Stripped (LA)

This corner was his castle. Day in and day out, he sat, legs stretched out in front of him. Worn paper cup in hand, a smile for anyone who dropped a coin into it.

To everyone else, this was an ordinary corner on an ordinary street. To him, it was the perfect place to sit, think and play. Caleb often wondered how his powers felt - did mutants who were randomly scattered through out the city notice when he was around? Did they feel their powers buffer and stop, or did they simple not notice it?

It was all very fascinating to him since of course, his own power to dampen mutant abilities didn't work in reverse. And he'd tried. It came in handy when confronted by mutant trouble-makers, ones who boasted about trying to beat up a homeless person with their powers. It was disgusting, but he always found that once that advantage was gone, they went away. Several passerby were familiar faces; ones he greeted with a bright, cheery grin only to get a sneer back.

A faint clink as someone put a few more coins in the near empty cup. He looked up with a polite smile and a nod. "Thanks."

So, this was Los Angeles. He had to admit, it wasn't quite what he was expecting. Sure there was pleanty of sun - it was definately lurking up there somewhere, on the far side of the ominous pollution haze - but he hadn't seen a single movie star. Apparently they all lived in the nicer, less grubby areas of the city; it made sense, but Tom was feeling particularly disappointed at this irritating turn of events.

At least the people around here didn't recognise him. Back in New York, his face had made it into the newspapers after the attack. They'd begun by being sympathetic; or at least, as sympathetic as the tabloids ever got. Mutant Thief Likes Innocent Bystanders Well-Done" had been his favourite headline of the early batch. Then someone, somehow, had let slip that he was a mutant, and the tone had changed completely. Instead of being the innocent guy that had got in the way of a criminal - hell, tried to stop a criminal, truth told - he became a soldier and casualty of a mutant civil war that was apparently raging on the streets of New York City beneath the very noses of everyone.

He sighed, pausing to stretch a little. His body was still a little battered from his ordeal, but at least the crutches were gone. He ran a hand through the beard he'd begun to cultivate on his jaw. They wasn't the only thing that was gone; the media attention had made the university somewhat uncomfortable with the prospect of employing him, and had cut off most of his prospects not just in the city, but in he whole of New York State, practically. So, he'd come here: as far away as he could get by land without winding up in Canada or Mexico.

Absent-mindedly, his mind registered the presence of a hooded figure, hunched beside the sidewalk. His head felt vague and fuzzy, but he dismissed it as yet another of the fluffy headaches that the painkillers the doctors had sent him away with frequently caused. He barely noticed the change slipping from his fingers as he operated on autopilot; his attention wasn't snatched back until the figure spoke.

He turned, really looking at the guy for the first time. The idea that guys like this person were the invisible, suffering parts of society seemed strangely apt; he'd been so absorbed in his own mind that he'd barely noticed the guy. "Y're, uh -" His head still felt vague - something clogging his sinuses, maybe? - but he blinked his mind back into focus. He managed a smile. "Y're welcome."

"You alright?"

He noticed the guy squint, blinking as though things has gone out of focus. Mutant, maybe? There really was no way to tell for sure; this guy looked beat. Caleb patted the concrete beside him.

"Take a seat and rest. You look like you could use it."

Despite himself, Tom couldn't help a slight laugh at the irony. Here he was, They always said that charity began at home. Obviously not.

"Thanks," he muttered, stiffly easing himself down onto the ground, back pressed up against the brickwork. For a few moments he remained still, head tipped back against the wall, eyes closed and his face aimed up at the sky. A hand gently swirled at his temples, until with a sigh he let his head loll to one side, and glanced across at his companion.

"Tom," he introduced simply, before aiming his face upwards again.

"My home is your home."

He looked the man over as he slumped down beside him. Well dressed and clean-cut looking, save the scruff on his chin. He set his cup between his feet, reaching into his worn green jacket for a pack of gum. He popped two into his mouth before answering.

"Names Caleb, but people call me Parasite 'round here," He grinned and snapped his gum. "I'm a bit of a leech, in my own special way."

"Parasite, huh?"

Tom stared vaguely into space in front of him, counting himself lucky that he'd never been burdened with such an unfortunate moniker. Sure, 'Captain Untouchable' made it sound like he should be running around in spandex, but at least it was a socially acceptable kind of alias. He wondered for a moment what in particular had earned Caleb that particular nickname; was it simply the notion that he was a freeloader, leeching off society, or was there more to it? It seemed rude to ask, though.

"Just don't go attatching yourself to my leg or anything," he muttered, with a quirk of his eyebrow.

"Heh."

Caleb snapped his gum again. "So, Tom, what brings you to this lovely little part of Los Angeles? No offense, you look like you've been put through the ringer more than once."

That was an opening question and a half. He sighed, an ironic and whistful smile forming on his lips. "I'm running away," he muttered, translating the scenario into a context that Caleb would no doubt be able to easily empathise with. "Lets just say that people found out a little too much about me back home."

Home? Was that what New York was, now? Funny how one simple revelation had driven him from two places that he'd called that now. Was he stupid to have believed that he would have been able to hide it any better in New York than he had back in Scotland? Was he stupid to believe he could hide better here?

He grunted out a fraction of a laugh, amused by the futility of it all. "I came out here for a clean slate; for a life that didn't have my past hanging over my head."

He nodded, smiling at an elderly lady as she put a crumpled dollar bill into his cup. He turned his attention back to the man seated next to him.

"Yeah, lot of people seem to be doing that...All our brothers and sisters, looking for a place to belong. It's hard, trust me. I barely fit in when I'm pretending to be "normal", when I be myself, I get ostracized. The streets are better then any place I've known, because I don't really have to try at being anything. I can just be."

I don't have to try at being anything.

Tom mulled over that notion, thinking about how long he'd been forced to hide who and what he was. Sure, everyone put up a front - hid their inner thoughts from others; pretended to be the kind, polite people that deep down they often were not. Granted though, character flaws were hardly as severe as the genetic divergence of the mutant population. He wondered what psychologists would make of the irony that mutants were forced to wear a mask in order to be themselves; their masks were real though, rather than emotional.

He considered the mask that Caleb used to free himself. He had chosen a mask of anonymity, as opposed to the costumed disguises that other mutants chose. Tom wondered if that might be the the choice for him, but instantly knew it wasn't. He voiced his reason aloud.

"There's more to life than just existing. Sure, you're free to be yourself, but that's the only freedom you have." He shook his head. "A tiger in a cage is free to be itself, but its trapped; imprisoned." He watched the people wandering by, barely paying attention to the homeless man and the person sitting beside him. "You're in a cage, Caleb: watching the world pass you by through the doors."

He levelled his gaze on his fellow mutant. "Is it really worth it?"

He shrugged, a hint of a smile crossing his lips as he raised a hand to gesture at the passers-by.

"See these people? How many of them would drop even a penny in my cup if they knew what I was? Mutants aren't welcome in their world, and I'm not welcome among mutants. A cage is sometimes safer than roaming free. It offers comfort and certainty."

Another shrug, the smile growing into a grin. "Maybe one day I'll break free of it, but for now, I'm content as I am."

Tom let the brickwork press a little deeper into his shoulders, and let the wall take the brunt of his weight, easing a few of the aches and pains ever so slightly. He could certainly appreciate where Caleb was coming from: when his secret had been unearthed back home - and again, in New York - he'd quickly found himself ushered politely out of his job, slightly less politely out of his home, and in the latter case blank-walled by anyone who bothered to read the tabloids where his story had been published.

A stab of annoyance coursed through him, but it was directed at the snooping journalists who'd dug a little too far into his life, rather than at society in general. They were afraid, and while he knew that they had nothing to fear from him individually, some of the others of his kind perhaps gave them justification. It was like him and snakes. It didn't matter how harmless they were, or that their venom sacks had been removed - there were still some out there that could and would kill him if given the chance; not knowing enough to tell one from another, he allowed the entire biological family to scare the shit out of him, just in case he miscalculated and grew complacent with the wrong one.

No: Tom had been in their position before, and he wasn't ready to give up on the world yet. Sure, he was angry at times about how his life had been screwed around, but the alternative to acceptance was to rail against society, and from what he'd seen, there was a slippery slope from that to the kind of social terrorism that many of his "brother" mutants had apparently fallen down.

"Content isn't enough for me. What's the point of a life where all you have to aspire towards is mediocrity?"

"Hmm. Well, I always remind myself that things could always be worse. It's nice that they aren't, even if they are mediocre. My powers could be used for both good or evil, so I'd prefer to use them for my own well-being."