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The boy laughed and his tail twitched, curiously she considered a possible dog-like emotion tail, before grinning. The boy didn’t look quite certain and for a moment she lamented the fact she didn’t have anything to swap. Somehow offering to poke a finger into a wormhole that would break it or at the least tear a nail off did not seem very friendly. She held her breath as the magnificent golden wing brushed over her bare shoulder and came to a halt, less than an inch above her tank top strap.

Following his instruction carefully she lifted one finger and gently stroked his plumage. The down peeking out through the flight feathers first, then the flight feathers themselves. She could feel the warmth underneath, like a sparrow held gently between your hands, but this was no sparrow. The ripple of muscles underneath was that of a falcon or an eagle. Some kind of majestic bird of prey.

“Wow…”

She smiled at the boy, it would be amazing to see the city from above, to spread your wings and just –fly- away from any of the problems that happen on the ground. Perhaps it would not be so bad to have an obvious mutation, not if it meant you could just disappear into the clouds if anyone took offence. She grinned at his question.

“Fair’s fair, you can’t really hide yours can you. I have wormhole hands. See.”

She paused and dug her left hand into the pocket of her jeans. A paperclip, perfect. She held it up for a second so the boy could see it, before closing her palm around it. pointing her other hand towards the floor she let the connection open and the paperclip was flung out and onto the carpet, bouncing once before coming to a halt. She picked it up and pocketed it again after holding it up once more.

“Not really as impressive as wings I’m afraid, and you can’t really touch, just because I wouldn’t want to hurt you by accident.”

She watched as he tipped the bottle into her glass, would it be wise to drink in the apartment of a man who hated her kind? She silently hoped this drunk, stubborn man was not what her brother grew up to be. Minus the poodle, she could handle that. She listened in silence as he ranted, he didn’t seem angry, not really, more put out and a little hurt.

Sipping her drink quietly throughout his rant, and at some stage plucking another muffin from the pile and nibbling it, her slightly drink addled mind came to a conclusion. He deserved to know the truth. After all, this was her friend. Her drinking buddy. Her pal who made her muffins. She structured her reply thoughtfully as he spoke and spoke. Occasionally nodding throughout her rant.

“I think he spent time in Juvi… He was only in grade six when it happened, top of the class too.” Pause, inhale. “Since I’ve lived in this city I’ve been beaten up twice, kicked in my sleep many times, spat on and group chased, not once by a mutant.” She shrugged, fairs fair. “No one is born bad, some people are just that, bad people whether they shoot you with a gun or slash you with talons it’s the same thing. Just different ways.”

She pondered the best way to answer his final jab. In no way did she condone DUI, in fact the thought of it scared her, so finding a suitable explanation about the way it worked was tricky. The fact that she had skipped lunch and that the two glasses of whiskey were alone in her stomach except for the muffins didn’t help.

“If someone is driving and they have a medical condition, they have a fit while behind the wheel and hit someone. When they go to court there are special exceptions made for them because, genetically, they can’t help what happened. True, they still get in trouble, but the court takes pity on them. Until there is a way to determine what is ‘oops, I kinda burned you’ and ‘haha, you’re on fire now’ there’s no way for them to determine who goes to prison and who get bail. No wonder they’re scared.”

He had had a lot of bad experiences with mutants, and –maybe because of that, maybe not- he was stubborn in his hatred for them. High-ho drinking mateship, the spawner of truth.

“You’ve had mutants do a lot of bad things to you, it makes sense that you don’t like them, but we aren’t all bad. I’m living proof of that, here I am, active X-gene swine, resbonsibly returning your keys and telling you Mister Rupert *hic* Kelly. You make some Damn good muffins.”

Whadda ya say to that ol’ buddy ol’ pal?

The boy rubbed his tail but assured her he was fine. She couldn't imagine having another appendage to deal with, she got into enough mischief with simple arms and legs. A slight memory of being trapped atop the library bookshelves with her roommate tingled, but she dissmissed it swiftly. This was nither the time nor the place for remenissing, especially with a boy on the floor before her. Oh, nope, he was up, that was good.

~"And thank you, not enough people seem to appreciate them.”

She raised her eyebrows, she was pretty sure that many of the younger children, and even the adults, would be impressed with the wings. But perhaps he was referring to on the streets. People seemed to fight the change with vigour they didn't use in any other area of their lives. He spread his wings as open as they would go in the hallway and she ran her eyes over them, they were a glorious brown, and every feather linked together perfectly. He folded them in behind him and she felt compelled to pet them. She ignored the urge and shook his hand politely.

"Nice to meet you Carrick."

She grinned as he said nice things about her hair. Sweet really, he had nice manners, a good thing to have as a child. She made a mental note of that. Children should be polite, it makes people like them. He had been to a circus then, and noone had green hair, curious.

"Thanks, When it was short it was all green, it's just grown out like that. It served it's purpose though, made me anonymous, just another rebellious teenager."

She smiled at the boy. His mutation was obvious, clinging to his back, inescapable. Here in the mansion that was fine, but outside. He must have come across hard times from some of the anti-mutant groups. And he was just a kid.

"Can you fly? and, it's a little rude I know, can I touch them?"

Ah, the urge was not so well discouraged as she had hoped. Oh well.

The boy blinked several times throughout her small rant, and his face changed subtly throughout it, but she continued, and by the end of it, she was decided. He had missed out and that was Not Good. Being Not Good meant she had to fix it. The awesomeness of re-living her own childhood in a way was an added bonus. It would also give her some idea of what to expect should she ever decide- or not- to have kids.

~. “I would like that very much.”

Brilliant. She felt an excited grin colour her own features, this was going to be awesome- no amazing- no, terrific-

No.

Epic!

~ “Though... if you would like… You could throw me into a few pools, as well. I would like to learn how to swim.”

His face was a brilliant red and she felt yet another twinge of something like pity. He couldn’t even swim. Poor kid. She flicked her hair back and tied it up into a pony-tail with a band around her wrist, the formality of the evening seemed to be decreasing rapidly and no longer did her hair need to be out and flowing in its brushed glory across her shoulders. Besides, her excitement was making her neck hot. She was pretty sure she was sporting hot patches on her cheeks as well, despite the chill of autumn outside it was quite warm in the place she kept forgetting was a room.

“I most certainly will. I’m guessing you don’t have a bathing suit? I could take you shopping if you like but my funds are… limited, you could say. Also-”

She held up a warning finger. Fear the finger of warning. There were things that she, as grand teacher of the childhood, would not stand for.

“-No speedos, or bird smugglers or whatever they’re called here.”

Oops, a moment of her upbringing there. She wasn’t sure what the tight, briefs-made-for-swimming were named, only that she did not want to see her boss in one. Or anyone in one for that matter.

“-Board shorts at the very least. Rash top, optional. You might not want one to start out with, they can be a little heavy when they’re wet if you’re not used to them.”

This was going to be good. She knew of a public pool nearby, well, near enough being in the city. If she got her forms filled in she was pretty sure there was even a pool at the Mansion. That might be pushing it to start out with though. Better to start in the public pool, especially if he would be distracted, or embarrassed, by people he knew watching him learn. She made a mental note as well to buy a new bathing suit, hers was quite old and she had grown, both up and out-in-the-bust since she had last worn it. Innocence was what she was aiming for here, and she wouldn't be the one to kill it with a suit that didn't fit.

Technically nineteen? There’s complicated for you. She was pretty sure she had heard of something about forgetting bits of your past, but she couldn’t remember details, amnesia she thought had something to do with concussions, and he was far too young for Alzheimer’s. Odd. He flared up, almost as bright as an open wound. She patted his hand comfortingly where it rested on the table, perhaps it was better that he didn’t remember. Maybe he had had anti-mutant-parents who had kicked him out, perhaps when his mutation –activated, she supposed was a good term- he lost all memory of his past life. A mental image of a younger version of the man before her, wandering the streets dazed and confused, flashed through her head. Poor guy.

The Registration Act. She had heard of it, even watched on the news bits and pieces about it. As a ‘human’ mutant ~weren’t they all~ with no visible mutation she had managed to avoid detection, she had just been careful about using her wormholes, no matter how hungry and desperate for loose change she became. She decided since she knew next to nothing about them it would be better to keep her mouth shut, rather than embarrassing herself with her naiveté. She squeezed his hand encouragingly and let it go, resting her own elbows on the table quite rudely.

“I’m nineteen as well, but I remember all of it I’m afraid. Not all good, but mostly.”

She eyed the young man, for him to go from nothing to the boss of a company in two years was impressive and she briefly wondered how ‘blurry’ was blurry. Had he had to learn how to talk again, how to walk? No, he moved much too fluidly for that, but still, how awful to have chunks of your history missing. Your story was as much a part of you as a limb, it would be tragic to not be able to remember.

“So you don’t have any childhood at all?”

How sad, her days scampering around on the beach with James were some of the happiest memories of her life. The closest she had come recently was in her escapade in the park with the green skinned girl, Andrea. Heeeey, wait a second. She still did crazy things sometimes, took risks, said stupid things. Her mother would probably have called it ‘immature’ but Verdy seriously doubted that there was any such thing. She was mature when she had to be. A dangerous idea was brewing.

“Would you like to make one? I could help you, if you’d like.”

~"You say you need glasses, yet you have a sharper eye than I do."

She grinned at her green friend, she had been awake all day and intending to stay awake, Andrea was already in her PJs and brushing her teeth when Verdigris arrived, prepared for sleeping, in the mind frame for it. Sleepy people were always less observant than the same people awake.

She watched as her friend dragged the ladder over to the shelf and scurried up to almost the top. It would appear the ladder was in the wrong place. Her mouth opened in disbelief as the green skin of her friend moved from the safe aluminium of the ladder to the wood of the bookshelves with frantic wobbling.

She picked up the book gently and tucked it in the space in the front of her pants. A flitter of awkwardness tinged her thoughts, but she dismissed it. In the three years she had been living on the streets she had lost that hint of pudge left over from childhood and there was ample room for the book.

With a wave of her hand Verdy was beckoned to the top of the shelf. Giggles and the streaks of dirt on her friend’s face prompted her to hurry up the ladder. She would not be left out of adventuring, especially if it was funny. Her feet wobbled the ladder something terrible and as she made the final step onto the top rung the ladder wibbled, wobbled, rocked and finally began to fall, taking her feet out from under her. With a yell of terror she leapt onto the top of the shelf and made friends with the dust.

Cough, hack, splutter cough.

She looked at the ladder, watched its graceful fall. She hadn’t realised they were so close to the rail but the ladder hit it a little past it’s centre of gravity, tipped, hung suspended for a moment and flipped over the railing to the second floor. She winced as it crashed to the floor below with the clangs only given off by angry metal.

“Oops.”

There seemed no better words to describe what she had done or the remorse she was feeling. A pause, fumble, slight triumph.

“Here’s your book.”