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"Masochist... That's an odd thing to call yourself," Bailey quirked his head at the man. "You know what it means, right? Or maybe that was on purpose. You must have some pretty messed up powers, dude."

He shuddered to think of what they might entail. He was sort of glad that he probably wouldn't get the chance to see whatever they were. If they had anything to do with the name 'Masochist', he really, really didn't want to see them in action. He was almost a little surprised that the X-men would let someone like that on their team.

"Oh yeah, I know," he nodded to the 'talking a lot' comment. "People tell me all the time. It's part of who I am, though. Sometimes I think better out loud, and it just helps me to talk to other people. May not help them, but I can't control that!"

Bailey forced himself to down the rest of the bitter coffee in one gulp as he watched the surly man stick his fingers out in the other direction. "Kinda weird, what you're doing, you know. Might get you some stares. That and the whole get-up you got going on." He was usually quite a bit more optimistic than he was in that moment, but Masochist wasn't really making the conversation very easy. When there was a bit more on the other end, it was easier to keep conversations lighter.

The little bell on the door sounded through the coffee shop, alerting the workers that someone, or rather something, had just entered. 

"Hey, isn't that one of those META bot things?" Bailey pointed to the large knight with a nice dent on it's head that had just entered. "Looks like it's seen better days."

Coffee was... Alright, Bailey supposed. There were certainly better things out there, like energy drinks or chocolate milk, but coffee was good in times where sleep was unavailable.

And at that moment, sleep was something that Bailey desperately needed.

As it turned out, staying up all night gaming before a shift was not a good idea. Not in the slightest. Large bags rimmed the young teen's eyes, and he could feel the effects of the lack of sleep in every movement. He moved at half of an already slower than normal pace.

The shift had been terrible. He failed to hear many of the orders, the customers gave him, had been reprimanded by his boss, and had even dropped an ice cream cone on the floor. As soon as he had finished, he had slumped his way to the coffee shop and planted his butt firmly in the chair, hoping to wake up enough to get home without any mishaps. 

He sat in a large chair by the window, drinking a heavily caffeinated cup of some frilly type of coffee. He yawned, forgetting to cover his mouth, and blinked water from the corners of his eyes. He took a sip of coffee to squelch any the yawn, which he knew would quickly become a train of 'silent screams for caffeine', as his mother always called them.

He was definitely going to bed at a reasonable hour that night. Maybe something like two or three am.

As he blinked, someone sat down in the chair next to him. It wasn't just someone, though. It was an X-man. A real live superhero. He recognized him from photos online, but couldn't place his name or his powers.

One side of the man's spandex suit was beaten and battered, and just generally looked like it had been sent through a blender, while the other side looked almost untouched. Weird way to fight. It likely took a lot of pivoting, Bailey figured.

"So you're, like, a real super hero, huh?" Bailey sort-of-asked-but-really-commented. He felt more and more awake by the second. The string of yawns had even ceased. "That's really cool. Did you just come from stopping a fight or something?"

Bailey ran off immediately after getting confirmation from the woman. He in no way wanted to have the responsibility any longer. He ran as quickly as his legs would allow, which was not something he usually did. On most days, it was rare for him to go faster than a light jog.

He reached the juice stand in a matter of panicked seconds and tugged at the arm of the man like a child missing their parent. He could barely get a sentence out to speak to the guy as he caught his breath - which made him feel rather bad about talking to the woman for so long while she couldn't breathe.

"Help," he began breathlessly, "there's a woman over there who can't breathe! C'mon you gotta help! C'mon, c'mon!" As if saying that would make the man put aside his business for a complete stranger any faster.

"Alright, kid, I'm coming, give me a break," huffed the juice man.

Bailey dragged him back over to the woman and pushed him forward, standing a little ways back so that he wouldn't be blamed if anything happened. He watched anxiously as the man bent down to see what was going on.

The Sanctuary. An interesting place, or so Bailey had heard. He walked past it nearly every day on the way home from work, except the rare occasions where he decided to be spontaneous and take a different route, but he had never actually bothered to go in. But the golden doors remained a rather alluring landmark to the teen.

On one particular day, curiosity had finally chewed through his resolve, and he gave in. Bailey stopped in front of the building, took a good look around outside, and then pushed open the doors.

He wasn't entirely sure what he had expected the interior to look like, but he was definitely not expecting a homeless shelter. Apparently he needed to stop tuning out every word after 'golden doors' and 'free food'. A homeless shelter was not nearly as cool as a place that just gave out food. He would feel bad about taking food from the place now. 

Bailey sighed and looked around. Well, he was already there, so what was the use leaving? He figured he might as well just look around. There was no harm in doing that. Besides, he probably hadn't given the place a fair chance. 

The young teen walked through the halls with his hands in his pockets, glancing through the doorways and around the corners. There really wasn't anything all that cool, except...

Someone had left their drawer open, revealing dozens of pairs of brightly coloured socks.

There were so many of them! Bailey could hardly contain himself. He bounded forward and grabbed at them eagerly. There were a few ones identical to pairs he owned, but the rest were new and fresh ones! Ones that weren't in his collection! 

He had to have them.

Bailey glanced around to see who was near him. There was no one. No one to see what he was about to do. It really wasn't that bad of thing, if you thought about it. They were just socks, after all, and whoever left the drawer open obviously didn't care about them like he would.

He grabbed as many pairs as he could and cradled them in his arms, walking briskly out of the room so as not to seem overly suspicious.

It was such a lovely day. Well, every day was lovely in its own right, but that one was particularly so. The sun was shinning, there was a cool breeze, and boy, did the flowers look marvelous. Bailey stood along the side of the park path admiring them, his previous destination forgotten.

His thought were lost for a brief moment until a stranger grabbed his shoulder. He turned to see a woman making a panicked expression and mouthing words. But what was she mouthing? And why was she mouthing it?

Oh! Were they playing charades? That was a bit of a weird thing to do with a stranger in the park, but he could roll with it.

"Uhm, crocodile! No, bat! Yeah, bat! Bats do that echolocation thing, right? Is that what you're doing?" Bailey guessed, quite proud of himself for coming up with an answer that fast.

Apparently, though he was wrong. They were not playing charades.

“Can’t breathe. Can’t talk. Call help," said a robotic voice from the woman's phone.

"Ohh, that makes more sense," Bailey nodded. "Yeah, yeah, call someone. Who do I call though? I could call my mom, but she's all the way back in Canada. That wouldn't be very useful. Maybe my dad could do something? I mean, I don't know what he could do to help you though."

He pulled out his phone and scrolled through the contacts with a frown. "Yeah, see, I don't have very many contacts anymore 'cause I just moved here and I haven't really made all that many friends yet."

Bailey glanced around for something to help her. "I don't really know what to say. Maybe you could just try... I don't know... Like taking a deep breath or something? Or breathing into a paper bag like they do in the movies?"

"Oh cool, so you're a mutant, then?" Bailey continued to talk at full speed to Aiden. "I'm a mutant too, y'know. My powers aren't all that cool, though. I just shut off other peoples' powers and stuff. Not super interesting, I know, but it's still enough for me to be a card carrying member of the not-human species. It's kinda weird that they're thinking of starting an entirely mutant nation now, since, we all pretty much look the same and stuff. I mean, most of us do. There are a couple of strange-looking people. I guess they're probably the ones that want their own nation. Like that Jaager guy. I heard he has wings."

He took another bite of his sandwich and paused to chew for a minute. It was just as good as he had hoped. It would go even better with ice cream, though. Maybe he would stop by the store later and get some. That would break his rule of not doing anything, but then again so had talking to Aiden. Maybe he would just break his rule if it was for something really good. 

Aiden didn't want any of his sandwich. That was fine, more for him. He didn't particularly want to share anyway, he was just being nice.

"So what are your powers, then? I bet they're super cool and useful since you're on the X-men and all. Did you say you're a trainee? That's alright, I'm sure you'll be a full member soon. If it works that way, of course. I don't really know how it works. What do your powers do? I mean, you can't show me, since they won't work if you stand around me, but you can explain it. Or just stand a ways back. I think that'll work fine."

"Never heard of it," Bailey said thoughtfully as he tried to think of ever hearing of a place called 'Carmel'. "I've heard of Alaska, though. Sounds kinda gross and cold. What were you doing there, exactly?"

He had never actually met someone that lived in Alaska. Or had been to Alaska. He always just kind of assumed that it was just a barren snowy wasteland where things went to die. But if there were cities and stuff then he imagined it couldn't be all that bad. Maybe he would even go there sometime if it was actually nice. Maybe he actually would have known some of that stuff if he had actually paid attention in geography class. Instead, he had spent his time doodling in his notebook and playing on his phone under his desk. 

"I'm from Stratford, Ontario," he answered proudly as he thought of the place he still called home. Sure, he lived in New York, but he was really a Canadian at heart.

"Oh- that's in Canada if you didn't know," he added quickly. Every once and a while he came across someone who didn't. "It gets pretty cold there, but probably not as cold as Alaska. Is it too cold for lots of snow there or does it snow lots anyway?"