It was a shock when he arrived. He hadn't expected it to be like this in America. He was very nervous to be walking around alone out here. Giles walked through the park, shooting glances all around him, his paranoia kicking him in the rear end.

He'd been in the country for less than a day and he'd barely seen a single living soul. It was rather frightening. He had no idea what was going on here. Back in Surrey, life was rather peaceful, for every day citizens. Not for Giles, of course, but he was a special case. His father was a psychopath, and Giles was a mutant.

It was hard to believe that America, the home of the free, would be hunting down mutants like this. What kind of free country does that? 'One in fear' he thought to himself.

Slowly but surely he kept walking. The paranoia that was building in Giles was getting the better of him, and he barely took a step without glancing around. He was moving his head so much he was starting to get dizzy. That might have also been due to the fact that he hadn't eaten in nearly two days. Food sounds so good right now.

As if he were wishing upon a star, and the wish came true, the next tree Giles passed by happened to be a lemon tree. How odd was that? Who knew there would be a lemon tree in the middle of Central Park? One problem. There was only one lemon, and it was at the very top, at least twenty feet off of the ground. There was, of course, an easy way to do it, but what if he's seen?

Deciding that it was a life or death situation, he looked at the lemon, though it was hard to make out in the dark, and with a swift blow from his mind, a blue light flashed and the lemon fell from the tree, right at his feet.

Calley had a veeeeeeery strong suspicion that there was some kind of nature-mancer-mutant in town. Witness exhibit A: the lemon tree in the middle of Central Park that had started bearing fruit a week ago. For one thing, he didn’t remember any lemon trees in the Park. Not that he’d really been paying attention to that—being habitually carnivorous, and all—but the point remained. More importantly, though: it was January. Winter. And there was a lemon tree. Merrily going about its end-of-season business in dead-season time, putting on a strange green show in the middle of a snow bank. Curious and/or suicidal people had been picking off the fruit, one by one. Personally, while Calley was hungry, he was never that hungry. Freaky fruit produced by freaky trees was, as a general rule, off the menu. ‘Cause for all he knew, this nature-mancer was really a nature-poison-mancer trying to weed out curiosity from the gene pool. Having been a cat for a very long time, Calley was quite familiar with curiosity, and what a very very bad idea it could be. He figured it was safe enough to go and stare at the thing once in awhile, though. And, you know... poke it.

In any case, here Calley was, walking along a snowy Central Park path after quite a successful night time McGrease King’s run. He was carrying two bags laden with double cheeseburgers, french fries, and onion rings. Soon, very soon, the sheer oily mass of grease would soak through its thin white paper containment and turn his coat sleeve translucent and shiny. It was a small price to pay for injecting calories-from-fat directly into his arteries via his stomach. He was on burger three when he saw the person up ahead on the path who was twitchily looking around like a nerdy serial killer who needed a blood-bath fix. Calley stopped were he was and munched his current burger quite happily he tried to figure out what the guy was doing. Staring at something on the ground, apparently. Something that had just hit the hard-packed snow of the path with a lemon-like thump...

Calley blinked twice, and swallowed his current bite. The time for speaking had come. “Yo! Mister Serial Killer! I wouldn’t eat that if I were you. It’s poisonous and unholy.”

Giles bent down to retrieve the lemon he'd just gotten off of the tree, his stomach growling, ravenous. Then, suddenly, a voice from behind him startled him. He jumped with a start, but did not drop that lemon.
“Yo! Mister Serial Killer! I wouldn’t eat that if I were you. It’s poisonous and unholy.”
"Are you talking to me?" he said, his voice cracking because of it's inactivity.

Giles turned on the spot, and looked around for the body to go with the voice. Then he spotted it. It was a young man, in his late teens, or so it appeared. "Are you talking to me?" he repeated.

"Nope!" Calley replied quite happily and in great earnest. "I'm talking to the other Serial Killer holding a poisonous unholy lemon. The one standing behind you." He took another bite of his hamburger, chewed, and swallowed.

"Though if we supposed for a moment that I was talking to you instead, then I guess my advice would be the same:" he adopted his best Wise Master voice; "'When the lemon tree bears fruit in winter, the fool of a killer slaughters its fruit.'" Bite, chew, swallow. "Want a hamburger? I have seventeen!" He'd eaten three.

Giles gulped. Was this guy serious? And why was he calling me a serial killer? Well, "Why are you calling me a serial killer?" he shouted out as he dropped the lemon in his hand and began to approach. He didn't even realize he was doing it, for his mind no longer controlled his movement, his stomach did. The smell of the hamburgers drifted towards him, and his stomach began to ache with excitement. A burger. A real, American burger. Was he really going to get one? Why did this guy have 17 hamburgers? But none of these odd questions stopped him from approaching him. It wasn't until he was standing directly in front of him that Giles had even realized that he'd moved.

"uh"...

Calley looked at the guy's face, and did the only logical thing: he burst out laughing. Shouting about his nickname, but still reeled in. Thus was the amazing power of the artificial flavoring packed with all the tender affection of a large corporation into the ground cow by-product of every McGrease King burger. Truly, it was an olfactory force to be reckoned with. He took a wrapped burger out of Bag Number One, and offered it to the guy. "There you go, Mister Serial Killer, Sir. About the name: it's 'cause you're looking around so much. Did the Russian mafia finally track you down, or something?"

Giles gratefully accepted the hamburger, and wolfed it down. It was so good, he didn't want to stop. "Thanks," he said when he finished. "I haven't eaten in two days. I just came here from England." Again, as if on instinct, Giles looked around him, not seeing anything. "Oh, I keep doing that because it's creepy. I thought there would be a lot more people here. I've been here like two days, and I haven't really seen anyone. Oh. I'm Giles, by the way." He held out his hand for this new person to shake.

Calley shook Mister Giles' offered hand, then dipped into his bag, and offered up another burger. He did have sixteen of them, and a basically unlimited cash flow with which to replace the supply. "Two days, and not many people? Where have you been hanging out?" He tilted his head slightly to the side, confused. "I mean, it's winter and all, and those stupid Stalker bots they have out on patrol keep getting into brawls with the folks who escaped Registration and blowing up small parts of the city, but... it's New York. I mean, there's a lot of people here." He blinked at the guy, furrowing his eyebrows. "And why haven't you eaten in two days? Are you okay? Seems silly to fly over from England and then starve yourself to death." Silly, or a sign of an even more severe mental illness than Calley's.

He really hoped that his Serial Killer joke was as much of a joke as he'd meant it to be. Sure, Frank was somewhere near by with Calley's ride back to the Labs, but this guy... this guy was within easy stab-the-guy-with-the-hamburgers range. Nervously, Calley shifted his weight from foot to foot, and sunk his head and shoulders down until his eyes were just barely peeking over the tops of his two paper bags.

"Well, I've mainly been in the park. I don't know. People just....are gone." he said, nervous. What was this guy talking about. He, again, and once again very gratefully, accepted the offer of the hamburger, but this time ate it slower, and savored the wondrous taste of American food, though, really, it wasn't that much different; at least, not as different as he'd expected it to be.

"Well, I don't have any money, or a place to stay, and I didn't know where I could go. It's...different over here." Giles then reeled. "Wait. What are you talking about? Stalker bots? What are they?" Stalker bots. That sounded scary. What could that be? Giles looked around him again.

Calley nodded. "That'd probably be the weather, then. It's not that cold, I don't think, but still... people just don't want to wander around the Park during winter. They never do." Having spent the past two winters in house cat form, he was in a position to know: the lack of people made for very good hunting, since there was no one out and about to scare all of his prey. "You should've tried wandering the actual city. People don't like strolling the sidewalks any more than the Park, but they sort of have to, to get places 'n' such. You'd definitely run into people there." He brought out a pack of onion rings as Giles kept talking. He offered some, of course, but he started munching on them himself. He had only three of these, and he intended some of them to end up in his own stomach. Giles wasn't the only one who was starving, though Calley certainly had less of an excuse: he still had no clue what was going on with his metabolism.

"The Stalkers are robots they made to catch mutants," Calley said quite simply, "they're really freaky, but mostly you don't see them, because they can go invisible." He looked at the man, popped an onion ring, chewed, and swallowed. "Why did you come to New York? If you don't mind my asking."

"Catching mutants? What do you mean? That's awful! What do they do with them?" Giles was freaked out now. What if someone found out he was a mutant, then what would happen? He came here to get away from his mutant hating family, to find out that the government is kidnapping mutants. What a wonderful journey. From a home that hates you all the way over to a country who hates you. What was the world coming to?

"Uh." Giles wasn't sure what to say. 'I came here to get away from my mutant hating family,' didn't really seem appropriate, considering that he didn't know this person he was talking to him, and to confide in him with his deepest, darkest secret (That he was a mutant) would be something he wasn't like to do, now, or ever in his existance. "I....uh...I just wanted to come to America, you know. Get away?" He hoped that was sufficent information for his new friend.

"So, uh, are you friendly towards mutants? Or are you anti-mutant? If you don't mind me asking, of course." He didn't know why he said it, he just did.

((ooc: Sorry for the delay in reply!))

Calley thoughtfully mauled the deep-fried coating off of an onion ring. Swallowed. Then sent the cooked onion itself down to his stomach to join the good company. Mister Serial Killer aka Giles aka Twitchy McTwitch-Case looked even more paranoid than ever. It was interesting. A true study in how generically afraid someone could work themselves up to be before they simply collapsed on the ground in a shivering shuddering heap.

“First question: at first, they were just registering the people they caught, and then letting them go their merry way. Now... I think everyone that gets caught is getting shipped to the Camps. Think World War II: think Germany.” He gave a shrug that was a bit twitchy on his part, as well, and went on. “When it started, they were only sending the quote-unquote dangerous mutants there. I’m pretty sure they’re just sending all mutants now, though.

“Second question,” he paused a little to smirk. The guy had said ‘If you don’t mind me asking, of course.’ Was this what Calley sounded like to other people? Heck, was that how he looked? He was going to have to work on that. After he dealt with Hunter. Of course. “I’m a mutant supporter, you could say. Actually, I’m working with this group that’s trying to get some anti-registration protests together,” he answered in all honesty, quite tickled by his own very broad, very violent definition of ‘protest’. “How about you?”

((OOC: That's ok, I've been sick, so I haven't been on anyways...xDD))

This new information really sparked something in Giles. Something that made him very angry. This anger was building up inside of him, worse than the paranoia he'd been experiencing. How the hell could the United States government pull this kind of shit off? How could they send people off to concentration camps?

With a tint of red to his skin appearing, Giles replied, "I'm a supporter. Just hearing about this shit-" but he cut himself off. It was getting to much. When he got angry, things happened. Nothing bad, it just made lots of commotion, usually. He didn't want to frighten his new...er...friend? "Excuse me" he said through clenched teeth. His fists were clenched as well, for he was trying as hard as possible to hold it in. It was hard to do so when he so rarely uses his powers. Sometimes, he has to just let it go, but he doesn't have that chance often. He knew it was going to happen.

Giles quickly turned from Calley, but he didn't get too far before he burst. His fists flew open and two balls of blue energy flew from them. Then two more, and again. He doubled up in pain, and took deep breaths. It didn't usually hurt when he used his power, but when it's unintentional, it kills him. It kind of feels like coughing, burping, and sneezing at the same time, but over and over...and over again, until it REALLY hurts. He looked up at the sky, to see that the balls of force he'd released had disappeared. Hopefully they hadn't been too noticeable. He then turned to look at Calley.

Calley contemplatively tucked the empty onion ring container back into Bag Number One, and took out another. He ate precisely three deep-fried circlets in chewing silence, staring at Giles with just an eyebrow raised. With a swallow of finality, he observed quite astutely: “Well that was subtle.” He felt the need to clear his throat. “Umm, yeah. So. Probably more than ‘seeing the sights’ is what you meant with that ‘getting away’.” He ate another french fry, calmly looked around for any inconvenient witnesses, and then turned back to Giles with a sudden grin.

“So. Would you like to join the Resistance? New York's local provider for all your dissident needs. Including, of course, the biggest, ugliest, least-suspicious safe house you've ever seen.”

Giles looked at Calley. Was he serious? After that whole mess, that's all he had to say? No freaking out, no screaming, nothing? "Erm. Sure. I'd love to." And that was it.