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The smaller bodachs giggled as the quiet man tried to kick them out of the way, dodging his kicks for the most part. A few of the smaller ones received blows, but didn’t seem to slow down in the least. And, when the big ones were assaulted by an invisible, board-shaped projectile, it phased right through them. They weren’t interacting with anything, or attempting to do so, thus weren’t solid.

>> I’m Dorian. My mutation stops me from speaking, unless you know sign language.

Alma smiled apologetically and shook her head, and admitted, “Fluent Spanish and decent French, and enough English… no sign language though. Sorry, Dorian.”

Just then, Dorian’s phone hummed, and the mute fished into his pocket, and after surveying it, he reached forward towards the barrier and grabbed an invisible handle. As it slid open, the fake hinges creaked.

“Impressive mutation…” Alma said with a bow, her exaggerated accent faltering. She wasn’t eager to stick around, and turned to leave. But… being freed from the underground drugstore-broom closet, Alma was feeling slightly more audacious.

She turn back to look at the quiet guy, casually folding her arms as she did so.

“That’s an incredible amount of M to be housed under a shelter for homeless mutants,” Alma commented, “Quite silly, considering we’re all… mutants… don’t you think?”

Something was up. There had to be a good supplier to have that much stocked-up beneath the Sanctuary, which was implicative of illicit affairs. Too bad she wasn’t in-touch with her family… Alma would have to do all the grunt work in finding intel on her own. The little bodachs tripped over their mistress's feet, chasing each other about before becoming less dense (to Alma, and therefore invisible to Dorian). The bigger ones vanished as they strolled down the hall, and soon joined her as well.

Alma restrained the inclination to grin when the quiet guy finally noticed the bodachs milling about his feet. He’d pulled out his phone, started to click through it. Alma saw his expression shift when he spied the spectral swarm. His brows furrowed, he paused, but finished his text before jamming his phone back into his pocket. Out came the pen, out came the invisible board, and away his hand flew. Alma, all the while, looked like that cat that had swallowed canary?

>> Why are we being surrounded by shadow gnomes?

The guy glanced down the hall, saw something that Alma could not, and stuck his hand out flat. Alma craned her head, standing on one foot as if struggling to get a look, without avail. For now, answering inquiries about shadow gnomes.

“They are mine,” Alma chuckled, “And trying to come to me.”

Sadly, there was a giant invisible wall in their way. So instead, they settled for stumbling over Stretchs’ shoes, tugging at them, and just being general nuisances. Alma casually balanced her weight upon one foot, inclining her head to the side and keeping her arms folded. Her gaze flickered over the gangly guy, lips pursed. When their eyes met, she quirked a smile.

“If you let me out,” Alma mused, “Or when, I need your help to get back. I am still very lost.”

The least Alma could do was create conversation. Try and talk her way out of this mess. Make herself seem more sympathetic so that he didn’t off her or whatever. She could flirt, get him to pity her… any of those. She just had to figure out his angle.

She tilted her head the other way, her gaze never once leaving him.

“What’s your name?” she inquired lightly.

Alma shrugged, “If it’s off the street, it’s fine by me.”

She lived in a shelter for wayward mutants, so she didn’t really have any room to be picky. It was a halfway house for the mutated, so no matter the form of residence, if it was a one-person place, it was a step above her. The two of them ducked down an alley, arriving at an old, ramshackle house.

Looked like a hideaway to her. Derelict, creepy. Perfect for a big, old creepy guy like him. Alma followed the guy into his residence, her hands wedged into her pocket. The bodachs surged around her uncertainly, whispering and muttering to themselves. It wasn’t much, but they wouldn’t find her there.

“Thank you, for this,” Alma murmured, “I will not outstay my welcome. Just a few hours until I’m sure it’s clear, if that’s alright.”

Alma came to an abrupt halt, though not on her own fruition. Something stopped her. The man? No, he was too far back. A lank, tall man with long dark hair. Alma stepped back, surveying him with muted confusion. A sickness was rising in her throat.

She reached out towards what seemed to be an open doorway, her fingertips grazing a cool, flat, invisible concrete wall. Alma looked at the man again, finally making note of the words that were hovering in front of him. Alma read slowly.

>> Excuse me, madam-

Okay, Alma understood that.

>> -but wtf r u doin?

The English-learner paused. She only knew textbook-English. Not the colloquial text message garbage. Was that even technically English? Alma stared at the words in confusion, her face scrunching as she reread the second half of the sentence.

What is “wtf”? “R” and “U” made sense when read aloud, but the… “doin”? She read that word as one would pronounce “coin”. She’d never heard of “doin” before. She’d just tell him how it was, and do so truthfully. And hope he didn’t take it too wrongly.

"Perdon,” Alma stammered, “I don’t understand what that means… But, I—I, uh… um… N-no sabia que no p-po—I mean, I did not know that I was not supposed to be in here. It was just an adventure.”

The bodachs were appearing around Dorian, peering up at him, and then at their mistress, testing the invisible barrier. The larger ones were further up the hall, watching him, but slowly bobbing closer. They could sense their mistress’s subtle panic, but yet they couldn’t get to her.

“My English is not very good,” Alma said lamely, “It was by accident. The door was open.”

She could read the sign upon the door just fine, but so long as she was playing-up the “not very good at English” card, she’d let the man come to his own conclusions. She'd play off of whatever prejudices he had.

“I will be quiet. No one will know.”

All of them. I now have a wealth of free time, and I would like to use it posting frequently with any of my three characters.

Alma, especially.

I'm really easygoing about threading, game for essentially anything. I like beating-up my characters, from time-to-time, though Gina's still recovering from her last beatdown. *clears throat* So, if you're interested, here's who I've got.

Alma Elizondo: She's my third charrie and in the most need of loving. Her mutation is that she's followed around by invisible, "spectral" creatures that she refers to as bodachs. Lives at the Sanc with a powerful mutant crime family (that is well known in the city, but they don't know that she's there /yet/ and no one really knows her face because she's uninvovled in the family's dealings... for now...) Read through her app to get a better grasp of her, and let me know if you're interested. I want lots of threads with Alma!

Chase: He's the baby of the three. Only nine years old, lives at the Mansion. His mobility's limited due to his age, but I can get pretty creative in getting him places. He's a sweetheart, really shy. His mutation is human-shifting. I could go for a handful of threads with him.

Gina: Last but not least is Gina. She has the least mobility at the time being due to her recent beatdown in the Riot Plot. Haven't decided how long she'll be at the hospital, but she'll be there for a bit. Then she'll probably be recovering at the Mansion. Soooo, if anyone wants threads with her, they'll probably be there. >.>

So yeah, that's it. If you're interested, PM me on any of the aforementioned accounts, (or, even better, my mod account "Sophrosyne" since I sign into that with the most regularity), and we can see if we can work something out. Okay?

<3 Gina

Alma grimaced as he took offense to the term "hideout". Okay, so not every mutated individual she ran into on the street was of a criminal persuasion, her mistake. It was easy to forget that some mutants, even the visibly mutated, were A-OK with people, and not all of them hid away and lived reclusive lives. Alma was getting defeated by the school of thought with which she held so many problems.

"Sorry," she groaned apologetically, upon this realization.

The man replied that, no, he had no hideout, but rather had a place close by.

"Monstrosity?" Alma echoed. As in, a monster? Well, that was endearing. He offered to let her sit at his house until this blew over, and Alma nodded.

"That'd be nice," she replied, "Thank you."

She cast an uncertain glance around.

"Please, lead the way," Alma requested.

To invite someone to Falcone's abode was unheard of, and strategically unintelligent. This, rather, was a meeting place, and only that. A high-end, old-fashioned building, that was often commandeered by the family for its use. Thus the apparent emptiness. Yet, upon closer look, one would note men standing about, stern-faced and stoic. They were like statues, unmoving features that stood against walls, sunglasses mushed into their faces, heads unmoving as the blonde-haired young lady ventured towards the elevator. When the women reached the door and pushed the button, a man stood casually against the far wall. He wasn't dressed like the flunkies in the suits, wasn't hiding his eyes behind sunglasses.

"Miss Lenna?" he greeted, wearing a serpentine grin. He seemed outwardly normal-- his attire, refined and crisp, but it was apparent that he was still, just an errand runner. His mischievous grin faltered as she stepped into the elevator. He was a mutant, of the psychic persuasion. And, as the woman's aura impressed upon him, his powers were dampened, "El Asesor is expecting you."

El Asesor was not, as the designation implied, Falcone. He was the third in the tier of power, an adviser, counselor, and consultant for Falcone and his second-in-command. He attended the meetings that neither could be bothered with. He was still related to the family by-blood, the son of the former Falcone's brother, yet as he was not a direct descendant of the former Falcone, he was slightly more expendable. Thus functioned the pyramid of power.

The doors swung shut, the guard hit the button for the third floor, and the elevator quietly ascended. He made no attempt to carry conversation, only surveyed Lenna quietly. The elevator slid to a halt, and the doors glided open.

Tall, grand windows set the room aglow with light from outside, which rippled over tables covered with white tablecloths, all undercoated spare a single vase with pink roses upon each..

"El Asesor is to your far right, by the windows," the man informed her, "Just look for the guards. They will direct you to your table."

The young woman was ushered out politely, and then the elevator door slid shut, leaving her to her own devices. Guards stood like fixtures near windows, along the walls, and at various points in the room, but they were concentrated well El Asesor was said to be seated. At the far end of the room, the faint clink of silverware against china could be heard as an unseen individual dined.

A single table setting was set back, away from the corner, and the guard gestured to it.

"You'd have to pardon my poor manners, Miss Lenna," El Asesor spoke coolly, "But your... condition... poses an inconvenience. I set a place for you at a reasonable distance from me, so I hope your voice is strong this afternoon."

As the young woman would approach, she'd come to see a man sitting in the corner, soup spoon in-hand, eating quietly. To his right and to his left, a no-neck pair of bodyguards, looking sternly on. El Asesor, who sat in repose between them, donned a white tuxedo, complete with a fedora with a black band, a black shirt, and a purple tie. Yet, rather than seeming outwardly human, El Asesor seemed crafted of stone. He was a broad-shouldered, muscular man, composed of dark grey stone through which fissures ran. And, shining through these fissures, a wash of white-blue light. His eyes also glowed with the light, smoldering beneath the brim of his cap.

"Good day to you," he greeted warmly, extending a hand to gesture to the table that was four yards off, "Please, sit. Would you like something to drink or eat? You look winded."