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His shopping companion gave him insight into how important glitter was to young girls. Why they would choose to wear a makeup that could double as part of a Halloween costume was beyond him. The trick to makeup was to make it look natural wasn't it? What about sparkling skin said natural? Well, with how many different mutations there were one couldn't classify anything as abnormal now. The existance of an active x-gene was causing words themselves to undergo a transformation. Mutant was mutating.

If body glitter was a popular chose for young girls, Sledge would get one for Kaitlyn. Gold glitter would be good he thought, but again, it had a fruity smell to it. Looking at the different tubes of concentrated sparkle power it seemed to be a common trend in makeup. No wonder girls were growing up too fast these days, even the small things that parents are alright with had names like "Luscious Strawberry". Maybe it was just his strict parents' voices in his head, but young girls shouldn't have anything with words like luscious or juicy. He took a gold one, the least offensive name of "Stardust". While it had a sweet smell to it, it was no type of fruit that he could identify.

Once again they were at a jewelry display. Sledge fingered a set of small silver hoop. "Could go with clip on earrings." He removed a clip earring from the plastic. It snapped shut on his finger, eliciting a soft ow. Yes, the man who could punch through a brick wall without breaking a bone just said ow because of a little sparkly. No way was he going to get this pair for Kaitlyn. Bribes work best when they don't hurt the one you're bribing. "On second thought, migh' be better iffin she just gets her ears pierced, it'll hurt less."

The devil, as they say, is in the details. Any fool could toss a doctor’s jacket on, along with a stethoscope and pretend that they are a doctor in a hospital. Any fool, and when it came to leading people on, David Maxwell Duckland was no fool. People expected doctors to know things, medical things. Nobody ever questioned the background people in a hospital, the janitors, the cafeteria staff, the interns. Unless you have a doctorate and have completed your residency people thought that you knew nothing. Getting the proper color scrubs was easy. Scrubs were now something between pajamas and sweatpants, a general use loungewear that anyone could get. Even an ID badge had been no issue. All he really needed was a lanyard and a blank badge attached to it. Sledge had carefully twisted the lanyard and pinned it to his scrubs so that it looked like his tag had just gotten twisted around. There were a few pens in his pocket of the clicking variety, along with a syringe with a trick needle.

As he pushed the gurney past the nurses’ station he ducked his head as if embarrassed. They were whispering and gossiping about him, he knew that. That British accent of his had come in handy as Alistar had said it would. The angle he was going for was the awkward new orderly, which would excuse any mistakes he had made thus far. Going in the room alone was a mistake, he knew that much. There really should be a doctor present for this, or at least another orderly. His protégé might claim to be a doctor, but she was undeniably small and would be more harm in this job than help.

He had not anticipated there being others in the room, Alistar hadn’t mentioned that fact. It had sounded as though this teen was a loner, not really having anyone in the city. The woman and two children in the room hardly looked as though they were Hokee’s family. Given the condition that the teen was in Sledge thought that family members would look a little more broken up. Accidents tended to make people look more fondly upon the injured, or act in anger because they did not want to deal with the actual emotions. He’d have to have a little chat with his young employer about proper intel.

“’ave I interrupted something?” David asked, looking at them all confused. He’d raced down a hallway shortly before hand to give himself a flustered look. Hair was all out of sorts and there was a visible amount of stubble on his face. David manipulated the gurney as well he could around those in the room. He made his way over to Hokee’s chart, and examined it, acting as though he understood all the medical mumbo jumbo that had been scribbled in what he assumed was human handwriting. Taking out a pen and clicking it a few times he checked the heart rate monitor, studied the IV Drip and scribbled out his own note. Next he went over to Hokee’s arm, rubbed the elbow with an alcohol wipe and took out his trick syringe. A few flicks with his finger, then a bit of slight of hand to hide his “priming” it before “injection”. “Sorry to break things up, but I’ve got to bring ’im in for some surgery.”

Being as careful as he could, Sledge started transferring Hokee from his hospital bed onto the gurney. He needed to talk to the kid, killing him would not allow that. Unfortunately in the transfer did not move entirely smoothly and the hospital gown shifted.

"Bagels on the Square, on Carmine," he said. Bagels were by no means romantic or flirtatious, only the things that one could use as a topping for them. Hopefully Seyta did not think that he had been spending time with her solely for the reason of bringing her home. If a ladybird thought that you were after that, nine times out of ten you’d be left on your own. Besides the fact that everyone loves bagels, it had been the first place he could think of that would still be open at this hour. Now that the words had come out of his mouth he was committed to going to Bagels. Saying another diner at this point would make him sound like an idiot.

It was a late hour, not quite the bleary eyed point, but technically it was tomorrow, no longer yesterday. Bagels at this hour could be considered a very early breakfast. At least he hadn’t suggested an IHOP. Pancakes, waffles, and bacon were too intense at this hour, though it would help to soak up the alcohol a little.

With his mind now thinking about Bagels on the Square, bringing up a map in his head to determine where they needed to go, what would be the best source of public transportation, and how much money he still had in his wallet, bringing Seyta with him was fading away. Perhaps if Sledge had actually held Seyta’s hand to lead her out he would be able to remember her better, but he refrained from that as much as possible. By the time he had managed to get out of the club his reason why he wanted to go to Bagels was fading fast away. When he managed to flag down a taxi Seyta was still in his mind, but his asking her to come with him for a cup of coffee, along with her forgiving him had fallen away. She might not forgive him for getting in the taxi alone.

With the most recent round the score stood at one to fifteen. Aedus had done a spot on job hitting the points that Sledge had wanted him to. This was the hardest part of the game. You had to be extremely precise with each toss to avoid busting. A higher number was useful if you doubted your aim. He hadn’t tossed arrows with Aedus before. Their competitors had probably played together before, given how well they had managed to whittle down their score. It was going to be difficult for them to hit a single one without busting.

However after six shots with his hand in a fist Sledge’s arm was aching terribly. His hand did not want to fully extend without him bending the fingers away. He put his arrows down while he had the chance and tried to rub the feeling back into his fingertips. Some of the worst aches were right at the wristbone. This was what always happened when he through a punch too many times. There never was pain at impact, just the pain afterwards when his arm became heavy.

As much as he hated the thought of loosing David didn’t want another round of the game. By now his stomach and legs had made a full recovery, but his arm was going to pieces. It wasn’t in him to forfeit. The man was too stubborn to just give in, a fault that had gotten him in trouble in the past. Either the two grandpas had to win or Aedus would have to end the game. David doubted he could even hold onto the darts right at this point.

If Sledge actually had been totally honest with Seyta he might have had some sense of shame in asking for her forgiveness. Forgiveness is a powerful thing. To ask for it means that you had shame, that you wanted, sometimes desperately needed, the one you had wronged to wipe your slate clean. The conman didn't care that he had to ask Seyta to forgive him. It was a pathetic excuse for his inappropriate behavior, which had been totally dreamed up by the blonde bombshell he was chatting up.

Contrary to what he claimed was the way of all British blokes, Sledge had no fondness for tea. No matter how much cream or milk you put into it tea always tasted thin to him, and it had been the first thing his mum filled him with whenever he caught cold. Just the texture made him think of being ill again. All psychological he knew, but taste and smell were two of the strongest senses for bringing up memories. If given the choice the conman would take a cup of coffee any day. Add to that his tendency to miss a few nights sleep and it was hardly surprising that he needed that caffeine injection.

"Excellent," he said, grinning at Seyta. This was not the same thing as getting a girl to follow him to his flat, but he had gone from being a leper to her to getting her to go out for coffee. Coffee was truly a wise invention, if for no other reason than the chat up lines it offered. I like my coffee the way I like my women... "I know of a nice little diner where we could have a cuppa, perhaps a bit of mash, keep the worse of the migraines away in the morning."

Gargoyle girl thought that the hats here were cute. Sledge found himself agreeing with her, but he didn’t want to get a fedora here. He could tell that these hats wouldn’t stand up to the rigors of learning how to hat juggle. They would wrinkle horribly with each tight grasping catch, and each drop. The hat would no longer look cute, it would look sloppy. “Mm. They are cute, but I know an ace hat store where I can get a better one for her.”

He looked at the next display, filled with lip glosses, nail polish and other make up. What age was appropriate for little girls to start wearing make-up? Try as he might Sledge couldn’t remember when the birds back in Bradford did. Again there was the issue of two different cultures. Not everything that was appropriate in England was permissible in the United States. Any child between five and eighteen could drink wine, cider, or beer at home or at a friend’s house as long as they had the permission of a parent. When David was sixteen Charlie could order beer for his younger brother in a restaurant. Here you were able to buy cigarettes at age eighteen, in England you could do the same as long with buying yourself a six pack. Would make-up be wrong for an eleven year old here?

“Well, you’re me expert on the mind of little girls on this side of the pond,” Sledge said, turning to face Gina. With a hand he gestured at the make-up. “Should an eleven year old girl stay away from these sort of things? Or is that too adult for them?”