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They walked arm-in-arm towards another section of the store, Alma smiling placidly as they did. Perhaps she should have asked, because it seemed common courtesy that if your best childhood friend was a published comic book artist, you would purchase their book. What if she didn’t like his work? What if Akshay didn’t write a genre that appealed to Alma?

Well, it wasn’t like she was committing to the series. Here was to hoping that it was half-decent.

Akshay spoke chipperly about his work—he was an independent artist, and hadn’t been picked up by any of the popular comic book publishers, but he was fine with the indie lifestyle, or so he stated. They turned to face a wall of “featured” books, and Akshay fished one particular one off of the shelf.

>> “This…is my baby…’Slaggathor’. And, since you know the artist, you get to keep that issue for free.”

Alma took “Slaggathor” into her grasp, surveying it with a smile. Scantily-clad women were an unfortunate yet alarmingly common aspect of comic books everywhere, but it was a scantily-clad woman drawn by Akshay. And boy, did she look tough. Akshay even offered his cohort the kicker—she could keep the issue for free.

“Aw, Akshay,” Alma sighed, hugging the comic to her chest, “Thank you!”

There was an uncertain pause. He was in the indie scene, so it might be uncouth to take part of his livelihood for free, “Are you sure? I wouldn’t mind paying for it—“ Alma paused, looking at the cover, “It’s very well-drawn.”

Alma smiled faintly as Aedus pressed-on about what sort of business the young woman meant.

“My mutation proves useful for espionage,” Alma replied. She gestured for the bodach to come closer, and when he was beside her, Alma gave a brief command, “Disappear.”

The thing instantly became opaque at its edges, to Almas’ eyes. This meant that, for “Eruption”, the creature would have vanished. Alma’s cryptic smiled turned into an open grin, and then a laugh. She seemed pleased with the trick, however simple it was. Out of politeness, however, after a few moments of invisibility, Alma summoned him back, “Thank you. Reappear, please.”

The bodach did as instructed, gave a faint bow, and drifted back to lingering. Aedus set a teacup before her, having filled it and added honey.

“I’m finding more reason to do so,” she murmured warmly, lifting the cup to her lips, “Thank you.”

Then, she took a sip. Aedus spoke as Alma sipped the tea ever so slowly. It was good tea. She hadn’t had such tea in a good, long while. She sighed contentedly, leaning back, and setting the tea down once again, to let it steep.

“I miss the sky,” Alma murmured, completely off-guard. It was an embarrassing sentiment, but it was true, “It is life. We don’t get many visitors, haven’t had an attack… one of very few perks of being underground. I’m mostly reclusive, spare the pests, though—I am usually preoccupied with tailing persons of interest.”

She smiled faintly at Aedus, raising her teacup to take a sip, yet pausing as Aedus stepped back, his skin flaking. Alma lowered her cup again.

“Are you shifting back?” Alma inquired, openly curious as she drew closer, “May I come cl—I mean, would you prefer if I stood back?” Alma was intrigued by the notion of watching his skin shed, even if such intrigue was impolite to possess.

The creature corrected her—it wasn’t a sir.

“You’re a woman?” Alma inquired, an incredulous lilt in her tone, “Madame… mademoiselle… I’m so sorry. It’s really dark.” And you sound like a man, honest to God. Ooooh, this is not my night.

Alma got to her feet, carefully feeling the floor with light, hesitant steps in search of shard of anything that might be awaiting the poor soles of her feet. The thing laughed, perhaps not at Alma’s inquiry, so the woman ignored it, focusing on standing upright without miss-stepping or slipping on anything.

Whatever it was, its name was Aurion, and it deflected her apology by shouldering some of the blame, and explaining his angle of the situation. He wouldn’t need a dentist, the tooth would grow back. Right around that time, the boy in the doorway flicked the lights on, illuming the kitchen, and revealing that the red-eyed creature that accompanied him was actually a dog.

Alma blinked at the brightness a few times, and made note of the destruction around her. This was going to take some work to clean up. The reptilian creature—which, in the light, was still quite terrifying to behold, went about asking questions about bodachs, and his inquiries were added-onto by the boy in the doorway.

“I will clean it up,” Alma sighed, rubbing her face, “They are not smart enough.”

It was really too early to deal with this kind of thing, but as her mutation was the fault of the mess, it only made sense that she be the one to pick up after it. She knew little of the creatures, but knew enough that if she tried to command them, unless it was something that they were inclined to do anyways, they probably wouldn’t listen.

Alma swallowed her nerves, and in response to Aurion’s brief introduction, the woman offered one of her own. American customs held that handshakes were customary, rather than cheek-kissing (which, beyond which, was reserved for only friends in Alma’s old group), so Alma shuffled closer to Aurion, extending a hand.

“My name is Alma,” she introduced, extending a hand, “Sorry for this Hell of a first impression.”

Introduction having been given, Alma looked about for the plastic bowl—it’d be better to feed the bodachs and distract them while she cleaned this disaster zone up. Her food would have to wait until after the mess was taken care of, before she ate.

“I don’t know what they are,” Alma murmured, “Maybe ghost-like things. My abuela speaks with the dead, and says that these are awfully similar to them, but not the same… so I do not really know, I suppose is the short answer. They just showed up one day, and now they don’t leave me alone.”

Alma picked-up the plastic bowl, having spotted it on a counter across the room (as she picked over the mess that her pawns had created), and began to pick her way back towards the pantry.

“I’m Alma,” she introduced herself to the boy, extending a hand towards him and stopping before him, momentarily, to give him a fair introduction, “Nice to meet you.”

That introduction was exchanged, and she walked the rest of the way towards the pantry. The bodachs, all the while, shuffled closer, chirping “Food!” as they followed.

“They are mischievous creatures,” Alma reiterated, answering the reptile’s second portion of the question, “Like… water. One moment, they’re solid, like an ice cube, but then they can become like… snow? But then they can also be like water itself, or water vapor. It changes. They only touch things when they need to, or want to. Otherwise, they squish, or they aren’t even there.”

Alma popped open the pantry cabinet, and began to clamber onto the bottom shelf in an attempt to reach the top. As a means of specification, she added on, “Well, for you, anyways. They’re always there, for me.”

The night did things to peoples’ psyche. What, in daylight, would be labeled as a plant, or a lamp, soon became monsters that dwelt in shadows. Even as she’d made her way to the kitchen, Alma had run from the shadows, and even now she was on-edge. On-edge had been a state of being since she’d left Canada, which wasn’t a good thing to be in a shelter for homeless mutants. What society labeled as “monsters” were merely “the man from up the hall” here, but what Almas’ nightmare-ridden mind didn’t comprehend was that these halls could be swimming with such terrifying neighbors.

Upon seeing the first bowl, the bodachs surged into corporeality, rustling about in anticipation for their coming meal. Dishes meant food, and they wanted food. All at once, their clamor became perceivable to the outer world, and it drowned out any sounds of approaching footsteps as it grew in magnitude.

“Food!” some of the smaller ones chirped, “Food! Food!”

“Un moment,” Alma murmured crossly, setting the bowls down to step off of the counter. This whole time, her back was to her newfound company.

A low voice cut through the silence, and made the rumbling observation that there were a lot of mouths to feed. Alma lost her hold on the counter, taken by momentarily alarm, and an artless French swear escaped her. She managed to cling to the counter for her dear life, the whole of her weight being on her arms, and her legs splayed out uselessly on the tiled floor.

“Lots of mouths,” she grunted, scrambling to her feet. After momentary scrambling, Alma regained her footing, and turned to greet what she expected to be a humanoid form in the doorway, on the ground-plane. She saw none such thing. Alma’s squinted her eyes, which were weakened by the darkness, but she saw a congealed part of the darkness reaching towards one of the taller bodachs, and her gaze went up. There was something enormous on the ceiling. And, as Alma’s sleep-deprived mind told her, it was obviously a monster.

The panic hit her fast—adrenaline shot through her system, and the girl jumped, a gasp (more like, a squeak) of alarm escaped her. The fright that hit her was enough to send a ripple of motion through the ranks of bodachs—their mistress needed to be protected from this newfound threat. Their plan of attack, fasten onto whatever they could and throw it. First, went the Tupperware bowl, then, the ceramic bowl, each of which had been abandoned on the counter.

The little bodachs clambered onto the counter, popping open drawers and grabbing what they could, while, the larger bodachs (having thrown the bowls) now went for the decorative bowl of fruit upon the counter. As the bowl was heavy, they began with the fruit within it to lighten the load. The young women who was (partially) at-fault for this shrank to the floor, her breath stopping in her throat. How were the bodachs doing this? Or rather, why? The terror was subsiding, but only moments too late.

“Guys,” Alma said, realizing that she was in-control of this (hypothetically), “Guys! Guys, stop! I’m okay! He just gave me a start!”

The attack grew less fevered, but a few projectiles were still hurled.

“Throw one more thing, and no more cereal for you!”

The attack ceased. It had spanned only a few moments, but the kitchen, Alma had a feeling, probably looked like a small tornado had hit it. She held a hand to her chest, as if trying to stop her heart from hammering so hardly with a simple touch.

Alma held her thumb to her lips, nibbling at its edge pensively. A woman edged up beside her, voicing an inquiry.

Alma glanced at the woman beside her momentarily, before glancing at the piece. How much did the young lady want to bet that this was the artist? While it would be more beneficial to lie to the woman’s face and say that she was having a profound experience with the piece, that would have been an outright lie.

“I haven’t had a profound experience with this piece,” Alma confessed, her expression adopting an air of apology, “I was actually studying the technique utilized in the piece.”

That sounded a lot better than, “I stopped to chastise invisible nuisances, and opted to situate myself in front of this random painting when doing so.”

Rather than explain what techniques she liked or didn’t like, Alma trailed towards another piece that she’d been to earlier, with the explanation of, “There was another piece that I rather liked by the same artist, however.”

Alma graciously, yet modestly, took two pieces of the bread, giving the murmured reply of, “Thank you.”

She helped herself to the first slice, tearing off half and holding it out to the bodach behind her. It let out an incoherent stream of noise that sounded almost like garbled speech.

“Take it or leave it,” the young woman said frankly. The bodach accepted the slice of bread and nibbled on it experimentally. When the creature determined the food to be sufficient, it’s mouth gaped to an enormous size, and it dropped the whole slice in, emulating a shark. Alma frowned. Yet, Aedus continued speaking, so Alma didn’t have the opportunity to chastise her bodach.

“I would be more than happy to share fresh bread with you, so long as I’m not imposing,” Alma agreed. Some people were rightfully stingy with food. She didn’t want to eat this man’s only source of sustenance.

“I am with Emerald’s settlement,” Alma explained, “The underground city—but I do a good deal of business with the Town, though I haven’t been up here in a while… so I suppose, just visiting?”

Alma inclined her head, watching as Aedus readied the teacups and teabags for their small meal. It had also been a while for the young woman since she’d held company beyond the bodachs. Though she was grateful for it, Alma, too, was at a loss.

“How long have you been here, in the Town?” she inquired, “Do you like it here?”

Alma listened closely, closing her book of places to stay, and using her map as a bookmark, while the child spoke.

“That is a very young age to evolve at,” Alma remarked, adopting the same term that the girl had. She cracked a small, hesitant smile at the child. It was difficult for children to come-into their powers young, if they weren’t of a mutant family—heck, born-humans usually had difficulties regardless of age. Alma was backwards in the sense that she grew powers belatedly, and only after that did she come to realize what a nuisance her powers were.

The girl proceeded with her explanation, throughout which Alma was attentively silent. So, she could blow things up—had the teen been her uncle, she would have promptly tried recruiting her. But, seeing as Alma was not her uncle, she merely listened.

“Maybe there’s still some hope for me, then,” Alma murmured, shaking her head.

As an afterthought, she rose from her seat atop the suitcase, extending a hand towards the child for a handshake, “My name is Alma. Nice to make your acquaintance.”

The dark-haired woman looked around—it struck her as odd that such a young girl be out and about without company, particularly in the city—perhaps she’d just been in Saint-Jérôme for too long, and had forgotten the ways of the city-folk.

“Do you attend Xavier’s?” Alma inquired. Oh yes, she knew of the school—Sophia had attended there when Alma was younger—but, seeing as Alma was well beyond school-age, she didn’t even consider seeking sanctuary there. The inquiry was also far less loaded than one orienting around how her parents had reacted, though served the same purpose as such a question.