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It made sense she hadn't been here before. If they knew her, they would have let her in, and she would not have looked so lost. He let silence be his reply.

He followed her lead and started walking, paused when she stopped, then took the lead himself. "Elliott," he gave her his name. "Yes, like the kid from E.T. My adopted parents must have thought they were hilarious. Growing up, I didn't realize. But God." He laughed. Mainly to himself. With his white zipper-like teeth illuminated by a lightning flash. If he was so scary and she was so scared, maybe laughter would help her out here. No? Okay, he had just sounded like a presumptuous idiot.

He settled for taking the most helpful route. "Hey," he kept leading the way. The path wasn't well-lit. The storms must have done something to the ground lights. He would have brought out a flashlight, but it isn't natural to carry one of those around, and even a little key ring flashlight wouldn't help them now. "Let's get out of the rain..." Luckily, thy didn't need a flashlight since he knew the way. It was dark, so he kept them going straight and avoided any nearby hedge mazes.

Silence was golden. The storm was loud. He tried to ask her why they needed the x-men once or twice, but it was drowned out by the thunder. Good riddance. She didn't need the X-men. He could see that.

Elliott pushed open one of the double doors at the front of the mansion, and held it open for her. When she walked through, he let it close with an inaudible 'boom'.

The mansion interior was classic, with stairs on either side and a carpeted front entrance hall done up in lots of wood tones and warm colors, with a chandelier that probably got replaced more than bats at a ballgame. Straight ahead was an empty front desk. There were low lights on. It was late, so most of the mansion was sleeping, but if they rummaged around, they might be able to find someone in the kitchen or library, up to eating or devouring words. Some mutants have trouble with sleep.

There was no mansion greeter up at this hour, but he had bumped into a guy once or twice, or more than that. He must have had clones, because he was all over and up to something new, each time. Like some sort of extra in a tv show that can't afford to cast new extras and uses the same generic guy as much as they can.

"Rummy will be able to help you get a room here. At the very least, he can hook you up with a couch and a fireplace and maybe a change of clothes." He glanced her way, and pulled back his wet hood. His black antennae sprang up and stood at attention. "He's the headmaster," Elliott said. "At least, one of them. There's also a roomba."

It was late, and raining. What was it they said about dark and stormy nights? Oh yes. They weren't fun to be out in. Business had kept him out, and sleep brought him back. He hadn't wanted to do the job, but it had been quick and it had been easy. Just a simple delivery. He had delivered. Now he was done.

His black and green striped hoodie clung to his body like a freshly plastered cast. It was heavy, and he felt like if he stayed in it too long, it would harden, and he would be stuck in it. He walked soggily in the rain, and wished he had arranged a better ride. But rides lead to tails, and that leads to questions. Night was a good time for dark deliveries and devilry, but hardly the best time for calling in cabbies who can pin you to a place and a time. He didn't have a car or a bike or even a scooter. He ran and he walked. And he used public transit.

He had not seen her on the bus. Not many ran through the area, so they had had to have shared it. But ones own thoughts can make one forget to notice things, and hoods conceal. She had gotten off a few stops ahead of him. He had gotten off at the stop on the same block as the mansion. Lucky him. The walk wasn't too long. Even so, the rain, the rain, the rain. A damnable thing, the rain. 

He approached the gates, eyes darting behind him, checking the shadows beyond the streetlights, as well as the muddy pools of light. Late night jobs brought the paranoia out in him. He let it run full force, and noticed her several paces away, by the gates. She looked lost. Maybe not lost, physically, since she was at the mansion and that seemed a likely destination for a person. But mentally, maybe. Because she hadn't gotten buzzed in yet. And it was really easy to get let in. They didn't even background check you or anything. This late at night, in the rain, maybe they would ask a question or two. Maybe she expected someone to sense her presence, some psychic knight in shining armor that would not rust in the rain. Or maybe she really was lost and wanted directions or a place for the night to stay. Maybe it was an even better ulterior motive. Maybe she was an unskilled cat burglar! She didn't seem the thieving type from a glance, but then, one wouldn't, not if they were successful. He hadn't realized the security guy HAD heard her try to buzz in, and thought in a similar vein about mysterious figures in the night trying to get into a school full of mutants. He didn't realize she had tried to get in, and failed. She had received silence. Ain't that a kick in the pants?

He was a few strides away before he said something. Rain muffles footsteps. She probably had not heard. He was no ninja. It was possible he had made sounds in the mud. Just to be on the safe side, he cleared his throat loudly, and didn't try too hard to break into her thoughts with a properly timed comment that summed up her inner mind. People get jumpy when they're lost or scared. Jumpy mutants can lead to broken bones and bodies. He just wanted past her to get himself buzzed in by the late night doorman. There probably wasn't a greeter, this late. If she needed that, he would simply have to try and help her.

Elliott wasn't a greeter. He wasn't a friendly helpful knight looking to save the day. He did not go around saving people. There was no money in that. But what he could do was answer one or two damned questions. He could do a random act of kindness when the mood struck him. It left a bad taste in his mouth, ugh, but he could.

"Excuse me," Elliott said in his politest tone. He stepped up to the gate and brushed past her to push on the intercom button. "It's Elliott. Lost track of the time and missed curfew. Don't tell Cafas." There was wry humor behind his voice. The guy wouldn't. There wasn't even a Cafas-created curfew (that he knew of), but the gatekeeper liked his jokes. You could tell by how he opened the gates after checking him out on the monitor in his security room and noticing the girl. 

"You bring a date home?" The voice crackled over the intercom. That wasn't bad speakers crackling. That was the voice. Or maybe storm interference highlighting your average gravelly guard.

Elliott scrutinized her carefully with one look. "Dunno," he deadpanned. "I think she just needs to get out of the rain."

Well, okay. He had answered the question and got nothing back on it. Yet. He stores that thought away for a rainy day, and made the call.

The thing about hanging up on employers is this. Either they hate you for it and sit waiting for your call, or they don't. Megara was drinking coffee and having a donut. Cybele was reading the paper. Only Kineta was free to answer and answer, she did.

"Hello!" She sounded chipper. Wood chipper. "Why'd you hang up?"

"I've spoken with Mr. Jaager, and he would like to renegotiate the terms of the deal." Elliott said coolly.

"Super," Kineta said. " Why don't you put him on speaker?"

Elliott did.

Pick pocketing in Central Park was NOT on the menu. Neither was anything illegal, or anything blatantly obvious. If he had had a mission, he would have been on it, but right now, he was taking a break from Cerberus missions and deliveries like that.

It wasn't like he had anything against doing a mission or delivery. He just needed a break. Wanted a walk. And had a free day that he was going to take.

Central Park was beautiful this time of year. He figured it was beautiful most days of the year. That much green in that large an area was a little bit mind bending. Normally, he did not get into the whole parks and green scenery scene. He kept to himself, and walked the streets and back alleys. Then again, he hadn't been living in New York most of his life. It's one of a kind. Sometimes you just need to take in the scenery.

With this much people, pick pocketing would be oh so easy. But again, no, he was not doing that. It was tempting. He was over that. Instead, he bundled up in his light blue and black striped hooded shirt and felt too hot. The weather was too warm for hoodies. Green skin and antennae are a bit obvious, though, and he wasn't doing obvious. He walked the sidewalks with no direction in mind. He would go that way until he got out of the park or found something that caught his attention. If nothing did, he'd hop in a cab. They took cash. Then he'd go home.

He saw some cool statues. He saw some people playing board games. He saw a pretty woman with a sketch pad, sketching some kids on playground equipment. He paused. She really was quite pretty, wasn't she? Maybe he would say hello. Not in an overly creepy stalker in the shadows come to say hi kind of way. More a polite 'hi, nice weather we're having, how are you? Ok bye' way. The kind where he was just being friendly and polite... Ogling a woman in the park. Christ, he was awkward. Whatever. There was zero harm in talking about the weather.

Elliott approached the woman from behind cautiously. She was smiling. He couldn't see it from the angle, but he could sense it in the way she sat and drew. There was a happiness to it, a simple artist's joy. He had none of that. He was just a guy in a hoodie in hot weather approaching an artist in the park. She was an artist and he was not, but he could appreciate what she was doing. Nobody could appreciate what he was doing. You don't hang out around playground equipment to pick up chicks. He would make this brief because even he could see how paranoid parents might react. The jokes practically wrote themselves, and no, there was nothing funny about alien abductions outside of a brief bout of dark humor that passed through his head.

He dropped a glance down at her sketch pad, and momentarily lost control of his voice box. To his horror, he realized he'd just said "Wow, that's really good!" out loud. Great, just great. No weather comments as planned. Just honest compliments, like some kind of heathen. What could she possibly think of him?

He stood there feeling like he stood out like an alien in Central Park. all that was missing was his chrome suit.

Elliott stared at the sky, deep in thought. What it was was anyone's guess. The universe is wide and vast and the potential for life was an important question that was drowned out by the thought tangent of "what's an anime?"

Other people had far deeper thoughts in this mansion yard. Elliott tore his mind away from his own difficult question to focus on hers. It was a good question. An important one. Very deep. Like the Marianis trench. Allconsuming, even. Maybe. She had her own thought on that.

"That's a good thought. RE: humanity, I think it's about how you act, not what you are." Elliott replied slowly. "As far as species go... " he continued carelessly. "I think mutants are still human, just an evolution on the genome, or other science words. Mutation happens all the time. People in the mansion just get more than albinism and heterochromia."

Some human worm babies just don't understand that there isn't that much separating them from a mutant. Some who fear them may even have an undiscovered mutation, themselves. But he wasn't getting into that topic with a 12 year old. Or however old this girl was.

An outstretched hand was a positive reaction, where previously there had been anything but. He would take it! He took the outstretched hand and gave it a brief, firm businesslike handshake. Introductions were made.

Mr. Ambrose was actually Mr. Ambrose Jaager. See. This is why you give employees enough information to work with. A split second memory of something he'd said just a minute earlier sent a brief pang of embarrassment through him, which he stomached seamlessly. Not even a flicker of it crossed his face.

"Nice to formally meet you, Mr. Jaager. My name is Elliott Thomas." Elliott replied professionally.

He hadn't given his name prior to this. And he had just given his real name. Not a code name or an alias, a real definable name one could look up on the Internet. They probably would not find much in their research.

Most of his life had been lived offline. There was an Elliott Thomas who was a runaway. A missing person. His birth certificate was nonexistent or forged, he didn't know. But he was born on the same day as the crash of a small meteor in Roswell. And there were foster records which likely corroborated a birthdate and point of origin in Roswell, New Mexico. The point of impact was his point of origin.

Okay. You might also be able to find a juvenile criminal record. It was possible. He made a point not to use his real name to avoid this possibility. He had given it. On purpose? Yes.

He had extended his trust to Cerberus when they had contacted him knowing more about him than the average bear. They had told him to be truthful here. No doubt his trust needed to be extended. Also, that was most likely the name on the application and he wasn't an idiot. Point in fact; it was.

Jaager wanted him to call the sisters and give them a message. That was good news! "Of course," Elliott didn't jump for joy. Cool like a cucumber, that was him. He was just about to dial them up. He had the phone to his ear hole. Jaager's deceptively innocent question made him pause. Why would the man want to know that? The only conclusion he could immediately draw was that people often get ideas of how much one wants to be paid so they can match or raise it... Which meant this just might be a paid internship.

Elliott didn't see the harm in saying. He told Jaager the amount he was getting paid on this particular job. It was a modest sum. Fair. Not exorbitant. "It varies depending on job, though." He explained honestly. "Some can be more. Some less. It depends on how much goes into it. Kind of like a PI." It wasn't like A flat shipping rate at all.