T'was a dark and stormy night.

Well...

Not really. It was dark and there was a storm rolling in but it certainly wasn't anywhere near as ominous as those words tend to portend. As was his wont these days Drew was walking about the streets looking for trouble. To put a stop to it or start it didn't matter. There were humans all over the place and generally most of them needed a broken something or two. If he was the one that gave it to them then so much the better. Times like that made him feel in control, something he'd been sorely lacking with his master ordering him about. He wasn't sore about it but everyone needed to feel like they had a choice sometimes. Drew chose to attack those people and he chose how much to hurt them. It felt good.

His grey hooded coat was pulled tightly about him. The wind was beginning to pick up. There wouldn't be many people out tonight. They tended to avoid the streets in ill weather. Well, if worse came to worse he could always go pick a bar fight. He'd circle the next couple of blocks and hit the nearby park and if there was still no one about then Drew would head off for a bar to find some belligerent drunkard to put down. It wouldn't be quite as satisfying as finding a fight with an out of line human but it would do.

Papers and other refuse whipped about in the wind as Drew walked the streets. His eyes swung this way and that in his search. If some part of him said he ought to stop doing this and go back to the mansion then it was ignored. As much as he was loyal to them Drew couldn't utter a word about this to Sam and the others. It would lead to questions of why and those were forbidden. He tugged the hood down a little further and pressed on, confident that this block was free of potential targets.

The subway: Calley really wasn't used to it, but it really beat walking. Really, how did normal people navigate the city day to day, without wings? A hawk--a pigeon, even--could navigate this city faster and more efficiently than a car. So why were there so many of them in the streets? Pro tip: there were no traffic jams in the sky.

Silly mortals.

Still, turns out that birds aren't so hot at carrying swords. A bipedal on the subway had no such problems. Especially when said sword was neatly screwed inside of the black poster carrier slung over his shoulder, where nice officers of the law wouldn't bug him about it. Not that it was illegal to carry: not when he was on his way from a sword lesson with a certain unicorn instructor. The shifter stifled a yawn into his red coat sleeve--a present from Sebastian--and let the push of the crowd carry him out onto the station platform and up towards the stairs. It wasn't until he hit the street that he realized he was still several stops shy of the Mansion. Eh. It was a sign, clearly: he was sleeping at his own apartment tonight. He'd just... have to get up early enough to make it in time for classes tomorrow, or Sam would kill him. That was the problem with Conditioning bright and early every morning: the potential for Death By Fifty Laps was high.

With another yawn, and a cracking of back, the shifter shuffled out onto the streets. The sky was nice and ominous; the wind was brisk enough that he was glad of the gifted coat, and not at all inclined to scowl about unicorn shifters treating him like a charity case. Not that Sebastian had intended that; the elder immortal just wanted his pupil looking good. Not at all like a certain Mansion guidance counselor, who wanted him to look... like a student that could dress himself. Yeah. Yeah, Mama T could keep her pity clothes. But he'd keep the red coat.

Overhead, a street light flickered. Heh. Nice ambiance. He was well out of Order territory, but the streets around here were just as dodgy; they were just under different management. It was okay; he didn't exactly fear getting hurt, these days. He was just a guy with a poster carrier, passing through. If he happened to walk like he owned the place, well... yeah.

Calley turned a corner, bumping head on into a guy coming the other way. He would have apologized, if he wasn't so busy yawning again. Meh.

And then a target presented itself. A very cocky target. One that was short and scrawny and only had one of those plastic poster tubes as a possible weapon. If he perhaps loomed over the newly presented fresh meat and used his superior height and muscles to seem threatening? Well that was just subconscious. Honestly! With the impending fight, Drew would make sure it happened, a smirk settled across his face. He shot out an arm and grabbed the shorter guy by the shoulder.

"Maybe you should look where you're going."

He squeezed the guy's shoulder a little harder than he perhaps needed to to keep him from running. Taking the opportunity presented to him, Drew looked the guy over a bit more closely. Seemed average for the most part. Brown hair, blue eyes and in possession of a nice red jacket. Not Drew's style, it was too bright and probably wouldn't fit him anyway.

"So, are you going to apologize?"

Drew was toying with him. Even if the guy apologized Drew was too amped for a fight to let him go. But getting one would start things off nicely. He almost couldn't wait until the guy spoke. In fact his right hand was already curled into a fist since it wasn't occupied keeping the guy still. Unable to keep himself entirely still, Drew shifted that nervous energy to another purpose. One last goading statement before he tore into whoever this was.

"Well? I don't have all day."

Calley looked down at the hand on his shoulder, then back at the guy's face. They were about the same age, but that's where the similarities ended.

The guy had wishy-washy eyes that had never bothered to get themselves a real color; 'hazel,' as some might call it. Green hair in wittle bitty badass spikes. Tall enough to give his ego some room to stretch. And what was that? A little southern comfort in his accent?

The average Italian cocked his head to the side, and hitched his poster tube up a little more comfortably.

"Gee Mister, I'm so sorry," he said. "Oh please, let me pass."

Points for the attitude carrying beyond that swagger in his walk. Minus more though for being stupid enough to goad him right back. Drew smirked as the little guy stood there as though he was untouchable.

"Alright then."

That was all the warning he gave before his fist flew toward the shorter man's stomach. Drew was intent upon teaching this guy a lesson. The same lesson he'd been teaching so many other humans around the city lately. Don't screw with mutants. Besides, fighting made him feel like he had some iota of control in his life and that was a good thing. If the little guy fought back it'd be even better. A nice drawn out fight where both of them got hurt but the human came out the worse for it would be just the ticket tonight.

Nice smirk. *&%^ of a right hook.

Calley doubled over with a surprised wheeze. The wheeze turned to coughing; the coughing turned to surprised laughter. The poster tube slid down his shoulder, its strap catching on his hand before it could hit the ground. Under shirt and skin, a blue-white coolness eased away the bruise long before it even had a chance to form.

Was it fair to hit back? For someone 6'3", this guy looked so... breakable. What would Sebastian say?

Heh. He'd said sorry and please. If SoCo here still wanted a duel, then the young immortal would reluctantly oblige.

He straightened up in a fluid surge, the momentum carrying through his arm to the poster carrier. It swung in a wide, whistling arc towards the side of Astroturf's head.

Was he grinning?

Yeah. Yeah, he kind of was.

Watching the short guy double over with a wheeze brought that little smirk into full wattage so to speak. Listening to the wheeze turn to a cough and then a laugh however dimmed it again. Was there a chance the little guy had more to him that Drew had expected? For one brief moment he entertained the idea that maybe he'd attacked a particularly arrogant mutant. Then the thought was ditched because he couldn't bother spending time thinking about anything but the fight. Short stuff grabbed the poster tube he'd been carrying and swung it at Drew with a grin. Drew dropped down enough that it skimmed over the top of his head, disturbing his hair but not hurting him at all.

Then Drew straightened up and unleashed a pair of kicks in quick succession. One aimed at the ankle and the next at the opposite knee with the other leg. He was grinning as well. A fight, a good fight, was precisely what he'd wanted and short stuff was obliging.

"Nice shot, short stuff."

Of course there had to be taunting. Non-life threatening fights demanded taunting, back talk, and sass!

The second kick missed, what with the first taking Calley down. He hit the ground with a short whoop! and a roll over his shoulder, the poster tube clasped to his chest like a babe. One hand to the ground and a spritely kick off later, and he was back up. He was doing all sorts of things today: riding the subway like a real boy, getting into fisticuffs...

Seriously. Public transportation, he could almost understand. But how did real people fight? Last time, Calley had just dropped a whale on his opponent. Actually, that was the time before last: last last time, he'd tried trampling the guy with an elephant.

"Playing footsie already, Big Man? And here we are, on our first date. You're gonna make me blush."

He tried something with a little less overkill: with poster carrier held in hands like a sword, he went in for a low side swing. Inside the plastic tube, something heavy and metallic clunked around with the motion.

Hmm, no balance on this guy. The one kick the ankle took him down quick and hard. Sure he got back up but still. However the footsie comment reinforced Drew's grin even as he took a hit to the side from that suspiciously clacking poster tube. To be on the safe side he grabbed at the end of the poster tube. Whatever was clacking around in that tube, Drew didn't want Short Stuff to have access to.

"Well you know how it is. You see a cute guy and you can't help yourself."

He followed up with a cheeky wink. If he was going to fight and flirt then he might as well do it right.

"Gotta make sure you know I'm interested if I'm going to have any hope for a second date!"

Drew then swung in with a right jab aimed right at Short Stuff's face.

Hey, he had balance. He had balance up the wazoo. He had spritely, tumbling, rolling balance that took way more effort to pull off than that hum-drum stay on your feet business. He just made it look too easy: that's why it was... so underappreciated.

Alternately, he'd been spending too much time balancing on four legs lately. It happened.

"Hey hey hey!" The shorter man protested, dangling from the end of his poster carrier as it went that-a-way somewhat further than he'd intended, and with a bit more outside help. One hand scrabbled at the end of the thing. Unscrewing: not meant to be done as an extreme sport. Initiate stalling procedures. "I do not think we're at the sharing stage of our relationship. What is mine is not your—whoop!"

Calley ducked that lovely knuckle kiss with all the grace of someone desperately clinging to a poster tube. Right. Still fighting. The banter and the fighting, they were not mutually exclusive.

The end of the poster tube finally came loose; the cap hit the pavement with a plastic click. A rose-pommel hilt slid out into Calley's waiting hand. And with that, there was skittering backwards. Well-balanced bipedal skittering, with sword in hand. It was obviously a real sword: it was rather too heavy, too metal, and too pointy to be anything else. Though the guy would have to take his word on the pointy point—the sheath was still on it.

"Just so you know," the Italian said lightly, "I'm not gay. Common mistake, really. My boyfriend made it, too."

And with that, he launched a somewhat less encumbered sword strike towards the guy's side.

Short stuff started to unscrew the tube as Drew attempted to tug it away from him. He'd even started making a smart comment about sharing before Drew swung at him and he had to desperately duck to avoid the fist. Shame that he'd missed. At least the pretty face wasn't mangled.

"Why not? We're already close enough to trade blows. What's a poster tube between friends?"

Unfortunately by the time Drew finished his response to the unfinished banter Short Stuff had screwed the tube and retrieved a sword. A freaking sword! Seriously?! He'd faced guns, knives, and various mutant abilities but this was a new one. The casual dismissal of being gay by his newly armed opponent forced Drew out of astonishment and put a wry grin on his face.

"Well sounds like someone's in denial."

Whether that was Short Stuff or his 'boyfriend' Drew didn't know or care but they were too deep in the flirtatious banter for him to just give up now!

The Green Man was so deep into his entirely unrequited little flirting that he didn't even dodge the blow. Score one for the homophobe.

"The closet's great. Very roomy. Really, you should try going back in."

Either that, or the guy was just a little taken aback by the sword. Yeah: Calley could appreciate that. It was pretty nice. And still, very pointedly, sheathed.

The Italian smirked. "Don't worry, Shamrock Shake. I promise not to kill you. But twenty bucks says you end up with more bruises than me in the morning."

Drew shrugged off the hit and rolled his eyes at the comment.

"I'm quite happy out of that closet thanks. Twice as many possible dates and less confusion with a side of self loathing out here. Don't like closets much."

More than anything he was glad that Short Stuff was leaving the sword sheathed. He didn't want to end up resembling sliced deli meats this evening. People just didn't carry swords with them! Well unless they were nuts. Which this guy possibly was. And definitely homophobic. As if he hadn't had that to deal with in the past.

It was so old news to him.

Short Stuff made a mistake though in his following bit of snark. While trying to boast about his improved combat chances he made a promise. One that made Drew laugh riotously, while holding the poster tube mind you. The connection snapped into place and the mark started forming. Apparently Drew had enough promises down his left arm now that this one decided not to form there. Drew couldn't see where his was forming but suspected it might mirror the design that he could see edging it's way around Short Stuff's neck.

"Oh you!" he had to stop to laugh a little more, "You just had to make a promise didn't you?"

Drew grinned widely and held the empty plastic tube up as a makeshift weapon/defense.

The laughter. The laughter really helped put things in context. Here he was, on a deserted city street on a dark and stormy night, getting assaulted by a random thug.

A random thug who was laughing like a howler monkey.

A random thug who, for a fleeting moment... felt right. Like someone Calley could let his guard down with; someone he could actually trust. Yeah: that wasn't going to happen.

A random thug who had a black Celtic design styling itself in a ring around his neck, knot by knot. It met its own tail, its stylized teeth settling into place in an eternal loop. An Oroboros. Of all things, Calley would recognize that one.

A smile twitched at the corners of Calley's mouth as he adjusted his grip on the sword.

"Mutant, huh? You're not going to go all soul mate power on me, are you? 'Cause buddy, you have no idea what you'd be getting yourself into."

He rushed the guy again: another simple mid-level swing. Nothing fancy: that was his poster carrier the guy was holding hostage.

Soul mate? Drew snorted at Short Stuff's assumption. He braced the tube in the direction of the swing, grunting as the blow slid and hit a hand instead. He lashed out at the wannabe swordsman with a kick at the same level as the sword slash had been at.

"Soul mate? Please, you maybe cute but you're hardly that special. Besides, you already have a boyfriend. I so don't date cheaters."

He heaved a theatrical sigh.

"A shame really. You are cute. No, I think you'll be wanting to check your own neck. Go ahead, I'll wait while you find a convenient window or car mirror or something."

Drew felt himself smirking again. It was hard not to smirk when someone fell into that trap. He'd spent so long under that particular boot himself that having company just made him happy as a clam. Well, so long as it wasn't a clam destined for clam chowder or something. Those clams probably weren't too happy at all.

When had he gotten this silly? Most fights he was all business. Of course those fights were generally against stronger opponents. This one he felt like he was fighting on equal terms. Maybe that was making him so snarky.