Sunlight filtered into her bedroom.

To Zophia, this was the weirdest feeling. For years she had kept her bedroom the single darkest place in the house, the windows covered with black sheets, the only lighting provided by gazillions of glowsticks. Now the glowsticks were burnt out- she had neglected to change them in... How long?

She slowly arose, feeling as burnt out as the glowsticks that hung aroung her room in various places. How long had it been? A week? Two? Maybe more. It was the beginning of July, after all. Folks were getting all psyched for the Fourth, even though all they were allowed to use in the city were those lame smoke fireworks thanks to people being morons about pyrotechnics.

Had she even left her bedroom that whole time?

Last night. Oh, last night was especially rough. Breaking up with Samson. Though that wouldn't have changed much, if Zophia hadn't changed so... much.

She should have felt elated to not only survive, but to succeed in the raid. Instead she felt... Empty. Like it meant nothing.

Her shoulder was still stiff from the bullet wound. Zophia rolled it around a bit, then got up and headed down for breakfast, which was a remarkably quick meal.

---

It was a cloudy, murky day, the sort of day that as a Frenchman, Arkady was not used to. Normally his wardrobe, the hoodie especially, seemed to boil him alive in his skin, but today was far cooler, almost early fall weather. If the sun was out, he mused, it would be home.

But he wasn't home. He was in America with his uncle. He was unnoticeable. The uncle. Not a drunk, not a gambler (although he did hit the casinos) and not a "gentleman", or this peculiar American idea of such. He was just a man.

Arkady felt that this was perfect, really. It meant that a neutral reaction was always guaranteed. Especially with his more recent hobby.

In France, the cars are about as big as your average closet, so Arkady's arrival in America came with the culture shock of the sheer size of everything. Buildings. Advertisements. Food. But especially the cars. Older American cars were a newfound passion. Somewhere in this Frenchman was an artist, or a writer, for he associated them with the women of America. Loud. Rambunctious. Blunt. And yet incredibly beautiful, works of art.

Thus, as he made his way to Zophias house by foot, he began to ponder on the nature of a particular car that had caught his attention.

It was... Red. A bright red. And some said it was haunted. A fantastic prize. Arkady wasn't a thief, no, he was a borrower. All the cars he took he always put back exactly as he found them, plus a half mile or so. They were small pleasure cruises. Without permission, maybe. At a high risk, definitely. But with old cars, it wasn't as risky since he didn't have to fry the electronics.

This haunted car... Wherever it was. Arkady, as said before, was no thief. But the sheer nature of the prize... It would be a good ride for sure. Perhaps the ghost within would even speak with him.

He had even prepared for the speaking. French was considered a language of lust in the US. This was also confusing to Arkady. He had heard French most of his life, and it was far from a lustful language. The haunted car wouldn't understand this, however.

Mon Dieu, vous avez une telle élégance brutale, ma dame. Angles de ce genre appartiennent à ceux qui avec beaucoup de passion. Maintenant, je vais juste de lever cette place. Ne soyez pas trop excités pour le moment.

It might have been corny, but the normally unfeeling Arkady thought that surely, the car would understand. It did not judge, being a machine, being especially, an American machine.

And Zophia...

He admitted to himself that something seemed off about her. More off then usual. He decided to ignore it for no, but the fun in her was... Gone. That wasn't a part he particularly enjoyed, however. He only wanted someone with which to share exploits. Most others didn't have the patience to listen. Zophia really didn't, but she tried. There was something about her- Arkady avoided the word "cute"- which made her a good person to have around.

Ah, so he had arrived at her door. He gave it a knock.

((So. Context. It's July 1, a couple of weeks after the raid. Psychological stuff is happening with the old characters, the new ones are being introduced. Eventually I'll find a way to get them all together. I'll also post as Baker and Jerry soon, as well. Baily, well, let's have him disappear a bit, Anna and Aaron, they'll also get IC posts. I'm mostly talking to myself at this point.))

((I know it's really open atm, but we'll have focus soon, don't worry. Just pull a post out of your ass.))

Kristen sighed, laying on her bead as she stared at the ceiling in her apartment. HER apartment. It felt so weird, calling the place her own. She hated it, mainly because her parents bought it for her. She hated THEM. She still remembered the night at the hospital, hearing her parents' words while they thought she was asleep. She hadthought it was so special to have them leave a meeting in Beijing for her, until she heard them.

"So, the doctors weren't lying when they said she had a power?" Kristen heard her mom's voice say. "Yes, and they said it was speed." That voice had to be her dad's. "You know what this could mean for the company, right? Many will probably find her as a freak, and if they knew she was our daughter, we coulf lose buisness." Wait, what?! What did her mom just say?! "I know, I believe it would be best to send her off once she is healed up, it would be best for us."

Kristen stopped the flashback, hating the sound of her parent's voices and remembering their faces. She had thought they loved her, but they chose work over her. As always. Kristen sighed as she stood up, heading to the closet to change from her pajamas into some everyday clothes. She took her pajama shirt off and examined her arm in the mirror. There was now two scars on her right arm- one that left a ring on the lower half from Leech Man, another from the knife on her shoulder. "How attractive," she muttered sarcasticly to herself before slipping into a shirt and shorts. Kristen then headed out for a daily run, not running as fast as she used to do in them since there was no use hiding her powers.

---

Niza smiled as she drove her motorcycle to her apartement, giddy with the excitement of having cheated some guy into giving her some of his money. It wasn't every day she had a chance to use her influence like that. Niza stopped at an apartment parking space before taking off her helmet and heading in, counting her earnings. Huh, the guy only had fifty bucks in his wallet? She shrugged. What do you expect from some pervert who is a complete drunkard? She slid her keys across the table and flipped on the T.V. Huh, news about those powered kids again? Aparently, many other people were revealing their powers. Niza rolled her eyes. It was idiotic to share your powers out loud. That ruined you ability to use it and not get blamed for something. Niza preferred to keep her power a secret. If she didn't, she couldn't influence anyone, and wha would be the fun in that? She flipped the T.V. off and sighed, already bored out of her mind.

((Fitting music))


It's been awhile.


Johnny first thought to himself while lying on his heart shaped couch half asleep in nothing but his underwear, "Damn this thing is hard to get over..." he murmured to himself. It was the raid, he didn't get exactly the same mental and emotion scarring aside from Agent's fate.

He shut himself off from the world ever since the Raid. He didn't talk or see absolutely nobody and basically initiated the anti-social mode by locking himself in the deserted apartment ever since that Raid. He doubted that any of them wanted to see each other anyway and honestly there were only few people that he liked in the group, Kristin, Samson and Zophia. Agent wasn't worth mentioning over and over again and the others pushed his buttons. Especially Elliot.

Hmph, he didn't even know what became of them anyway. Aforementioned facts and that he luckily had an opportunity to slip out before they started interrogating people. But he did know that Elliot slipped away as well, god that guy was such a coward...

And he also had an encounter with the Leech Man after slipping off from the group and went into the woods to mourn Agent some more. It was an epic 4 hour long battle that Johnny came out victorious. There was something about the thing that made him want to kill it a bit more than usual. Either way the creature is gone, for good this time.

Now, will he continue to sulk or will he do something? Hm, he slowly got up, sitting on the edge of his couch and starts to wipe his face off, "Heh, sitting on my ass all day won't get rid of this..." muttered to himself yet again. Now finally getting up from all of the couch he walks along the snow white carpet and walks into his bed room...

When he returned he was dressed slightly different from his previous outfits. Instead of wearing a button up with plenty of pockets he was wearing small trench coat. With a very similar hat with a small band on the top with three poker cards, two of the Leech Man's teeth, a shark tooth and a purple feather.

He was also holding a jet black cane with a gold tip- well he wasn't sure if it was real gold. If it was the cane would be so much heavier. He shrugged and walked out the front door to his apartment and then he was off to find more adventure in Spielerstadt, hopefully it wouldn't mean him making unwanted dedications. He felt confident; all of his foes are dead...

------------------------


A fire ball was being bounced off of Samson's hand. His abilities aren't too much of a secret anymore, it won't be too long before people run their ass off trying to blame him for every fire that takes place in the city.

To be honest he didn't know why he stayed there, What was really left for him in this town anyway? All that was here was a town of fools that only the wicked could only find even a glimmer of success or joy. Otherwise there were nothing but bigots and those who fear something that never could understand, or something they want to. Honestly none of them had a truly destructive tendency aside from Him... and Elliot. Samson took pride for a second that he has such a level of control that there was zero collateral damage when he used his abilities, Elliot on the other hand...

Best that he doesn't go into that again. Now, maybe he'll talk to somebody. Johnny? No, he's an ass. Harley? He doubted that she would regard him as a friend. Elliot? He didn't know where he is. Anna? Possibly, he had no idea about her status. Kristin? Maybe, she was hurt. Baily? He's emotionally cold, and would provide a worse conversation than talking to a toaster, not even mentioning that he wasn't in any contact with them. Zophia? They broke up, it was something of him having something to do with the raid, hell he remembers exactly what he said when she did:

"Are you serious, girl? I got arrested, cut up and I fought my way through about a hundred of those freaks and this is how you repay me?! I did this for you, not for your rapist, scumbag, waste of space brother. No what, forget this. You'll never get anyone better than me, you know?"

Good times. He still retained a vague amount of feelings for her, but he's going to try his best to put it behind him. Behind them. Hmph, maybe he'll see if he can get in touch with Anna. He looked around for a second, he was in the sparring room of his adoptive parent's restored karate Dojo. Mostly restored, upon making his return he learned that his Earth Quake did quite a bit of unseen damage to it. In fact the roof was almost ready to give in and crash on itself. If his Tremor was even a few seconds longer, it would have caused the whole place to crash in on itself and kill everyone.

That would have been one hell of a collateral damage... he shrugged it off. He basically saved all of them, while it wasn't too much to get cocky over even though he had help from unexpected sources. He just did good. He began the slow walk out of the studio. He pulled his brand new cell phone out of his pocket, it was a Samsung Flight II ((The phone I use :D )) nothing too fancy but it works. He slowly went through his contacts until he quickly found Anna's number and pressed call.

--------------


The high times have begun for Carmen.

She was in her hilariously small and compact room, with a bed on one side, taking up a good 50% of the room, and a massive movie star like dresser, with a very large mirror on top of it, spanning up to half on the room, this thing took up about 30% of her room. With a comfy little chair in front of it. The door had a 'pop corn' ceiling, navy blue carpet, and striped white and black wall.

The rest was a pathway to get in and out of whatever. She was sitting in the said chair braiding her hair, focused intently on the mirror. She was almost done really. But she was thinking about something, there were rumors being shot back and forth about 'mutants' and some stupid attack she didn't give half an ass about.

What she was interested in was finding out these mutants. While she wasn't too much on looking for people, when they come to her. But she wanted to know that she wasn't one of the only mutant in the town, but that news article didn't give any names, nor did it give any locations or any useful.

She stopped braiding her hair for a minute, and then she gently tapped the mirror. On the point of impact the mirror waved like it was made of water. She considered entering the Mirror World, but then she realized that she'd be trapped in her room. So she finished up with her braid and grabbed her aviator sunglasses to cover up her weird looking eyes.

Got up, and off she went. Looking for a brand new adventure.

"Every night you come into this place and scam a few more fools of their money. I just don't get it, man. You counting cards or something? I've seen you lose, before, fold your hands and whatnot, but this is damned ridiculous. Nobody goes on a lucky streak for that long!"

Riley smirked, sifting through that night's winnings. Eliot had unknowingly provided him with a house-he couldn't bare to sleep in the apartment where Chloe had. It was probably evicted, by now, maybe for the better. Stepping into the bathroom and catching a wisp of her perfume or seeing the sheets rustled and unfolded from the last night before she'd left them forever...he'd snap.

Riley wasn't really in the mood to have a psychotic break. Another one. And as narmy and idealistic as it was of him, he could've sworn she was still around sometimes. For a moment, hearing the soft sound of her feet against the carpet, or when he was working to get himself back in shape since the raid, the rhythymic sound of her breathing next to him. It always turned out to be the wind, or his imagination, but still. Perhaps there was an afterlife, and perhaps there was a world inbetween it and here.

Regardless, Riley was done for the night. He wasn't quite old enough to drink, so talking his way into the bar had posed a few issues. Of course, he managed to smooth-talk his way past the bartender-he convinced everyone he was the bartender's son, and in exchange, he helped to diffuse fights and slipped the bartender a share of his winnings. It was like he knew just when someone was about to go berserk after too much drinking.

"Well, I suppose there's just somebody up there looking out for me, eh? And these drunks give away their hands like you wouldn't believe." Not as much as before. A few dozen dollars, net. It seemed like more at the time, but between dry cleanings and paying for things like running water, he didn't have much left over. Riley had mused about how best to try and earn a little more. He supposed at this point in most people's lives, they were at college or a university, but that wasn't like him. What could he possibly stand to learn there? While young, he and Chlo's gifts had let them excel in the ambiguously legal job market. Working with Creed had kept their wallets filled nicely.

"Only the good die young, eh?" Riley muttered, tucking it inside his suit. He closed his eyes and reached out, sensing the bartender's slightest of irritation at him. That wouldn't do. "Listen, man, I want to thank you for letting me in here. Nice to be able to get away from it all, and I know it's risky having an under-21 year old in here, and stressful all around having to put up with some of the more boisterous drunks." He handed the man about half of what he'd made that night-more than he would normally be willing to spend, but maintaining a rapport with the bartender was crucial. "Go buy yourself a steak or something. Lord knows you can't find a half-decent one here, eh?" Riley asked, laying on the old-friendsy-we-go-way-back charm.

The bartender chuckled, taking it amiably. "Ah, alright. You're a good kid."

Riley smirked. Yeah. You know that big ordeal, about the thing in the sewers a while back... "Only because you don't know me." The bar was dimly lit, which was another appeal for Riley-his scars were more easily hidden, and once he established his usual seat in the dark corner where the poker games were played out, it was easy to arrive before the others and stay until they'd left. Perhaps I have a career as a bookie ahead of me.. Riley rubbed his temples, tired from his continued use of his telepathy. Figuring out what cards these guys had wasn't difficult, but doing it for a few straight hours made it tough.

He stepped outside into the summer night, his feet tracing the familiar path back to his-well, technically Eliot's, but Eliot was gone, now-house. Another lonely night, eh? When he was closer with the bartender, he'd start getting liquor from him. From what he'd read, the bartender had sold it to underage kids before, albeit rarely. A little more work, and this emotional weariness would be a bit easier to deal with.

(some ambiance for the nightclub)

Carolina Elias walked through the doors of Javier's, the biggest and most popular nightclub in Spielerstadt. She was underaged, but it didn't matter, the bouncer just stepped aside. You get perks like that when you're the owner's daughter. Carolina walked through the crowds on the dance floor. Some new song by Pitbull was blaring over the massive boomboxes stationed around the club. The place was a very large building, almost the size of a city block. It was the largest nightclub in the entire city, and bigger than any club on the East Coast. The club itself was Brazilian-themed. They served traditional Brazilian food and the walls were covered in bright murals of tropical rainforests not unlike the ones around Rio De Janiero, Javier Elias' hometown. Carolina danced through the crowd and sat down at the bar, ordering herself a margarita. The bartender, a man by the name of Carlos (remember that name for later) didn't even bother asking Carolina for her ID. He was pretty good friends with her, and she was the owner's daughter. She basically owned the place. Plus, he thought was funny when the girl got drunk after taking two sips of her drink. He went back to his station, and mixed her drink, substituting some of the boos for other non-alcoholic fixes to keep the girl from getting too snowed.

"Thank's Carlos". She mumbled. "So how's it going?"
"Pretty good muchacha," Carlos said, his ever-present smirk on his face. "Are you here for the Shakira concert that's going on tonight?"
"wouldn't miss it for all the money in my dad's bank". she laughed and glanced over at the stage at the other end of the building. The concert wasn't for an hour, and people were already scurrying around the stage to get everything ready.

Carolina finished her drink and walked up to the stage, where a row of chairs was. She placed her purse in one, and motioned to one of the security officers to watch it. That purse was more valuable than every paycheck that officer would get in his entire life. Carolina began to walk around the club, bored out of her mind. She stopped to talk to a few buys who were muy calliente, but they were too old for her. People like them just wanted money, or something else (which I cannot say here). But both types of people knew that if they dragged the heiress over to the dark corner to steal he stuff or do something else with her stuff(if you get what I mean) they wouldn't survive the attempt. There were... rumors about the multimillionaire's daughter, and none of them have happy endings.

SPORE, all he wanted was weed. Not fifteen minutes of fame.

And yet, wherever Baker went, he couldn't escape the general public. He had shaved, which resulted in him losing a few years aesthetically, but it changed very little, only led to a delayed reaction. He figured that wearing Dashie t-shirts would be fine, plenty of bronies in Spielerstadt. Nope. And he wasn't going to get plastic surgery any time soon, he was already knee-deep in debts.

Everywhere he went, it was the same thing. "Hey, you're that kid that got rescued from those maniacs!" "Is it true that you're a superhero?" "Do you have laser eyes?" "Hey, how did you find out about your powers?" "Mind having a seat with me?"

At least now, it wasn't as bad as it was the first week. One, people had the Fourth. That distracted them. Two, the media had sort of toned down their expose of those with powers. A lot of people had come out of the closet with them, those who demanded attention and respect. Baker wished he could be like any sensible person involved and slink into the background. But he was the focus, and thus, he got a lot of attention he didn't need.

At least the threat of other people getting hurt sort of kept the MBD and his goons away.

Though, he thought, walking through downtown Spielerstadt, letting his slightly inebriated eyes glaze a bit, blurring the neon signs, he hadn't seen a reporter or a curious bystander in a while.

He turned to see a certain black man, fast-walking towards him, pushing aside those in his path. Oh.

Letting a curse out under his breath, Baker started fast walking as well. He heard a faint click, a couple of gasps, and thus, he decided to duck into a sidestreet and start running.

"Damn! He's fast for a pothead!"

He hadn't survived torture for absolutely nothing. A car pulled out in front of the alley in an attempt to block him, but Baker merely hopped over the hood and slid across it. The MBD wasn't agile enough to replicate this move, so he merely took a few potshots at him, ineffectively missing his target, but hitting a few signs and causing a bit of chaos.

Chaos helped. Baker weaved himself in and out of the crowd, making it more difficult for his pursuers to follow him. He gasped for air, shaking his head. This whole time he was fairly relaxed. Weed does that to you. Surprising how he could run like that with his legs feeling like strawberry Jell-O. Desperate times.

Now, he had lost them, but not for long. He needed someplace to... hide.

Javiers. Javiers was right up the street. Classy joint. He didn't have the cash for it, but maybe the bouncer would recognize him. Could shake him up a bit. Saw the bouncer let some other girl in. She was a looker, for sure, but at the moment, Baker had bigger fish to fry.

He crossed the street and came up to the bouncer.

"This is an exclusive club, senor. Sides, you're underage."

Baker suppressed a smile at the terrible, forced use of Spanish in this moron's voice, instead being totally serious, his poker face on. It was a different face without his goatee, but it still was expressionless enough.

"Oh. Then it's a shame. I'll have to melt your face off."

The bouncer chuckled, but then he recognized who this other person was. His mouth dropped, and he stepped to the side.

"Thanks, man."

"Gaah, don't look at me!"



God, for a classy joint, it certainly had a terrible taste in music. The MBD and his cronies most likely didn't have the funds the come into here, either that, or they were diametrically opposed to the Brazilians in town. Or neither, and they would soon find Baker in here. Either that, or Baker would be grabbed by more then one bodygaurd and thrown out on his SPORE.

As he walked about the dancefloor aimlessly, seeming out of place in the black dresses and collared shirts, he had a sudden realization. It was his babe targeting system. The same underage chick who had just walked past the bouncer was at the bar now. Baker chuckled. Holy sh!t, she was gonna get drunk? Tonight? God, why did girls make his life easier?

He started to think of Harley. He pushed it out of his mind. Okay, he drugged her. That was bad. He wouldn't have to for this chick. Drunk at her age equaled SPORE factor increasing by twenty times. Oh, Harley was cute. And sorta badass in a way. That was cool. He wished sort of that he wasn't such an SPORE. Okay. New target. Obvious party animal.

Like Zophia. Oh, hell, he had to think of Zophia, now? He hadn't even thanked her for saving his life. Heck, he was more apt to chide her for how much damage it caused. They had lost someone in that. Someone died. God. Terrible, terrible.

Baker almost didn't feel like womanizing anymore.

Almost. Club atmospheres are... Well, club atmospheres. And it worked well here, making Baker sort of forget whatever was going through his mind at that point. He walked silently up to the bar and took a seat next to this girl.

"They need to up the security here, with people like us getting in this easy," he said to her, his face forward.

"You never said you were bringing a friend, Carolina," the bartender chortled. "Now, I ain't getting him anything, I'm afraid. It's bad enough I cater to you, girl."

---

"So this is it?"

"Yes."

Arkady and Zophia stood in front of a red muscle car.

"This is the car that speaks."

"Yeah, Arkie, about this-"

"Not stealing."

Arkady stepped forward, placing a hand on the headlamp, tracing circles on it. Zophia winced.

"Dude, you're giving his headlights smudges!"

"Who owns this car will not mind."

His hand ran up the car, his eyes tracing the lines. What a beautiful piece of engineering. He began to murmur his prepared speech as he reached the door. Zophia merely moved to the other door.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm speaking to the car."

Zophia let out a smirk. "You're weird, Arkie. That's why I like you."

Arkady ignored the complete lack of energy in her voice, instead focusing his electricity. He was hoping to use the magnetic charge in the metal lock pin to pull it up from the outside.

RIGHT THERE! KEEP YOUR HAND RIGHT THERE! PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DON'T TAKE YOUR HAND OFF! the shrill, super-energetic voice echoed within Arkady's mind.

The Plymouth Fury emanated the familiar cha-chink of the doors unlocking, and the back door opened up.

Seriously! I will take you, like, wherever you want to go! I will drive to China. I don't know if there's a road there, but I'll find one. No! NO! Keep your hand there! I've been stuck inside this car, for, like, ever. And there's never anyone to talk to but the really weird delinquents that try to stab me with car keys or that weird homeless guy. I was really hoping that somebody cool and normal would show up, and my patience paid off, right? You guys seem really chill...Arkie? I think that's what she said. Arkie's a really cute name. I bet chicks are all over you. I bet if you had a ride like this, you would have more ladies than you know what to do with! Oh wait, is Sophia over there your-oh, um. See? See? You come near the car and you have a girlfriend! I work magic like that! But seriously, please don't let go. I'm really bored in here, and all I can do is listen to the radio, and I've been hearing about all these mutants and stuff, right, and I was like, hey, I'm inside a car, I think that makes me a mutant, maybe there's somebody else out there, right? You know what I'm saying? I know I seem really weird. I'm sorry. Just please keep your hand there-or really anywhere on the car, it's like those contests where you win the car if you can kiss it long enough-but don't kiss me. I wouldn't want Sophia getting mad!

She seemed to a little off her rocker, but if her claims of being trapped inside the car were true, then it was perhaps understandable. Music began to emanate from within the car: "I'm so excited...and I just can't hide it..." The Fury was pristine, if nothing else, devoid of smudges and sparkling in the sun. But beyond that, there was something more to it, like an enhanced practicality. It probably wasn't apparent to those of us who haven't really spent time examining automobiles, but the car had a ton of little details: like its tires being inflated just properly, and its mirrors being perfectly aligned, the steering wheel was smooth and intuitive...it was like a dream car. Except for the soul of the girl possessing it.

Carolina (who is magically back at the bar) looked over that the boy next to her and scowled. She could almost smell the marijuana off the boys clothes. She didn't exactly like potheads.
"get back to work Carlos." she snapped. "before I tell my dad to forget about your next paycheck".

She turned to the SPORE next to her.
"and you are?" she said, trying to keep the look of disgust off of her face.

(I really have to go now)

While scrolling out of his apartment Johnny reached into his trench coat and pulled out the keys to his Dad's Hummer. His dad (Jason Valos) had gotten back from his long trip but unfortunately he wasn't pleased when the Porsche that he bought for himself but let Johnny Drive had been stolen and subsequently destroyed, but for some reason he was strangely not surprised, astonished or shocked when Johnny told him the whole story about how it got destroyed and described the whole Meta-Human thing to him.

What ever it was in his head keeping him from kicking Johnny's ass, he let his son drive his Hummer for a little bit longer while his Porsche was getting restored.

He shrugged and stepped into the driver side door with a slow pace, once there he opened the door, climbed his way inside and put his keys in the ignition and there he went. He had a location since the only place he went when he isolated himself from the world was the library to read up on ice, Cryogenics, and everything cold. If he was going to come close to mastering his abilities he needed to learn what he can do with ice and everything cold. Hell, at some point he thought that he'll get so strong that he'll be able to throw an ice burg. Heh.

Now, he's heard of some club named Javier's. A Brazilian oriented place, he didn't go to too many of these places. He mostly stuck to the Jazz Clubs and Clubs that would actually let somebody his age in. In those rare cases that they didn't let him in, he would just flash a few fake I.Ds or just hand the Bouncer a twenty or two.

Or if all else fails he can just sneak in through the back or announce his racial identity.

He just focused on driving down the highway. Once he was on the same street as the club, he drove right past it an parked on the first spot he saw and climbed out. Using his cane with every step, he slowly walks to the front door with a confident smile on his face.

Niza sat up. She had made her decision on what shewas going to do to take care of her boredom. Bars were boring at time, but clubs... they were way more fun. She grabbed her keys and headed out the door, Javiers in mind. She put her helmet on and hopped on her red motorcycle before heading off.

Niza arrived at Javiers. She took off her helmet and placed it on the seat, not caring if anyone took it or not. 'Sides, only some loser would take it. She walked up to the bouncer, passing some guy with a trench coat. Niza examined his name tag. Nichola, huh? She handed him five dollars, and before he could refuse, she made sure to grab his wrist and look him in the eyes. Her eyes were now a golden color as she spoke to him.

"Nichola, I suggest you let me in, agreed?" Slowly the bouncer nodded his head, eyes transfixed on hers. Niza smirked as she walked in, headng to the dancing area, looking forward to meeting some new people.

Well, that wasn't expected.

Arkady did as he was bidden, keeping his hand on the vehicle, although he admitted to jumping a bit at first and removing his hand. A second passed, and his hand returned to it's original position.

What was it with women, he mused, and babbling? He did what he usually did with Zophia. Silence. Listening only a bit, as if skimming a passage in a book.

"Arkie? Hey, Ark! You okay?"

Zophia sighed. This had happened a few times. Arkady would just... Space. It seemed kinda creepy, but he was a nice enough guy.

"Do not touch this car."

"What?"

Arkady did not repeat himself. This car was... Possessed. By something. He wasn't a spiritual type. But if it was full of demons, at least they were the happy, jumpy kind, not the hahahaIrippedoffyourface sort.

And then music. From inside the car. Now Zophia was creeped out.

"Arkie!..."

"Do not touch it. It will talk to you."

Zophia was still for a moment. Then she crossed her arms.

"Is this a French thing? Like, a sort of prank you guys do? Ha ha, very funny, look, as much fun as it is to break the law with you, I'd rather that we stop and go do something fun-"

"It talks to you when you touch it."

"Yeah, Arkie, you said that like, three times, that's cool and all, let's go!"

"Incredible... You Americans made a car that lives."

Arkady kept his hand on the car, running it up the sleek metal roof as if it was the arm of a girl who needed to calm, or the leg of a girl who wanted something else. In fact, he almost found himself gently shushing the vehicle. Almost.

"Firstly. Most importantly. Zophia is not my girlfriend. She is just a friend."

He could not think of a more proper secondly.

"Secondly... What are you?"

He then looked at Zophia.

"Touch the car."

"But you just said-"

"Do it."

"Okay, ya weirdo..."

Zophia slapped a hand down onto the car. She was getting quite tired of Arkady's BS tonight.

HI SOPHIA! I don't believe Arkie. I think you two are sweet on each other... May's tone was that sing-songy, irritatingly high-pitched voice someone adopts when they're discussing another person's relationships. It would've been entirely in place for her to start singing, "Arkie and Sophia, sittin in a tree". But hi! Nice to meet you! You two seem, like, REALLY chill. I haven't had anybody to talk to in sooo long. Always weird people or mean people. Never, like, laidback people. You know?

She either seemed to be slightly mentally deficient or just really bad with names. Perhaps she could only hear things clearly if they were close to the car or touching the car.

Simultaenously, she was carrying out a conversation with Arkie-ark.

Ooooh, Arkie. Look at you stroking my hood. I bet you're great at getting Sophia's top off! Get it? Because I'm in a convertible and...oh sorry. But whatever, you guys 'aren't together', I feel you, it's cool. So seriously, nice to meet you guys. Do you need a ride, anywhere? Cause I have one. And I'm really bored and people never stop to talk to me. Someone spread the rumor that I'm like this evil car, right, possessed and whatnot, and it's kinda offensive, you know? They even made this movie about it. I'm kind of a hypocrite, because I saw it in a drive-in theater. Whatever, though. My name's May. Did I say that already? I can't remember. What was I saying...oh yeah! A ride. I can give you two totally-not-lovebirds a lift somewhere if you need it.

the '59 Plymouth Fury seemed...alive, almost. Like it was thrumming with energy and life; the voices coming from the radio seemed more as if the car was physically speaking, the windows almost resembling the way a girl's eyes looked, when they began to water; even the exhaust was rhythymic, like someone breathing in and out.

Oh man. She was getting feisty. Nice. So she wasn't drunk yet.

Baker merely sat back, cocking his head to the side, giving her a small smirk.

"Nobody of real importance, I guess. Just wanted to say hi to someone, and I mean no disrespect, quite pretty. So I suggest you lose the scowl, it's not becoming of you."

He sighed, now cocking his head the other way, not trying to really look her in the eyes.

"Oh, and people call me Baker."

Was he sure?... Yeah, maybe he was. Maybe he wasn't. Who knows.

---

Upon hearing "hi", Zophia jumped, letting out a yelp. Arkady merely smiled, happy that Zophia had finally expressed an emotion. She cautiously put her finger back onto the car, listening in.

"Erm, uh... Okay, cars talk to me now, didn't know I got that screwed up..."

Why did this girl seem so familiar? Why did her energy, peppyness, and absolute zeal for life seem like something Zophia was familiar with? All she knew is, a small part of her seemed to cheer up, seemed to become what she once was.

"Okedokelokey, well, um, nice to meet you?... Gee, um, you have a name, right, uh, car?"

It was awkward to meet someone who you weren't terrifically different from mere weeks ago. Arkady merely smiled, taking the initiative and swinging into the driver's seat.

"Pristine."

He sat back in the seat, enjoying the way the leather felt against his enhoodied back. A spot of rain plopped on the windshield, and Arkady gestured to Zophia to enter, something she did with a small bit of apprehension.

"Zophia is just a friend," he said softly, running his fingers over the wheel, Zophia slapping them seconds later. He gave her a small glare, and she felt small in her seat.

Carolina glared at the boy. Did he even know who she was?
Calm down Carles she thought You're thinking like a diva! she took another drink of her margarita. It was fantastic. Expertly mixed -well, considering that Carlos had made it. She tried to smile and said "I'm Carolina Elias, my dad works here. Would you like a drink?" she said, waving for Carlos to walk over.

Kristen slowed to a stop when she noticed someone outside Javiers. The person seemed familiar. She squinted, trying to see the face. Was it...? Yes! It was Johnny! Kristen ran up to him out of excitement, wanting to talk to someone.

"Johnny, SPORE, it's been a while since I've seen you. I mean, ayone really. I've mainly been spending time in my apartement." Talking this much felt wrather taboo to her since she hadn't talked to anyone in weeks. Smiling also felt foreign to her.

Kristen looked at the bouncer and shrugged. "I have some money if you wanna go in." She could go for a drink. It had been a while since she had first started drinking, that was the day after she moved out of her parents' house. She was so frustrated, she gave up on all of her beiefs in not drinking. Kristen noticed that she had never before talked so much as she just did. Maybe it was because she hadn't talked in a while. She shrugged off the thoughts and waited for a reply.