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He'd handed off his store to Verdigris in an attempt to cut down on his responsibilities. It had seemed the best choice, he'd needed to drop something after all, to spend more time with Rowan and Abigail, and the store just didn't pull in the same money as acting. It also, he hated to say, gave him less satisfaction. So now it was Verdigris', and she was doing amazing work.

The siren call of the workshop was hard to resist however. Time to think. Time to create. It was therapeutic. Hence why the Mansion maintenance workshops had a fully operational forge tucked away in a corner. He was only doing it for himself though, he wasn't taking any more orders. That had been the first rule. It wasn't going to become work, it was just art for his own sake.

What art isn't for the artist's own sake? Pretty self indulgent over all.

Yet there he was, expecting Rebecca any minute. That girl ran through shields like no one else could. He really wished she'd just stop throwing the poor things. It would be a start if she could even just recover the metal. He was a metal manipulator! Perfectly efficient recycling and repairs were a mere thought away! And she could just will it to move. Whatever, she was always good for half the material costs anyway. He'd have asked for more, but he felt bad enough asking for any. Especially when he'd been writing them off as losses on tax.

The power hammer drove down onto a glowing bar of steel, drawing it out thousands of times faster than he could have managed with a whole team of strikers. He may well have been going too fast, but he was confident in the welds between the layers of steel. It was going to make a some very pretty metal once he gave it an acid bath. Not for the first time he debated seeing just how many folds he could get. Theoretically, infinite, the time investment was just ridiculous though. He doubted it would be worth it except as an experiment in patience. At what point did it just become a new grade of steel?

Thousand layer face-plate for a decorative helm. Who am I even going to give it to?

The billet had cooled too far to keep hammering, and he didn't think it worth reheating. Cafas dropped the bar on to his bench (That technically was not his, but may as well have been) and wiped sweat from his brow onto his beat up, burned, and oft band-sandered glove. He tucked the gloves into the pocket of his leather apron, then ditched that onto a hook, along with his ear and eye protection. Rebecca's would be a mutation job, and he wasn't counting on getting any more work done.

Where had he put his shirt? It was around somewhere. Sweat continued to bead and drip over his torso in the hundred sixty degree air around his little set up. Perhaps a towel was a better starting place. A shower was probably in order before he picked Rowan up from class for the afternoon. Wash off the must, and the sharp smell of hot metal.

"Seriously gotta stop just throwing my clothes wherever..."

A jolt of anger shot through Cafas, darkening his eyes if not his face. It passed in a moment, leaving a space for determination to force its way in. People didn't just say no to him. Especially people that he'd picked for an easy target. The subconscious hip swing gave away her feigned disinterest anyway. Yeah, that was it, she was trying to game him back, but her body gave her away, brushing up against him.

"All good darlin', I have my own." He fished the monogrammed zippo out and lit the cigarette. There was a pause while he took a drag. "Sorry, manners, you want one?" Cafas offered the open pack to his mark, "All the French models smoke, their photographers must too." He was a little proud of that one actually. It had enough possible implications to really throw her off, but it wasn't a direct insult. Unlikely to ring alarms as negging, still doing the trick. Plus, it implied he knew french models. Which he did. But the implication was more important. He blew a smoke ring that floated around the pack, more or less, before being swept away.

Waiting for her to make a move, Thunderclap scanned the street below casually, making sure she knew she couldn't hold his full attention. Perhaps it was only coincidence that his eyes swept the general area she was photographing rather frequently. He figured that's all it would be taken as, but he knew a damn stalker when he saw one, and the sooner he spotted her mark, the sooner he could leverage his knowledge.

There were a few people it could have been really, including ol' sweaty swipe password. A few attractive or rich looking guys, a few important looking people, some shady looking ones. He'd keep an eye on the photo previews as they came up, he was having no luck guessing, and it would open up so many avenues. Or alleys. He'd see where the night took him.

Thunderclap ran his fingers through his hair, trying to neaten it up, so to speak. A thin stream of smoke escaped his lips and he stepped directly into the flow of humanity, attracting angry muttering from a man he'd cut off. The mutant might have given him something to really be upset about somewhere quieter.

While the flow of people wasn't ideal for what he had in mind, it was almost perfect for some light fingered wealth acquisition. He stumbled by a suited man, sweating despite the mild weather. He'd seemed likely, too ugly by far for the arm candy he was walking with. He seemed nervous. She held Cafas' gaze as he regained his footing with a mumbled apology. He ran his eyes over her and countered her gaze with a none too subtle wink. The mutant picked up the pace as the older man started to bluster at him.

He saw it from the corner of his eye. A camera poking over the High Line rail. On its own hardly interesting, but he was an old hand at covert photography, and that was a covert photographer if he'd ever seen one. He watched them from under his eyebrows, seemingly paying attention to "his" phone. When the camera moved, he caught a glimpse of the photographer, and his interest increased still more. Who was she? Who was she stalking? Did she have plans for the night? The questions burned in him. His Cigarette burned out. He spat the butt onto the pavement.

A horn blared as Thunderclap stepped off the sidewalk, holding proud his middle finger at the car, and the woman yelling out the window at him. He barely spared her a glance. Too old for him. He tried once more to guess the stupid swipe pattern on his brand new phone as he crossed the other lane of traffic to similar fanfare. Was it ten before they wiped it? Some of them did that, which was good and bad. Wallets were simpler, he'd been trying for the wallet. Giving up, he tucked the device into his pocket, taking stairs two at a time. He had to pause at the top to cough and catch his breath for a moment. In just a few seconds he was moving again.

Dark hair, pretty face, camera. Where was she? Stupid damn trees. Well, it wasn't like she could lose him completely, there was only one path. He started down it back towards where he'd seen her. His face was set for the game, a smirk just short of smug, eyes up and confident. Best foot forward. Cigarette unlit in his lips.

Cafas spotted his mark. She looked like a smoker to him. Arty photography girls always were. Without the slightest hesitation he hopped up and sat on the rail, heedless of the twenty or more feet of empty air behind him.

"Hey, you have a lighter? Cos you. Are. Smokin'."

It was lucky for Cafas that they'd gone so overboard the night before. He hadn't eaten for bulking in long enough that his stomach had needed a good stretch. Still it wasn't terribly happy at the prospect of a second omelette. Between mouthfuls he managed an "England." waving his fork towards where he thought his luggage was, not entirely sure if they'd brought it in or not.

All a bit of a blur of skin and sensation...

"Baader-Meinhof?" He tilted his head inquiringly as more food was deposited on his barely cleared plate. he assumed it was some kind of psychology thing. Cafas just didn't have Maya's attraction to book learning. His stomach gurgled uncomfortably. He decided to let it settle before pushing it further.

Setting his plate down Cafas pulled out mugs, his most favourite oversized ones. His stomach would have rolled its eyes if it could. "Hmm? Oh, uh, yeah. Well I mean, I didn't necessarily... Stop." Except over filming, where his stress had been a bit overwhelming, and his vain little superstition had really laid hold of him. "Just... Well, just with you." He'd known how ridiculous he'd been, but it was the first time he'd actually said it out loud. He'd almost compulsively avoided it. Cafas opened three different cupboard before finding the coffee. "There you are."

The rest of the stuff was somewhat easier to find. "I uh, I kinda... You remember that META and Abyssi wannabe at Tiffany's?" He set water to boil and went back to eat while it did its thing, sheepishly avoiding Maya's gaze. "Well, en route you said you'd buy me one hundred coffees and... I dunno, we were at ninety nine and..." He sighed and blinked away some tears at the memory, "And I was scared. I thought, maybe, if we never hit one hundred... You know." Cafas had never been more intently fascinated with his kitchen counters. "That you could completely fade. Cos, you know, you promised."

"I couldn't remember who'd bought the last lot, and I just couldn't bring myself to risk it."

Cafas yawned into his bicep. He wasn't so worried about Rowan with glasses. Worst case, he could get contacts right? He didn't exactly know if children could wear them, but Rowan wouldn't be a child forever, and hopefully could get by only using them to read until then.

>>"So what about you? Meet anybody crazy on the plane ride?"

"Mostly I just slept," He started, tossing his knife into the sink in a gentle arc. He let it simply drop from the top of the basin. "I think the seats near mine were glad for their headphones, judging by how dry my throat felt." He couldn't have been the only person there that snored, and he didn't think he snored offensively. Then again, how would he know?

Calley. That's how.

"There were the usuals at airports, still pretty sparse. Mostly X-men recognition. That'll change once things start to release again." Dusk was still the last big movie he'd been involved with in terms of releases. Everything was due in the coming couple years, "Selected for additional screening as always," He adopted a satirical authoritarian tough guy voice, "Sir, step this way. Sir, our drug dog is just going to check you, have you had any contact with illegal drugs recently? Sir, we're going to swab your luggage, have you been near any explosive materials recently?" Cafas rolled his eyes and dropped the act, "I know it's just the job and all, but the profiling is unreal. Plus I'm never sure how long that stuff lasts in cloth or whatever, so I always end up explaining why I've been around explosives."

"Sorry. Every time, right? Oh, Daisy Ridley says she thinks you're awesome. She's the main character jedi girl. She says she identifies with the air, got a tattoo of the alchemical air symbol, plus she likes your girl power but also anti-violence combo. Anyway, I think she'd be pretty jazzed to meet you." He paused and did a double take at himself, "Jazzed? Okay, yeah, jazzed." He shook his head, grabbed the dishes that weren't needed, and walked them over to pre-wash. "How 'bout you? You meet anyone new recently?" New York was so full of comings and goings, you left for a few months and suddenly several new important-to-know people showed up.

The corner store no doubt involved getting dressed, and while Cafas wasn't entirely against the concept, the timing just wasn't right. He's only been up for a few minutes, strolling about his own home with the breeze on his butt. His house had been much breezier since Maya had unofficially moved in, though some days he suspected the more inquisitive gusts were not entirely natural.

Maya slipped from his grasp just as the thought was returning to him. Cafas' eyes narrowed in her direction as a breeze passed over him. the kitchen really shouldn't have been getting much flow.

"You know I'm not sure it counts as one omelette any more once it has six eggs in it." It certainly couldn't be cooked as one in his pans. A frittata perhaps, or a huge serving of scramble, but certainly not a single omelette. Throw in bacon, vegetables, cheese on cheat day, leftover chicken when it made it to morning, it more or less rounded out to 1200 calories. Toast would bump it up further. It was a great way to start a day, but he knew he should have been spreading it out more.

Wouldn't need that mid morning protein shake...

It wouldn't do to let Maya do all the work. She'd do it, but he wasn't about to let her. On his way to the knife block and cutting boards, bacon packet in hand, Cafas flicked the back of Maya's shirt up. "Mmmmm" He hummed appreciatively, twirling into place at the bench and dropping the packet of bacon with a plastic slap. "Boy I love bacon." He continued innocently. He retrieved an onion, bell pepper, garlic, a small array of fresh herbs, tomatoes. He crossed back to the fridge for the spinach, and distributed a squeeze under the shirt on his way back.

Wash hands, begin chopping. Bacon last, of course. No need to taint all Maya's vegetables.

"So, how's my boy been?

Cafas awoke some time in the in between hours of early morning, Maya wrapped up in his arms, shifting gently. Warmth radiated through him, almost too hot. As his eyes slowly adjusted to the low light still leaking through the en-suite door he studied the tiny lines of his sweetheart's face, the contrast of her dark hair on her pale skin, the way the covers rose and fell with her breathing. A sleepy smile spread over his face, and he drifted once more to sleep, happy it wasn't just a dream.

Light spilled in the window, the usual hubbub of traffic below played its chorus of workday horns, Cafas yawned and tried to gauge the time. It probably would have helped if he had any idea what time he'd fallen asleep. He'd somewhat lost track of time the previous night. His aching abs certainly suggested it had been late.

I gotta come home more often.

A few lazy minutes later he rolled out of bed and headed down the hall for the kitchen, forgoing clothes for the time. Not hydrating before bed had been silly, though neither of them had displayed much capacity for walking by the time sleep had rolled around. Cafas grabbed a glass straight from the drying rack and ran himself a drink, draining it in one go. He refilled and set the cup down for Maya. Then it seemed like the ideal time to settle in to a luxurious stretch. It gave him plenty of time to contemplate Maya's skirt hanging from the pantry door. "How'd you manage to get up there?" He asked it as if expecting it to answer. He decided to move it when he finished his stretching. Who knew how long that would be.