sure."

Calley admired the artistic professionalism in his dining companion's ice cream arrangement. The cross-carton contamination, the methodical heterogeneous spooning, the sudden brain freeze--

I do not think that was a brain freeze that she was experiencing.

No. Can't say I do, either. So what's another reason to stop and get all somber-like while eating ice cream? I mean, it's ice cream.

Potentially, she is thinking of the situation.

Slate's theory seemed to get confirmed with the words that eventually followed her delicious ice cream eating: “Yeah, ice cream helps.”

Calley nodded simply. Oh yes. And not just ice cream, either—any sort of food item was fair game for happily side-tracking unwanted thoughts. Though honestly, he hadn't eaten much—his stomach was still full. And he was still hungry. He was starting to think of taking a nap, too.

...This is getting annoying. I mean, I could understand if we'd been running all over the place doing missions for Hunter since sun-up, but we slept, then we ate. Now we're hungry, and tired.

Indeed. The problem with split personalities: if you didn't have any brilliant ideas, there wasn't a good chance that they did, either. Except occasionally. Occasionally, Slate could be useful.

That is wonderful to hear, no doubt.

Hey! No listening to my non-verbalized narrative monologues.

It is hardly a choice. Perhaps you could try having less of them?

"So, this Hunter guy. He was clever enough to keep his team from getting nailed by those robot things... you think he's clever enough to find a way to break folks out? The way Syn talked about him it's hard to be sure."

Calley made a face. “I agree with you on that bonus-points-for-not-getting-raided thing, but really, the guy didn't strike me as anything special.” Period. “And at the meeting he said he basically wasn't going to be around at all—he was just leaving the camp breakouts to the rest of us, without any instructions.” Period. “And Slate thinks he's using us as cannon fodder, since he basically came out and said that raiding the camps was useless—he's going to be playing around with politicians or something, I guess, while we're getting our butts kicked by robots.” Period.

...Period?

Period. End. As opposed to 'It was really amusing, being able to tear down Hunter and his ideas while simultaneously being a good employee. Multitasking at its finest.'

...I see. Do you indeed to continue saying 'Period' after every statement you make?

Yes. Yes, I do.

...Please return to your non-verbalized narrative monologues.

Hehe. I win.

...Of course you do.

> " really, the guy didn't strike me as anything special. And at the meeting
> he said he basically wasn't going to be around at all—he was just leaving
> the camp breakouts to the rest of us, without any instructions. And Slate
> thinks he's using us as cannon fodder, since he basically came out and
> said that raiding the camps was useless—he's going to be playing around
> with politicians or something, I guess, while we're getting our butts kicked
> by robots.”

Sonya is briefly puzzled by the odd little emphatic pauses Calley has started inserting between his sentences, but she is quickly distracted from that by the content of what he's saying. "That son of a bitch! So he's just gonna let them rot in there?!?"

She takes a deep breath and tries to calm down, adding "Sorry. I mean, yeah, he's probably right that it makes more sense to get the MRA repealed, or something like that, than to stage a breakout and have everyone go into hiding or whatever... but Jesus, it could have been us in there, y'know?" She shudders at the thought.

She's tempted in that moment to let Calley know about her contact with Rupert, under the theory that someone has to do something and it didn't sound like the Resistance was going to be it. But she doesn't -- first, because on calming down a little she realizes she'd only told Syn about her contact in the Camps a few hours ago, which really wasn't giving her much time to deal, and second, because what with the creepy alternate identities floating around in the back of his head, she's really not at all sure who listens in when she talks to him. You're being paranoid, girl, she censures herself... then ignores it, because paranoia seems an entirely reasonable reaction to the current circumstances.

"So, OK... the Mansion's leadership is in jail and the, um... does Hunter's team have a name? anyway, Hunter's got other plans. So it sounds like Syn's the closest thing to a team leader this Camp breakout plan has got, then? Or is somebody else stepping up?" She rubs her temples in frustration; this sort of strategic planning just isn't her forte... then something else occurs to her. "Hey, what about this techno-genius friend of yours -- what was his name again? I bet he'd be able to take down these robot thingies, right?"

Calley could completely understand her reaction to Hunter’s lovely action plan on the camps issue. It was a response that seemed normal. In fact, if he was really worried about the issue, he’d probably be having much the same reaction, himself. “Just because someone’s right doesn’t mean they’re not a bastard,” he said, nodding sagely.

"So, OK... the Mansion's leadership is in jail and the, um... does Hunter's team have a name? anyway, Hunter's got other plans. So it sounds like Syn's the closest thing to a team leader this Camp breakout plan has got, then? Or is somebody else stepping up?"

“Hmm... his team’s got a name... it’s something really foreign-sounding. He’s got a pretty weird accent, himself; I don’t think he’s from America at all. Last I heard, it sounded like Syn wanted to go with him on the politician thing, so I don’t think she’ll be organizing things. And Abyss wanted to mass murder all of Congress, so I sort of hope he doesn’t get put in charge. Not really sure who will be... someone’s probably going to rise to the top, though. I think the fighters are starting to get organized into teams, but yeah... not fighting, so I’m a little out of that loop.”

"Hey, what about this techno-genius friend of yours -- what was his name again? I bet he'd be able to take down these robot thingies, right?"

Calley swished his legs. “Maybe. He’d probably need to dissect one first, though. They showed pictures of them at the meeting. Those things just look like they stepped out of a bad sci-fi horror flick, don’t they? I like horror flicks ‘n’ all, but not so much when I’m guest-starring in them.” He gave a shrug that the lime green squeaky hedgehog precariously rode out, and glanced at Teresa. “On the bright side, if all of this really ends badly, people like you and me should still be fine. We can hide the whole ‘we’re really freaks of nature’ thing. It’s just people like Abyss, with visible mutations, and Isabel, with the tendency to stab police officers, that’ll really get caught. Otherwise, they’ve got no way of weeding us out from the rest of the populace.” Populace: a big word. Courtesy of Slate and his dictionary and thesaurus-reading habits.

...At least I do not spend my independent reading time looking at pictures of dissected animals.

You should. They’re nifty.

> "Just because someone’s right doesn’t mean they’re not a bastard,”

"Yeah, you're right," Sonya can't help but reply... then giggles. "Sorry. Too easy."

> “Hmm... his team’s got a name... it’s something really
> foreign-sounding. He’s got a pretty weird accent, himself;
> I don’t think he’s from America at all."

Sonya nods. "Yeah, I guess with a name like Antonioskovitch, or whatever the heck it was, that's not too surprising. Not that it matters, I guess."

> "Last I heard, it sounded like Syn wanted to go with him on the politician thing,
> so I don’t think she’ll be organizing things. And Abyss wanted to mass murder
> all of Congress, so I sort of hope he doesn’t get put in charge"

She rolls her eyes at his dismissal of Syn, and attempts to eat another spoonful of ice cream, looking dejectedly at her empty bowl when the attempt fails. And she doesn't even respond to the comment about Abyss -- she can totally imagine that, and the truth is that right now it's awfully tempting, but that's not going to free anyone from the Camps either.

"Damn it, there's got to be somebody, doesn't there?" It's the sort of comment that really ought to be said with a tone of firm resolve and dedication... when said (as in this case) with a tone of whiny desperation, it's really kind of pathetic. Recognizing this, Sonya shakes her head and goes to the sink to wash out her ice-cream bowl.

> “Maybe. He’d probably need to dissect one first, though."

That Calley doesn't offer his friend's name catches Sonya's attention, after his willingness to name half of the Sanctuary folks, and the leg-twitch keeps it. He's hiding something, she finally decides. Which, really, is no big deal... it's not like she's being entirely honest about, well, anything really... but it piques her curiosity still further about this technodude. Maybe it's another of his personalities?

Her theorizing is interrupted by his next comment:

> "people like you and me should still be fine. We can hide the whole
> ‘we’re really freaks of nature’ thing. It’s just people like Abyss, with
> visible mutations, and Isabel, with the tendency to stab police officers,
> that’ll really get caught. Otherwise, they’ve got no way of weeding us
> out from the rest of the populace.”

Her first instinct is to slap him and say something cliched and ridiculous like Don't you care about anyone but yourself?, but instinct warns her that the answer is probably "No" and that he's just honest enough to say so, and she doesn't want to hear it.

So she just nods miserably and adds "Yeah, I guess. At least, not until some clever scientist type comes up with some kind of screening test and they make it mandatory." After all, she can detect mutants with just a touch -- how likely is it that a gene-lab can't manage the same thing? It's not like it's magic, after all, much as it seems that way sometimes.

"Besides... I don't know about you, but I'm really tired of hiding." And hell, she'd only been a mutant for a few months. What will years of this be like? She shakes her head then, and smiles brightly. "Hell, I'm doing it again. I'm sorry. Fixing the world isn't our job, right? Somebody way smarter than either of us is bound to figure a way out of this mess." She's unconvincing, mostly due to being unconvinced, but she's determined to change the subject to something less pervasively depressing.

"So... when did you first discover you could turn into a tiger? Did you terrorize your school or anything fun like that?" She wonders again if she can imprint Calley's tiger-form without losing her mind... after all, he's an intelligent tiger... but shies away from the idea.

"Yeah, I guess. At least, not until some clever scientist type comes up with some kind of screening test and they make it mandatory."

Calley noted the miserable tone, but still nodded quite happily, and waved a pretty circle in the air with his fork. “For resourceful individuals, there will always be ways around inconvenient little tests.” Like spending the rest of your life as a cat. Calley was starting to think that sounded… relaxing. No awkward social interactions like ‘holding a conversation’, no annoying societal obligations like ‘freeing your mutant brethren’, and no Scary Violent Abusive Boss Men. Yep, he’d be quite happy to take a multi-year vacation into the feline realm. Of course, first he’d have to get over that little hurdle of ‘Hunter Antonescu is still alive’.

"Besides... I don't know about you, but I'm really tired of hiding."

…Calley, actually, was really tired of not hiding. And he’d only been known as a mutant for a few months: he’d shifted to human that one day, meaning to join the Sanctuary, and had somehow ended up—clearly through no fault of his own—working as Hunter’s spy boy. An entire lifetime of this? He couldn’t picture it. Actually, he could—that’s why he was working on terminating his current employment contract and/or contractor. He tried to look sympathetic, for Teresa’s sake. Not everyone was as naturally cut-out for avoiding the realities of mutant life as he was. Three cheers for animal shifting!

"Hell, I'm doing it again. I'm sorry. Fixing the world isn't our job, right? Somebody way smarter than either of us is bound to figure a way out of this mess."

Calley nodded in agreement. “That’s pretty much my philosophy.” And when that smart someone came along and fixed the world, maybe maybe maybe he’d consider admitting to being a mutant again. Until then, he knew he made a very convincing cat. And he thought he cut a pretty nice red hawk figure, too. It was a little strange—courtesy of the Scary Boss Man, he’d actually been using his mutation, and he’d figured a few things out that were admittedly useful. Funny how fear for your life was such a great learning tool.

"So... when did you first discover you could turn into a tiger? Did you terrorize your school or anything fun like that?"

“Umm… no.” Calley laughed. He took the lime green squeaky hedgehog off of his shoulder, and started playing with its little plastic quills. “More like I woke up one morning, and… was rather not-human. I think I freaked my sister out, just a bit. Took most of the day for me to figure out how to change back, not to mention how to move… I’m really really glad my dad was at work for most of that. Umm, not that it helped, much. As soon as I told him, that’s pretty much when I got my bags handed to me.” Nothing in that statement was even false. “What about you?”

> “More like I woke up one morning, and… was rather not-human. I think I freaked
> my sister out, just a bit. Took most of the day for me to figure out how to change back,
> not to mention how to move… I’m really really glad my dad was at work for most of that.
> Umm, not that it helped, much. As soon as I told him, that’s pretty much when I got my
> bags handed to me. What about you?”

Sonya shrugs. "Just a few months ago. Got jumped by a mugger and, well, that made it kinda obvious, y'know?" Which is true enough, though not quite the way she's implying. "And, well... he freaked, and then I freaked, and... well, I took off and never even turned around until I ended up here. Here, Manhattan, I mean, not here-your-apartment. Not my finest moment." She looks down at her shoes for a moment with a flash of shame she doesn't have to fake.

"That really sucks, about your family, though. So you're pretty much on your own, then?" She looks around the apartment again, puzzled, and decides to go ahead and ask. "So, I hope you don't mind my asking, but... what do you do for cash? This is a pretty upscale location for a teenaged runaway with a lot of free time on his hands to be renting, isn't it?"

Oh, silly Sonya. She was amongst those odd people who considered fleeing a shameful activity, rather than what it is: an excellent way to see another day, and/or to dodge the inconvenient technicalities of existence. Calley himself quite approved of fleeing. Just as soon as he did a little bit of housecleaning with Hunter’s lifespan, he quite planned to indulge in a long flight. That guy had a lot of employees, after all. Some of them might even be loyal.

"That really sucks, about your family, though. So you're pretty much on your own, then?"

Noncommittal shrug-of-response!

“So, I hope you don't mind my asking, but... what do you do for cash? This is a pretty upscale location for a teenaged runaway with a lot of free time on his hands to be renting, isn't it?"

Calley gave a little shrug-dance, tossed the lime green squeaky hedgehog in the air—“You know when I said I got handed my bags?”—and caught it on top of his head, with a little side-to-side balancing action. “It wasn’t really a mean thing. It was just a I-can’t-be-associated-with-you thing. My dad still loved me. So he, ah, kind of tucked a little bank account in with the bags. As long as I pretend I don’t exist, I get a pretty decent allowance direct deposited for my teenaged lots-of-free-time convenience.” That would have been nice of the guy, actually. Didn’t actually happen, but it would have been nice. The lime green squeaky hedgehog wobbled to a halt, deciding finally that yes, indeed, it wished to sit commandingly atop his head. As opposed to less commandingly on the floor, you see. “What about you? Do you have a job, or anything?”

“Oh, and point of fact—you’re not called a runaway when you get kicked out. You’re called disowned.” Calley was not a runaway. As annoying as his stepmother had been, he had rather liked the rest of his family, and Newark in general, with all its weirdly smelling factories and exciting crime rates. If there hadn’t been the disowning, then there wouldn’t have been the catching the bus to New York with the cash he had in his pockets, or the falling-asleep-in-an-alleyway and waking up as a cat. Or the hobo stealing his clothes. Stupid hobo. Moral of the story: when he’d told his dad, he hadn’t been going into that conversation expecting to come out without a family.

The hedgehog-juggling, though primarily simply distracting, is also fairly entertaining to watch, and she gives a small round of applause and wonders if Calley is equally hyperkinetic in tiger-form... that would be disturbing.

The minimal evidence she'd seen last night was inconclusive, but she suspects that (a) yes, he is, and (b) yes, it is.

> "As long as I pretend I don’t exist, I get a pretty decent allowance"

Sonya nods... that actually explains quite a lot, though she's still surprised by the lack of gadgetry. It makes sense, though, if he mostly spends his time with the "llama-kidnappers."

Which... hm. Who does he hang out with, anyway? We've established he's not part of the Order, and he doesn't even know Hunter's group, and he 'took some classes' with the Mansion folks...[/u] he hang with?[/i]

She wonders if there's a fourth group out there, or if Calley is holding something back... probably the latter. Her working theory is that he has a closer connection to the Mansion than he's admitting to... which isn't too surprising, if they got nailed as badly as he said during the raids. Which is interesting... I'd like to know more about them.

> “What about you? Do you have a job, or anything?”

She shakes her head. "No, not yet. I need one, though... preferably one that doesn't ask too many questions. I'm kind of off the grid... I don't want anyone tracing me back to my family or anybody... so, no ID, nothing like that." She shrugs, then looks sheepishly at her feet for a moment, then adds "I'd been kinda counting on Sanctuary, to be honest... but I lifted a wallet off this guy about a week ago, that's been paying for food and cheap hotel rooms. Sleeping here last night was a real help -- thanks for that."