I am glad we were able to reach an agreement on our mutual romantic feelings. Or their mutual lack thereof, as the case may be. It certainly set a clear and simple foundation for their relationship.

...Though he did not know quite what she meant by 'naive.' He had made great strides in maturity recently. He had even held a blue-collar job with success for an entire year.

"I will have a lamb yeer-oh," Slate stated pronounced properly, when it was time to give their orders. "And a glass of water. No ice, please." Ice took up space that water could be filling. He was never entirely certain of the purpose of ice.

"Do you intend to keep living in your... current accommodations," the telepath stated tactfully, after he had handed his menu over, "or do you have higher aspirations?"

...Not to untactfully imply that living on the street was not a high aspiration.

You’re welcome. This boy was defiantly odd but for some reason Gwen kind of liked it. He was funny.

Gwen scanned her menu but was paying little attention to it. She knew exactly what she was going to get and so did the person who was making it and everyone else that worked there, she only ever got one thing. Grilled Cheese and Tomato Soup. Sure there were things way more interesting on the menu but something about Grilled Cheese and Tomato Soup reminded her of a better time before she fell down the stairs and was sold to the highest bidder.

The waitress smiled at Slate’s very precise pronunciation, “The usual Gwen?”

“Absolutely thank you.” With that she was gone and the pair was left to talk some more.

Gwen was taken aback by the next thing that came out of the little Italian’s mouth. No one had really asked her what her plans were. Sure plenty of people had tried to force her off of the streets and into what they deemed to be a better life, which she refused to take, and of course she had been asked why she lived on the street before, which she always brushed off and changed the subject, but no one ever asked her if she actually wanted to leave the streets they always just assumed she did. “Honestly…” She looked at him with confusion obvious on her face and every word she said came out slow as if it was a foreign language, “I do intend to keep living like this. I chose this actually.”

"May I inquire as to why?" The telepath said, his head tilted slightly in confusion over her own confusion. He had thought it was a very clear question, and she had certainly given a very clear answer: so...

Why was that answer so hesitant?

Slate thought a little too loudly, sometimes.

"As I understand it, being without home or steady income source is generally deemed... inconvenient. Have you done it for very long?"

...How does one bathe regularly when living on the streets?

Sometimes thinking loudly could lead to... slight indiscretions.

“Because I do.” Gwen’s walls shot up at the mere question of her life style. This guy may have been funny but he sure as hell asked a lot of questions, which was something she didn’t overly trust. Though the question of why was a natural one to ask when presented with the idea of someone choosing to be homeless and unemployed, Gwen was more then a little paranoid about being questioned about her past. Everyone had their reasons for being homeless and unemployed and as far as Gwen was concerned hers was better then most. She chose to live like this and there wasn’t much one could say to convince her it wasn’t the best option.

Her heart raced as she was pulled into feverish and rather loud thoughts analyzing every moment she had spent with the man before her looking for some sign that he may have been sent by the enemy. They had used telepaths before she wouldn't put it past them now to do the same. Even after all these years. “I was hesitant because most people just assume about the homeless thing. Everyone assumes I am just down on my luck and trying to find my way out of it or that I am some kind of junkie who isn’t worth their time cause I did this to myself. Which is partially right. I did do this to myself.” She hasn’t meant to answer him out loud but she wasn’t exactly thinking straight at the moment. S**t he is probably listening to you right now and you are only confirming what he may or may not be looking for.

“It can be inconvenient when you don’t know how to play it.” She took a deep breath to calm her racing heart. As she listened to his loud thoughts she was once again brought back to the reality that he was just some silly sheltered rich kid who was more then a little curious about the funny homeless girl. “I have been doing this since I was 13 and over the years I’ve learned exactly how to work the angles to get what I need to live… and bathe.” Gwen’s mind calmed and she settled back into the nice lunch she was going to have this a rather naive rich kid.

[OCC: Feel free to assume what he hears in her frantic thoughts]

He had thought the cacophony of murmurs in her mind was bad enough.

As it turned out, her own thoughts were quite capable of being just as rapid, just as overlapping, and thirty-two times as loud. The telepath cringed slightly back from her where he sat. Logically, he knew the two extra inches of space between them would not amount to much. Equally logically, he knew that running out the door was neither socially acceptable nor conducive to conversation.

"You do not have much practice keeping thoughts to yourself, do you?" He asked.

I am very poor at keeping the thoughts of others out. As you seem equally poor at keeping your own thoughts in, it might be best for both of us if you told me calmly who is trying to chase you, and why. I assure you, if I worked for the people you fear, I would be their most incompetent employee.

Slate knew a thing or two about incompetent employees, and so could easily recognize the signs.

Gwen leaned on her elbow with a sigh of relief and a smirk at what she could only assume was his hearing of her mind bother him. She was a quick thinker, it was part of her instincts, and she could only imagine what it was like to be in there when she was on a mental rant as she was known to do. “Honestly I usually avoid telepaths like the plague. I kind of hate the idea of loosing that control. For me the wrong person knowing my thoughts could be very very dangerous.” For either her life on the streets or for the people she assumed were still looking for her.

Though she was a bit taken aback by the direct question she was also not very surprised about it. She had known going into this lunch that he would probably end up knowing more about her then she wanted him to considering his abilities. She had hunted down enough telepaths in her time to know that they always know more then you want them to.

Gwen sat up and stared into Slate’s eyes unsure of what to say. She didn’t really like talking about it and in true honesty she didn’t have to, she could just think it, but she also knew that he would more then likely drag it out of her thoughts somehow. This kid may have been naive but he wasn’t stupid. Listen, I don’t really like to talk about this but I guess I have kind of not really given myself a choice. The short story is that when I was a kid I was… well bought I guess by this couple that saw mutants as a great way to gain money and power. They used me to track them down until I ran away when I was 13. Of course there is more to it then that but that is the big stuff.

Gwen fell silent in both thought and speech. She didn’t really know what to say after that nor did she really want to say anything else. The only thing she could see to do was to lean on her elbow once more and look out the window scared to look the boy before her in the eyes.

He had heard that eyes were the window into the soul. It was not a phrase he understood well. Eyes were simply wet orbs; predominantly white, with a colored iris, and a black pupil which contracted and expanded primarily due to lightning conditions. Granted that internal factors such as emotions or, say, cerebral hemorrhaging could also influence them, but for the most part... Slate found eyes rather inscrutable. She seemed to be making an effort to hold his gaze; he returned the gesture, hoping that this was one of the times when it was socially appropriate to do so. Staring is rude, he had heard, but just as commonly, people who don't make eye contact are shifty.

If there was one thing Slate did not wish to be, it was shifty, so he held her gaze.

Something in his shoulders relaxed when she continued.

>> Listen...

And so he did. When she was done, she turned her eyes away; he appreciated this, since it meant he could consider what she had said without worrying that he was being shifty, rude, or soul-exploratory.

Thirteen. If she had been thirteen when she ran away, she had been even younger when they had started using her. "Bought" rather ruled out her return to her parents, even if the fact she had spent the past few years on the street had not provided a large clue in that regard.

It seems to me, Slate stated after a moment, that if these people have continued to pursue you, then what you need are people who care about you enough to notice if you go missing again. Do you have anyone like that?

Meanwhile, their food arrived. If Mr. Kostopoulos noticed how quiet the two young people were being, he was tactful enough not to comment on it.

Outside seemed to mirror the atmosphere she had created in. The street was deserted in the middle of this cool spring week day. It was unsurprising considering most of this part of the city was downtown working somewhere. Gwen sighed waiting for him to say something and brake the awkward silence she had created. She hated the fact that he was just leaving her with the thoughts of the things she had just said. Sure he probably had some thing to process of what she said. Finding out someone was bought like cattle and can talk about it so cavalierly can be a little confusing.

As his voice filled her head Gwen turned her face to look over at him taking every word he said with care. She had never really thought about the downside to not having a home or any real stable friends. The only thing she ever really saw was that living on the street meant she didn’t have a paper trail or anything to tie her to the world of a living. Sure they probably assumed she was dead by now but a part of her couldn’t help but continue to be so paranoid.

Before she could answer the food came. She smiled up at the older man to tell him that everything was alright and he walked away with only a minor look of concern on his usually smiling face. I don’t. It’s hard to make connections like that when you don’t ever stay in the same place for more then a night. I really don’t lead the kind of life that gives you connections. Most people aren’t surprised when they go days or weeks without seeing me. Sure I have people I see regularly enough but no one that would notice if I stopped coming around all together.[/color] It wasn’t exactly the nicest thing to think but it was true. Gwen hadn’t had a real friend or someone that truly cared about her past the fact that she was a sad little homeless girl in a very long time.

"Well," Slate stated, like it was the most natural thing in the world, "then I will be that person."

Since you do not live far from the Mansion, I should be able to hear you if you call me. If you do not check in for some time, I will search for you. It should be a convenient arrangement for both of us.

Katrina could help him remember. He was certain she would support his keeping in regular contact with a young woman he had just met on the street. She needed help, after all.

That issue settled in his mind, Slate turned his attention to his plate.

A lamb gyro seemed to be a subset of 'wrap,' or possibly of 'taco'—the bread was soft and thick, and did not quite encase its contents. Said contents seemed to consist of cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, and enough meat to nearly equal the lamb he had ordered. It was... a very large food item.

"What is the proper approach to eating a gyro?" The young Italian asked, his eyebrows furrowing slightly.

Belatedly, a thought occurred to him.

...I tend to be prone to confinement, myself. Colombia came to mind. Also, Romania. And he had been killed now. Twice. By blonde women, both times—never had he been so relieved to dine with a brunette.

Perhaps it would be better if you returned to the Mansion with me. You do not need to take up residence there if you do not wish to, of course, but creating a larger network may increase your safety.

Gwen looked down at her lamb gyro and smiled. It was a small comfort and bit of normalcy but it was her small bit of normalcy. She took a deep breath of it's warm lamby eroma before picking it up and taking a big bite as she listened to Slate speak about how he wanted to help. "You assume I live in the same place all the time." She spoke through gyro filled mouth for the first scentane but chose to think the rest and spare him the rudness of talking with her mouth full. Sure I have no idea how far your range is and generally I refuse to leave the island of Manhattan but seriously you assume a lot. Taking anouther bite she chose to keep the rest of her thoughts to herself. This guy was really a trip. She didn't need to check in with someone. She had gone this long without needing anyone to take care of her and make sure she was alright and nothing had changed.

Gwen was pulled out of defiant and stubborn thoughts by words that caused her to laugh. "It's not that complicated. You pick it up and bite it." She shook her head and sighed at his oddness continuing to eat her own greek delight. She wasn't quite sure what possesed him to bring up confinement but she decided just to let him run wiht it. She was positive he had some kind of point she just didn't knwo what it was yet.

And there it was. The preverbial elephant in most rooms she was in. The good old why dont' you come back with me and let me take care of you or go to a shelter and let them take care of you thing. "Why is it that everyone assumes that I need taking care of? Why do you want to bother so much? I have been on my own for 7 years now I think I can handel it. I dont' need your network or your mansion or your help Slate." It was a little harsh but something told her that unless she siad something now he would keep trying to find more and more ways to help her or save her and she really didn't need that.

"I believe you misunderstand me," the telepath said out loud, startled by her vehemence. Like Gwendolyn, however, he found that eating a gyro was non-conducive to regular speech.

Having been kidnapped, injured, and killed in the past, the young Italian listed, as if speaking of his shopping list, I have found it a general convenience and timesaver to have people around who are willing to extradite me from certain... unfortunate situations.

Was 'extradite' the right word? Hmm. He would need to look into that later. For now, he continued:

Naturally, the matter is up to you. I can only recommend, from past experience, that having dependable minions can be useful.

...No, 'minions' was definitely not the proper choice. It did not even sound like a word he would use: that was more of Calley's vernacular. Where had that come from? Never mind that he was no longer in that line of business.

That is to say, allies.

Better.

"This is quite good," Slate said, forgetting not to talk with his mouth full.

Additionally, though I have not yet found the limits of my range, I assure you that it goes beyond Manhattan.