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((ooc finally got around to replying here, whoops!))

Color change note: she smiled. Her glow was orange. Did orange mean pleased? Mood ring mutation. Nifty. If one could figure all the settings out, one would be able to read her emotions plain as the nose on her face. He had to wonder how she felt about that. But no matter! She was smiling!

He bobbed his head at her comment about understanding his situation. Waitressing, Benji decided, was a low paying job. She would understand all too well. Benji's mouth quirked in an angled smile at her chuckle.

'One woman rave,' he thought to himself. 'Just add water.'

Things slipped into an awkward silence, post joke. He'd smiled at it, but he hadn't spoken his comment aloud. He figured he wasn't allowed. Might've been too cheesy, even for him. Her comment on his cute helmet, however, had him smirking.

"Thanks," Benji said. Had she just called him cute? "I'd offer to buy you a coffee. But--" He shot a significant look out towards the pouring rain. "We'd get soaked before we made it ten steps. Unless I tried to brute force our way there with super speed..." He trailed off. That last part had been an afterthought.

How quickly could they move from cover to cover at high speed? He hadn't done much side by side rushing. Hadn't found many girls willing to let him carry them. Perish the thought. It'd take a lot of rushing and trusting and recharge time, but-- eh . It had just been a thought. They could hunker down and talk in the cold just fine.

"I wish I knew how long the rain was going to last." Benji sighed. "I kind of wanted to practice my violin tonight, for my audition." He glanced her way. "Trying to get hired into an orchestra over here."

Oh man, she was homeless? That changed lots of things. He'd been there. He knew. He'd even tried setting up a crash pad with running water and stolen electricity for people. That had lasted a while, until his cushy paychecks from Jaager corp stopped rolling in. One can only do so much with the kindness of strangers (read: pick pocketed cash). If she were homeless, maybe he could do more for her than kicks few asses up into a few throats. It wasn't entirely clear why the change in his feeling towards her changed so suddenly, other than an imagined connection, but then, that's usually how things work, isn't it?

Her explanation made sense. Being homeless is a situation where you both avoid notice and are noticed. The average Joe on the street might glance away from the homeless man because he doesn't work within their narrow world view. He's uncomfortable, unsightly. The criminal element, they prey upon the same type of person. They see a homeless person as a target, expendable, with nobody to protect them. Easy to take advantage of. Just like these bastards, with Larraine.

Elliott didn't like people that mistreated women. It was scummy and it was low. He was good at one thing, above all others. He was good at kicking. Socializing... was not kicking.

"Yeah," Elliott grimaced. He cleared his throat, and tried again. "Yeah. I understand that whole mess. I've been there. When you're on your own, you don't have anyone you can rely on. Even the police see you as a low priority. Need all the friends you can get."

"There are places, you know? Places people can go where they'll take you in and help you out." Elliott commented. "Lately, I've been staying at the mansion."

Were they near their stop? He glanced at the train's sign, the one that indicated next stop. His was coming up soon... hopefully the men weren't following her and they could both just leave in peace.

She thanked him again, and there was uncertainty there, if he had wasn't mistaken. Uncertainty about whether the bad people were even still following her, and so on and so forth. Hrm. Set a guy up for conflict, then say it might not happen. Great way to make one's shoulders tense. The day she seemed to have a tendency to be thoughtful, and less emotional at face value, made the whole situation hard to read as a doctor's note.

The fact she could even think she were entitled to help, that he could think she were entitled to help, was laughable. They were in a new world now, a world of hopeful gender equality, and it was getting better all the time. Equality meant treating everyone the same. If she were entitled to help, then so would be Joe Schmoe off the street. There was no damsel entitlement in Elliott's heart. Chivalry was dead. Long live chivalry. Or so he hoped, in a perfect world... more likely, hormones would overrule common sense on a day-to-day basis. It was the way of the world. Equal opportunity beatings for all, but especially for the damsels in distress (so long as they were cute). A sad thought. One that passed through his mind briefly at her comment, and passed through it fast. Faster than an internal monologue had any right to be. Her comment about him being trusted nudged it aside, replacing the first ludicrous statement with another. My, but she was good at those.

His smile turned crooked, but he zipped his zipperlike smile and didn't say a thing. Let her think him trusting. She could be thoroughly mistaken as much as she liked. People make mistakes every day. Mistakes like chalk in up weirdness to insanity. Maybe it was simply a personality trait. Or inanity. She offered him a piece of gum after apologizing for being weird. That was weird, in and of itself.

"No thank you," Elliott said, smiling. Who could tell. The entire thing could have been a ruse to get him to drop his guard so she could slip him mystery gum. Trusting, indeed. Plus he didn't want any. So there.

Larraine was her name. To give a fake name or real, that was the question. A question with a simple enough answer. He held up his hand, forming a capital L with thumb and forefinger, letting the remaining finger curl into his palm. "Ell." Elliott said. Close enough to be near his name, but far enough it wouldn't be an instant connection. An instant connection for a green guy with very-much-not-scaly smooth green skin (thank you very much). One whose name was similar to an abbreviation that still had the first couple of letters in common with the original. Yeah, maybe he could have been more discrete. Whatever.

Larraine wanted to explain how she got into her situation. Elliott nodded and raised a hand in a gesture for her to continue. Apparently it was a long long story. Also, apparently, the setup for him to ask her about said situation was just an elaborate lead in to a joke. He could read the body language of shame and nervousness. He didn't care. A sudden laugh escaped him, like a jagged section of broken mirror that had been valiantly holding on, until it just couldn't hold on any more. It was a cutting laugh.

"I'm sorry." Elliott said. His face smoothed into one that actually was attempting to look sincere. "But the setup there was too good. Build me up to ask, draw me in, get me to commit and tell you to go on-- then follow it up with a sudden slammed door in the face. 'Don't ask.' Okay. Got it." He made a zipping motion with his hand and his mouth, followed it up with a locking motion, then threw away the key. "I won't ask." He said. Despite just having locked his lip. It must have been a terrible lock. "Will say this, though. It doesn't really matter."

"Look. You seem like a nice enough person," Elliott continued, unabashedly blunt in his delivery. "Little different, like you said. I can understand social unease. I get that way around pretty women most of the time. And being different sure as hell doesn't make things any easier." He waved a hand at his face, as a perfect example. "Never apologize for being who you are."

"If these people are following you," Elliott said. "The backstory doesn't matter. And it isn't trust that's making me want to help you. Not knight in shining armor syndrome, either." He made a scrunched up face, then went on. "Not gonna say why I'm being helpful. Don't ask. My story is my own, same as with you. Doesn't matter. But I'm here." He finished lamely. "In case they really are following you. Or, I guess in case you want to share more about why you're asking a complete stranger to protect you. Even if it doesn't matter. A guy can be curious, all the same..."

There. Now his paranoia had all been condensed into a confusing and jumbled series of sentiments that left everyone feeling slightly confused. Was he good at the knight in shining armor thing, or what?

Now he just felt silly, what with the misunderstanding her power and the spraying with her and water and all. He saw it now, the way it had changed from blue to red, then orange. The question that passed through his mind was, why does it change? With powers, there's usually some reason or rhyme behind a thing. Not always, but usually. Was there a pattern or was it random? Did it reflect some change within her? Too little information. He could not say.

The world stopped spinning. His stomach relaxed. It wasnt every day he used his power to spin. He could usually handle the speed. The motion itself, however... one couldn't simply prepare one's self for spinning at 100 miles per hour. The dizziness was the problem. If one could simply shrug off dizziness in an instant, like if she could, what would that make her? Invulnerability to disorientation from spinning. If Skye had that-- or he supposed, if he were goofball enough to blame her for his spinning -- that would make her some kind of... dizziness princess. Urgh. Why was it his mind went straight to the cornball jokes around cute girls? She'd already grasped the fact he was a showoff and a flirt, and it had literally been less than 10 seconds. Talk about speed...

He smiled at her, and her goof / flirt comment, and pushed off from the wall. "Caught, blue-handed. Or, well, blue-streaky-ed. As it were." He said. "I guess cute girls just bring out the cheese in me." He paused a second, for emphasis, then added "See?" What was the first cheese that sprang to mind, ladies? Some sort of processed American cheese Singles. Telling, huh?

Somewhere, he'd lost the helmet. She had it now. A very notable helmet. He'd painted it himself. It was kind of his vigilante costume... and maybe having it out in the open when people were starting to notice the mysterious helmeted hero motif wasn't the brightest idea. He grinned sheepishly. "I sort of left my bike in another dimension." Benji said. "Still working on getting the money together to buy a new one. Got the helmet covered, though." He held up a 'solidarity fist' and pumped it. "Safety first. Painted that one, myself."

It seemed they were in agreement. Life was mean. Like 'angry dog who hasn't been fed lately mean.' And also, apparently, a woman. Luck's a woman. Life's a woman. What hasn't been personified as a woman? The thought drifted briefly and breezily through Benji's brain before it floated out the other ear and vanished into the rain. He nodded at the thought. "Sure can."

Her hair was still blue, not that he had expected it to change. What he hadn't expected, however, were the blue glows from her pockets. Glowing hands? Hand glows? He could be blue too, for the record... if he spun fast enough for a second.

The girl said they'd probably be there for a while, and sighed moodily, then salvaged that oh-so-sunny mood with an introduction. She moved the glow hands from pockets, and folded arms across chest. Yep. Blue. And her name was skye.

"Skye Blue?" Benji said. He didn't laugh at her. He just thought it was another bit of life having a sense of humor. "My name is Benji. Nice hands, by the way. Blues a good color."

He tapped into his power, just like he'd figured he could, and spun real quick in place for one second. Blue streamers from his mutation trailed round and round till they blurred from the speed and it looked like a rave. Then he stopped. And leaned against the side of the building feeling like some sort of idiotic dizzy clown.

"See?" He said groggily. "Blue. And that was not showing off." It totally was. "Actually--" Damn. Without thinking, he'd spun and shed water like a dog. Which meant... it had splattered her. He was probably not her favorite person right that second. Although maybe she was already so drippy a few more drips wouldn't matter? He WOULD NOT say it was just a drop in the bucket. That was too cheesy, even for him.

He'd lost the helmet at some point. It rested on the ground next to him, rocking slightly from the speedy trip. Black with a big lipped comical grin, it smiled at them both.

Elliott said nothing. Nobody was talking to him, which was fine. He'd tried to be friendly at the bar, but the Mansion teacher guy had been sidelined by the Lee lady. He just drank his drink.

It had been a busy few months. Lot of criminals had come since the rip had opened. Lot of new criminals. He'd been trying to monitor and figure out connections. He was just one guy, though. Not a detective. Didn't have resources. He just handled thugs when he could.

It felt kind of lame, just focusing on the few he saw when he was out. He needed to step it up, if he was doing this for real. Make it a job. Maybe steal a police scanner? He could show up quick when things went down, and do his little vigilante thing. Whatever. For now, he just drank his ill-gotten whiskey and wondered if he needed a real job. Not that he'd had a legitimate job his entire life.

The two muggers were men in their early thirties. They was desperate, and they were sloppy as hell. The fight had lasted five seconds. The woman Elliott had helped was incredibly grateful, but he was wearing a motorcycle helmet and he sure as hell wasn't taking it off for a random stranger's indiscretion. He didn't accept her offer, for several reasons.

To start off, ew. What kind of woman kisses someone they just met, on account of them being a knight in shining armor (that looked like a leather jacket, tight jeans, and a biker helmet with a painted smile on it)? To follow up, the whole secret identity thing wasn't worth blowing over a peck on the green cheek. And to finish it off, he was very green. She might react negatively to that, as some are won't to do, and maybe the whole event would backfire on him. So Elliott said no, he wasn't in it for the reward kisses, thank you little lady, you can leave and I will flounce off with all this sexual tension, like a magnificent poof. Except he didn't flounce off. Once she left, he took both the unconscious men's wallets. Served them right. Then he flounced off, pulling his helmet off only after he'd walked several blocks away from the scene.

Elliott slipped into the nearest bar. There was a band playing. Fairly average. Run of the mill. He made a habit of knowing about all the watering holes in the area, if not for the lie clientele, then for their various boons. This one was nice enough he knew about it, but in an area he didn't go through often enough to be a regular.

"Whiskey, sour." The green man sat down on a bar stool by the bar. He set his helmet down on the floor at his side, discrete and out of the way. If anyone asked, he hadn't wanted to leave the helmet outside with the bike. These things were getting popular lately. He'd heard about people getting in fights with gangs and would-be muggers more and more recently, and not every single one of them could have been him. He chalked it up to popularity of the helmet design. He'd thought it was unique, but he supposed not? Whatever. His antennae twitched at the thought of someone stealing his bit, and making trouble in his fake name.