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So the good news was, Mat's planned had been a success. The glass rodent had caught the attention of the serpents. The bad news was, Mat's plan had been a success. The serpents, their attention gain, had decided to attack. Which would have been fine, had they not all attacked from separate directions. The giant white dragged Mat one way, while the hissing blacks dragged the woman the opposite way. The result was a meeting of the skulls in the middle, followed shortly by pain. No sooner had stars began to fill Mat's vision, he was pulled down into the seat as the girl fell into the aisle.

Mat felt the bus pull over and stop. Screams and yells and general hysteria was filling the transport. Someone was cursing and muttering in some other lanuage. One voice in particular rose above the rest, yelling something about assumptions and mothers. There was a lot of swearing in the bus. Mat glanced up, trying to make heads or tails of what was happening, all whilst struggling against a bloody anaconda!

Hey, was that Samuel L. Ja-- Ack!

The white behemoth wrapped Mat tighter in it's grip. Clutching at the seats in front and behind, Mat started trying to pull himself upright. More yelling. Was somebody giggling? The girl seemed to have managed to make her way back onto the seat. If things could just calm down a second, then maybe they could sort this mess out.

>>> Ahem... I'm going to have to ask you to leave... NOW”

Before Mat could make mention of the fact that leaving was somewhat of a difficult task at the moment, he saw a man, whom he presumed was the bus driver, place his hands under the woman's arms and begin hauling her out of her seat, much to her protest. Instead of letting go now that it's source was being shifted away, the white snake held on tight. Which meant that now, Mat was being dragged out as well.

“Hey! What the fu-ugh! Ack! Stop it, you bastard, lemme just--”

Struggling was futile. Mat couldn't free himself, and the bus man wasn't listening. Resigning himself to his fate, Mat did the best he could to keep shuffling backwards as he and the girl were marched down the steps of the bus and out onto the street. The cold wind nipped away, and Mat felt himself getting angry. He was the one getting the rough end of the stick in all of this, and he was the one that got kicked off?

He stomped his foot on the road as hard as he could, several times. A golem rose up, and Mat commanded it to go after the bus man, who had just started hopping back on board. The man saw the golem, paled, then quickly ran back to his seat. By Mat's will, the golem began pounding it's stone fists into the side of the bus, leaving behind small dents. The glass of the door was soon shattered, and the golem began to climb through. Mat heard renewed screams come from inside the bus, before it shifted into gear, and pulled away as fast as a bus could, golem clinging to the side. His spite now sated, Mat allowed himself a tiny grin.

Until he realised that he was still tangled up by a cluster of snakes.

In the commotion of golem making, and bus attacking and escaping, the snakes had gotten worked up. They writhed around, still hissing, still spitting. The white pulled back towards the girl. Balance compromised, Mat fell backwards into the woman, knocking them both back a few steps. The white slithered around Mat's body, and around the woman's body, effectively tying them together. Mat turned on the spot, clumsily, and found himself face to face with a green face hidden behind sunglasses.

Quite a beautiful face, now that Mat was up nice and close. The snakes suddenly forgotten for the moment, Mat, despite the awkwardness of the situation, couldn't help but grin.

“You know, there are easier ways for a pretty little thing like you to get a man's attention.”

Christmas Day 2010 – Xavier's Institute for Gifted Youngsters – New York City


Christmas time, in a mansion full of teenagers, kids, runaways and general strays, all without a place to go back to, was hectic, to say the least. In the few days Mat had been here, he had seen all sorts of little mutants running about in the mad rush that only the holidays can bring. The palace he now found himself in was covered in greens and reds and golds, decorations of all shapes, sizes and varieties hanging from whatever surface they could claim. So far as Mat could figure out, the kids here were the ones whose families had given up on them, all because one little gene that could do so much. Yet despite this, there was nothing but good cheer floating around the halls and rooms of the mansion.

Mat still couldn't believe he was actually crashing in a mansion.

After waking up to his strange surroundings, and getting used to the idea of staying in a place full of mutants once again, Mat had taken to exploring the property, trying to gain a feel for the place. It was, at once, similar and yet nothing like the commune he had lived in back home. The mansion was like the commune on steroids, what the commune could have been with a limitless bank account.

With luck, this one wouldn't burn down.

Today, if one was to peek through the walls of the mansion, one would see scenes of happiness, of love and charity. With the morning came the excited squeals, the cheers and the laughter of children and adult alike, who revelled in this time of year. Friends sat in circles all over the mansion, sharing meticulously wrapped presents with one another. In the kitchens, the smell of roasted meats and vegetables wafted in the air, causing taste buds to tingle and mouths to salivate in anticipation of the feast to come. The jingle of pianos, the singing chirp of strings, and the melodious sound of voices, all intermingled and weaved together, creating the familiar melodies and harmonies of Christmas carols. The crackle of flames indicated the warmth of fireplaces well lit, keeping the cavernous mansion toasty warm, melting away the cold sadness of those without homes to return to. If one was to look through the walls of the mansion, one could see friend embracing friend, the forging and strengthening of bonds. Family, without the complication of blood-ties.

If one was to look outside the mansion, on the grounds, away from the warmth and the cheer, one would see a thin layer of white powder snow covered the grass, blanketing the grounds in a pure, stark coating. Chill winds swept the yards, slipping through clothing and biting at exposed skin. Clouds shrouded the sky, threatening to drop more winter onto the city and beyond. If one looked out into the yards of the mansion, one would see a pair of lone figures, one huddled up in the cold, the other impervious to the elements.

The only Christmases Mat could remember had been been clear skied, and scorching hot.

Coat wrapped tightly around his body, bare hands in his pockets, Mat had tucked under his arm a small Christmas parcel, poorly wrapped with a scrap of discarded wrapping paper he had scavenged from the floor. The warmth and cheer from inside ignored for now, Mat could be heard speaking to his acquaintance.

“...and I met this chick when I was...shopping one day. I dunno if she was a little crazy or not, but she was definitely hot. Something about her, I dunno. She wasn't like anyone I have ever met...”

Standing a good head shorter than Mat, wearing a beautiful, flowing summer dress, was a young girl, made of glass. Her delicate features were that of a girl soon to blossom into womanhood. If one was to look closely, one could see the similarities between her and the man in front of her. The same nose, the same chin. If she had held any colour, any opaqueness, her eyes would have been the same shade of blue as Mat's.

“...and then the next thing I know, this giant snake is wrapped around my neck, licking my ear. On the other side are, like, six other snakes, all hissing at me...”

The girl barely moved, barely reacted. Instead, she stood there. Statue still, with the occasional nod of her head while Mat told his story.

“...Anyway, I got you a present. It's not much, but I think you'll like it. Sorry I couldn't get you anything better. Next year, I promise.”

Mat held the present out and commanded the golem to take it. Fragile glass fingers tore into the paper, revealing the knitted brown scarf inside.

“I got it from Derrick, the guy I was telling you about just before. He has a heap of scarves, so he gave me a couple for the winter. You'll have to thank him if you ever get a chance to meet him.”

He wrapped it around the golem's neck, and stood back to admire it with a weak smile.

“Looks great on you, Lil.”

If one was to look outside the mansion, into the grounds, one would see a man move forward and wrap his arms around a glass statue imitation of a person he loved. One would see the statue, under the man's influence, return the gesture, return the hug. And if one was to look closely, one could see the tears that began to fall from the man's eyes, the anguish on his face of knowing that, no matter how closely he could make a sculpture to resemble her, no matter how much detail he poured into it, it could never, ever replace what he had lost.

Mat buried his face into the girl's glass hair, the surface freezing cold on his cheek.

“Merry Christmas, sis.”

>>> "The ambulance was for the man your statue thing punched. Besides, I happen to know of someone who can fix you up a bit quicker than a trip to the hospital could."

Made sense.

Actually, now that Mat thought about it, it made no sense at all. Someone who could fix him up quicker than a doctor? Who? And when had he made a statue thing punch somebo-- Oh. Riiiiiight. That. So why the hell would this guy call an ambulance for someone who was ready to attack them?

People did baffling things sometimes...

>>> "Besides, those folks back there aren't too happy with you and by extension me right now. There wouldn't be enough left for the ambulance to transport by the time they arrived if we stayed there and waited."

Head throbbing, nausea rising from being shaken around while the man ran, Mat looked behind them. Seems the crowd hadn't been willing to let bygones be bygones, and had taken it upon themselves to mob up. The drunk part of Mat was somewhat flattered that he had had such an impact on these people, that they had taken the effort to chase little ol' him. The quickly sobering part of Mat, however, realised that mobs lead to pain, and possibly death. Uncomfortable, sick, and generally tired of being carried, Mat began to wriggle and writhe.

“Lemme down.”

His struggling seemed work, the man could no longer carry Mat, and proceeded to let him down. Standing back on his feet, Mat gave a wobble. There was some distance between the two of them and the mob, but not enough to escape. They needed to buy more time. Mat looked at the man next to him. If he had already called an ambulance for someone that Mat had injured, deserved or not, than chances were he was a bleeding heart. Which meant that causing more injuries may be a good way to alienate the guy.

And alienating the man who was helping you escape was never a smart move.

Mat stepped out onto the road, in front of a parked car, and made up his mind. Image in mind, he began to stomp his foot repeatedly, building up enough force to make a golem large enough, but not so hard that he would overdo it. In his state, it would be easy to put too much mental energy into the sculpture and have it go rogue.

A giant hand grew from the road, followed by another, then by and head and a torso, until a golem was standing fully formed in front of him. Standing at about 11 feet tall, pitch black, and made from asphalt concrete, Mat hoped that this golem would be a touch more intimidating than the others he had been forced to abandon. In a last minute decision, Mat commanded the golem to kick a parking meter over. As it picked the meter up from the ground and slapped it against it's empty hand, Mat felt it was now complete.

Mat slumped to his knees and gave a throaty cough, his vision beginning to swim. He had overused his powers, and the fatigue was now catching up to him. This golem would most likely be his last shot. The mob, down the street from where Mat had made the golem, had seen the entire process. If there had been any doubt that Mat was the one responsible, that was no longer an issue. Seeing a giant road monster had been enough to slow their run to a cautious walk, but it wouldn't last long. They looked to be getting ready to charge again.

A parking meter smashing into a shop window, shattering the glass, was enough to give them pause for a moment.

Mat looked up at the man. Hopefully, this would work out smoother than the last distracton. “You gotta trust me mate,” he said. Pushing himself to his feet, Mat gave a shaky step forward and wore the most demented facial expression he could manage. He needed to look like a man on the edge. Like a man about to snap.

Like a man with nothing to lose.

Taking a deep breath, Mat let out a scream, releasing as much anguish, and rage, and insanity as he could into the howl. Like the sort of mad animal these people thought mutants to be. With a mental prompt, the golem charged at the crowd, brandishing its parking meter like a club, swinging it around in wide arcs.

The mob stood in shock, unsure of what to do. The brave few looked ready to stand their ground, their own improvised weapons in hand. But for the majority, it was a rout. People broke rank, and began to flee from the charging monstrosity. Panic spread like fire across a haystack, and soon even the brave were running for their safety.

“Go,” Mat urged the man next to him. Now was their chance to escape, while panic and confusion was rampant. They needed to get away before these idiots realised that Mat wasn't going to have the golem hit anybody.

They needed to get away before these idiots called Mat's bluff.

>>> “These are very good. They are so detailed! I just don’t have anywhere to put one, I move around a lot you see”

“That's a shame,” Mat grinned at the compliment the woman had given his work. If there was a sure fire way to stoke his ego, it was definitely complimenting his art. As he said it, he wasn't entirely sure what the shame was. The fact that she couldn't buy a sculpture, or the fact that she moved around a lot.

“I know what you mean, I tend to move around a bit, myself.”

The woman had given an amused snort to Mat's remark about her as the competition. Mat grinned, despite himself. Beautiful women seemed to have that effect on him.

>>> “Competition? No, I was just enjoying myself. But I’ll take it as a complement if you think I’m competition for him, he is good isn’t he?”

“Oh absolutely,” Mat nodded, a smirk creeping onto his face, “just don't let him catch you saying that. You'll never hear the end of it.”

>>> “Is he a friend of yours?”

“Derrick? You could say that. We've been crashing together for a few weeks. Somehow, he managed to rope me into this little business venture,” Mat replied with a chuckle. “Nah, he's a cool guy. I mean, have you ever seen a mutant actually pull in a crowd who wasn't trying to lynch them before?”

It was actually quite astounding. Mat, while not exactly shy with his powers, was aware that it was usually the more prudent decision to not announce your mutation in public. Derrick was not only displaying his mutation proudly, but the crowd were enjoying every minute of it. Mat smiled widely at this, and looked down at his sculptures.

If Derrick was able to inspire goodwill and trust between humans and mutants through his art, what was to say that Mat couldn't, either?

>>> “That cheap? Really? These are high quality!”

The woman's voice drew Mat from his thoughts. She had spoken out loudly, and as Mat turned his eyes to her he saw that she was wearing a mischievous smile. Was she trying to bring some business in for him? Sure enough, a young couple wandered over and began browsing Mat's wares. The woman fluttered her eyelids at her partner, and with a resigned sigh, the man reached for his wallet.

“Thirty bucks, thanks mate,” Mat said. The man's face seemed to tighten, lips pressed together in a thin line, but his eyes soon flicked towards his wife and with a resigned nod, he paid Mat and took one of the medium sized sculptures. His wife planted a kiss on her husbands lips, took his hand, and started walking back over to where Derrick continued his performance. The man gave Mat and the woman one last glare, before being led away.

Mat grinned and turned to the woman. “Thanks for that.” He crouched down and began rummaging around in his backpack. The image in his head, he hit one of the sculptures in there, and willed a smaller, keyring sized version into existence, a small hole left so she could attach it to a keyring if she so chose. “Here you go, it's the least I can do. And this one can follow you around easier if you have to travel,” he said with a wink. He extended his hand for the woman to shake.

“Name's Mat.”

“Guh!”

Pain. It was filling his head like beer filling a glass.

“Son of a...”

How hard could it possibly be, to simply turn and run?

“Ugh!”

Seriously?

Mat lay on the ground, writhing and moaning. He had hit the ground hard, and now every inch of his face was now feeling the results. As he tried to push himself back to his feet, Mat's head spun wildly, almost causing him to slip back down onto his face. Blood streamed from his nose, making a small pool of crimson on the concrete pavement. All sound seemed muffled, like he was hearing it from underwater.

Someone knelt down next to him, and started helping Mat to his feet. As the world began to circle and twirl, Mat could hear a voice asking for an ambulance. With a glance up, Mat saw that the interloper was the one who was both lifting him and calling for help. Mat was touched. Not only had the man decided to assist Mat in standing, he was so concerned for Mat's well-being that he was calling an ambulance to come fix him up.

What a nice guy.

Suddenly, the man threw Mat over his shoulder and began to run. Mat, puzzled beyond belief, was in no shape to go against it. Instead, he resigned himself to jostling and bouncing on the man's shoulder. Still, it seemed a strange thing to run from where the ambulance was going to come collect Mat.

“What about the ambulance?”

She was beautiful, flowing red hair and sparkling blue eyes. Her lips tilted into a knowing smirk, and she flicked her head, a cascade of copper hair whipping back. The waves rolled up onto shore, licking the sand before retreating, and Mat couldn't help but be entranced. The sun began to set, hues of pink and orange and gold all sparkling off the ocean. The ground shook and shuddered briefly, but Mat paid it no mind. She was making her way towards him. He closed his eyes, and could feel her lowering herself to the ground, sitting herself down next to him. Mat opened his eyes, and she began to run her smooth, scaly hands up his arm, sending a pleasant shiver down his spine. Her fingers brushed along his shoulder, tickled the back of his neck, and finally rested on the opposite shoulder. Her arm around him, she leaned in closer, moving around to the far side of his face. She moved in close and he could feel her soft breath on his face. Playfully, she leant in and began to tickle his ear with her tongue...”

Mat awoke with a jolt and a quiet yelp. Another microsleep. He let out a long sigh. They were only going to get worse unless he got some rest.

A forlorn feeling entered Mat's chest, a pang of disappointment. He wished that the woman in his dreams, whoever she was, was here. He wasn't sure if she was someone he had met, or whether his subconscious had simply filled in all the details with all of his preferences. The dream had been so vivid. It was almost as if her arm was still around him...

He felt something lick his ear.

Glancing down, Mat's stomach dropped. There was a giant white snake coiled around him, forked tongue flickering in and out of its mouth. It's eerie, emotionless orange eyes stared at Mat, unblinking.

“...snake...?” he muttered sleepily. Mat's dream-addled mind seemed to be having trouble taking in the information it was being faced with.

Mat turned his head to the other side, to see if there was someone sitting next to him, who may have lost a pet snake, or something. He was greeted by six pairs of the same freaky orange eyes. Six black snakes, this time, bared their fangs at him and begun hissing and spitting. This time, Mat's mind caught on real quick.

“Snakes!”

((The song in question))

“Run, run, run, run, run, runrun run run, runrun run run, let's have some...”

Mat needed sleep. He desperately needed sleep. Even despite his phobia, Mat knew that his body wouldn't be able to cope with being awake one day longer. He spent the past few days floating around in a half-daze, unsure whether he was dreaming or awake. The only times that Mat was certain that he was awake were the moments he lay his head down to get some sleep. When his body would seize up with fear, cold sweat pouring from his pores, his heart hammering in his chest. When his head would spin so fast and hard that he was certain he would be sick. When his stomach would tie itself into a noose, ready to hang itself. When his breathing became hyperventilation, short, shallow, and nowhere near satisfying enough. When Mat tried to sleep, and these things happened to him, he could be certain he was awake.

And so he wouldn't sleep.

“...fun, fun, fun, fun, fun, funfun fun fun, funfun fun fun, fun fun, we'll...

The cold of a New York winter seemed to be the contributing factor to Mat's stress. It had completely blind-sided him with it's intensity and merciless nature. He, in hindsight, had been completely unprepared for it, and now it was all starting to get to him. All starting to be too much. Ice winds, snow, rain, sleet. The weather was making him miserable, making him stressed. And stress meant that his somniphobia ran high.

“...drink, drink, drink, drink, drink, drinkdrink drink drink, drinkdrink, drink drink, a toast to the...”

The fact that Christmas was just around the corner, and he was all alone once more, may not have been helping matters either.

“...sun, sun, sun, sun, sun, sunsun sun sun, sunsun sun sun sun suuuuu-un...”

Still, Christmas had meant that people were scouring the streets and stores of New York, searching for presents and gifts in the mad rush that was last minute Christmas shopping. Business with his art had improved dramatically in the last week or so, which meant that he had some more cash in his pocket than usual.

So with a pocketful of cash, a mind of haze and fog, and running on whatever lapses of conciousness that happened without his knowing, Mat had come up with a scheme to get some sleep. Namely, getting sh*t-faced drunk. He had found a small, nondescript bar tucked away between two stores, not more than a door and a tiny sign. Despite being of age, Mat had no form of I.D on him whatsoever. He hadn't carried any since he had his learner drivers licence, back when he still lived with his parents. So to compensate, Mat had strode in, sat at the bar, and slapped down a wad of cash. The barman, being the non-discriminatory type he was, had made sure that Mat's glass did not reach empty. Until Mat had begun singing, dancing and generally making a ruckus. At that point, he was politely asked to leave. Seeing no reason to kick up a stink, and being grateful to the barkeep for his hospitality, Mat had requested one final purchase. A bottle of the cheapest red wine available for his journey onwards. The barman indulged him, sold him the grog, and then booted him out into the street.

Drunk and alone, Mat had started to feel depressed. Not wanting to sink into a maudlin mood, Mat's mind had turned to happier drunken times. Times with old friends, whom he missed deeply. Old friends he could replicate and control. And so wine in hand, in a paper bag of course, Mat had made his was onto the side of the road and begun stomping his foot.

Despite his intoxication, Mat managed to create perfect replicas of the friends he had in mind. Their faces were burned so deeply into his mind and his heart that he could replicate them in any state. Trip, of course, was first and foremost. There were many, many warm memories of that man to make Mat grin, countless moments of silly laughter, wasted philosophical ramblings, and deep conversations about life and the nature of things. Trip...tall, thin, and lanky, and made from asphalt. Next was Pockets, short and stocky, with hunched shoulders and no neck. He always had a glum expression on his face, yet when he and Mat would speak, he would always be ready with some joke, or anecdote that would leave Mat on the floor, howling with laughter. Third, but certainly not least, Downpour. Even as a statue made of road, she was sexy. Full lips, curves in all the right places, and that grin that forever lingered on her face. The grin that teased and taunted with silently seductive promises. Mat's relationship with her had been...complicated. But it had never gotten between their friendship.

His old crew assembled, or created depending on how you saw it, Mat and the golems had stood on the footpath and faced each other in a circle. With their sculpted 'bottles' in their hands and Mat with his own, a song had entered Mat's mind. A song he hadn't heard in a long time. A song that denoted a ritual between the four of them, and old habit that Mat wanted to participate, if just once more.

And so, music flowing through his mind, Mat began to sing and dance.

The song and the dance were always the same. The circle, numbers not mattering, would sway and raise their drinks. Feet were stomped, people would move in and out of the circle. During long instrumental sections, people were required to pair off, jig, and frequently switch jigging partners. And as the tempo rose, so did the frenzy of the dance, until people would simply break off and do their own thing.

Which is where Mat now found himself. On the footpath, with three bitumen golems, all staggering and dancing around drunkenly while Mat sung as much of the song as he could remember.

“Oh what a beautiful day, today! Today's the day to celebrate...nuh nuh nuhnuh, nuh, nuh, nuh...” Mat trailed off as he forgot some of the lyrics. “I'm drunk, I'm singing, I'm happy and loud! Two o'clock in the arvo but hey, that's allowed...” It was definitely night time, not the afternoon like the song said, but Mat could let that slide.

What Mat hadn't noticed, during his drunkenly nostalgic reunion, was that eyes were beginning to turn, and people were beginning to take notice. Curious and amused glances were quickly becoming hostile. While most New Yorkers could at least tolerate having to share their city with mutants, it was not a very wise decision to flaunt powers in public. Still, when in the moment...

“I'm having a good time and of that I am proud!”