There were very few times when Donovan wished he was seeing things again. This was one of them.

Donovan’s breaths came quick in his chest, and he clutched the note tight in the palm of his hand as though that would make it disappear. He could make it disappear, in fact, but what would that do? If it were gone from his line of sight, that wouldn’t make the fact that he’d just been shot at in a park any less true. He’d seen two people hit and wondered if he’d just barely escaped with his own life. He really did hope those two other people were alright. He couldn't forgive himself for having been stupid enough to have listened to the little boy at the doorstep. Even though he'd really had nothing better to do at the time than chase his latest intrigue— even though he probably should have been sleeping after his midnight show— he'd gone, and if someone had gotten killed because of that—

He supposed he should stop abusing the piece of paper and get to doing what it said. He wasn't sure if he wanted anything to do with the people who'd left him these notes, but he did need his wallet back. He didn't make much money, but what little he had was either stuffed inside his mattress or in that slim wallet, which his pocket was quite notably missing. Not getting it back likely meant the difference in the number of dinners he had to look forward to in the coming month. If it meant chasing white rabbits to a café, then so be it.

Unlocking his bike from the pipeworks, he gave the chains and the rusting bits a once-over to ensure they were still functioning before reattaching the lock to the area just below the seat and setting off. The chains clicked and clunked where the gears had failed to shift them, and he had long since given up on trying to fix them. Riding up the massive hills— and San Francisco seemed to have so goddamned many of them— was sometimes a bit challenging, but his legs had become used to the pedaling over the years. His main focus now was making sure the thing didn't fall apart as he rode it.

Donovan wasn't exactly sure where 24th street was; he assumed it would have been after 23rd street and before 25th, but one could never be sure in such a chaotic city. Luckily, it couldn't be far away, as he was already on Oxford. Following it, he was sure he'd reach it eventually. It was on a corner, after all.

He stopped abruptly and turned himself around on reaching the next street corner. He'd gone from thirteenth street to twelfth— that was no way to make it to 24th street, was it? The change in direction left Donovan pedaling up the hill he'd gone coasting down, much to his chagrin. Coasting was one of the few enjoyable parts about biking everywhere, even with the rain in the fall and the snow in the winter and the feeling of falling on ice shortly thereafter. Donovan couldn't help a pang of dismay as his eternal optimism was punctured.

That said, even eternal optimism wasn't doing much for the scruffy man on the bike. After the shooting, his skin felt numb and his insides were twisted with a nagging guilt he knew he couldn't shake. He sailed past the alternating numbered and named streets, skimming their corners for anything that even vaguely resembled a café. He moved fast, weaving in and out of the lunchtime crowds with a handful of apologies thrown in out of instinct. Donovan was, regrettably, only half-paying attention, the other half a sea of roiling emotions he couldn't calm and refine into something more useful. He snaked over the sidewalk, first drifting toward the endless patchwork of chain-link fences to his right before nearly drifting so far left as to brush up against the traffic. He continued the pattern, lurching left and right, until his eyes finally caught sight of one of the most hideous signs he'd ever seen.

Donovan braked so hard his wheels squealed in protest. The rubber caught the pavement, and he skidded to a stop just under what he assumed to be a cup of neon green coffee wearing an equally heinously-colored pink sombrero. Yellow text declared the place to, indeed, be Santiago's Fusion Café. Donovan wondered what, exactly, it was a fusion of— initially, he'd just assumed it was a coffee shop belonging to a man named Santiago, but the presence of adobe alongside snowshoes gave it a distinct air of culturalization gone much, much too far. He chained his bike to the fence surrounding the patio— surprisingly upscale, for its surroundings, and reminiscent of that of a cushy hotel— and stepped inside, where he was greeted by a curtain of heavily chilled air. The cold was a shock, leaving Donovan to wonder to himself when the last time he'd actually felt what it was like to be around a functioning air conditioner.

There was no one inside, and aside from the humming refrigerator displays and the water heaters, there wasn't a sound to be heard— no music, no voices, no running water or clinking plates. It was almost eerie, the way the café seemed so dead compared to the rushing crowds outside. Shouldn't the place be packed? On glancing at the menu, however, the prices revealed the reason behind the café's silence. Donovan could practically feel his wallet withering at the sight. He supposed he'd just have to wait it out. Donovan took a seat just out of sight of the register, praying to his lucky stars that the barista didn't see him and wonder why he was sitting there without buying anything. It wasn't right, just using their space like this, but he couldn't afford half of what they were charging. Especially not without a wallet.

...not that he wouldn't buy anything if the barista asked. Could he do that to her?

Donovan bit the inside of his cheek and turned to stare at the door. It was going to be a long wait before anyone showed up to break the silence, wasn't it? He just wanted his wallet back. And maybe a croissant.

At the given time, Naomi would have given almost anything to be anywhere besides her current location. She had just survived some crazy person's shooting at a park, the only reason she being there was because of some stupid envelope marked, 'great savings'. 'How stupid could I be?' She thought to herself as she was standing on a corner spot of a street people passing her. After all that, some note given to her, asking her to meet someone for all she knew would just try and finish the job. It made her angry. She didn't want to go, she would have much rather gotten some luck and skipped town, but no, someone had her wallet. Her wallet with her information, her address, and the picture of her family, she needed that back.

The invitation said to meet on a café on 24th street, at a place known for it's prices. She hadn't been before, but a couple of people she went home with had some left over bagels and they were always good. Her first problem was figuring out how to get there. She didn't own a car or anything means of transportation, and walking in 5" Saint Laurent Thorn Pumps would not prove to be a very good thing. This left her with two options; taking the bus, or getting a ride. Normal people would have taken the bus, too much of a chance of getting killed. However, Naomi knew her luck would work out and give her a ride. She chose some business looking man walking towards his car, giving him some excuse about losing her dog, and putting her hand on his arm and giving him some luck. It was too easy. When she gave luck, the person was very cooperative with her, which she loved. She told him she last saw him at a café on 24th street, and he believed her.

As they rode, she wondered if anyone else would be getting this message. She had seen others who had gotten away, but only briefly, and she had always thought she couldn't be the only one who had.... powers, or abilities, or whatever they were called. The drive was boring, and she turned on the radio and got comfortable, it was a nice 2011 Escalade. She would have tried to pick the guy up, if it hadn't been for the child seat in the back, or the wedding ring on his finger. Upon arriving close to the café, she thanked him, and then decided to give him a kiss. A small one, no tongue, and get some luck just in case. She got out of the car and he drove off, his bad luck to start soon, she thought.

She straightened out her black undershirt along with her Red Firefly Cardigan, and then began to walk towards the store. It was surprisingly quiet in the store, with only a barista and some guy sitting without anything with him. 'Suspicious much.' she thought before noticing how, well not dirty, but messy he looked, defiantly not someone to eat in a place were they charged 17$ for a cup of iced tea. She ordered a croissant and black coffee, paid the girl 28$ from her purse, her wallet had most of her money, but she kept some in the bag itself.

Upon getting her food, she decided to sit down and try and find who ever had invited her here. She chose a spot towards the back, which wasn't far, just in case of another gunman, and watched everyone who came into the store.

"Why do I have to go through this now?" A soft and frustrated voice with a light accent had said.

The sentence that was said was directed towards no one in particular but, to the person that was in the situation they didn't want to be in. Claudette was exactly that said person, and she had just been through hell, having to runaway from people shooting at her at the park, and after losing her wallet, she didn't want to risk reading a letter that had told her to go to this certain place, saying that she'd get her wallet back if she were to show up. She didn't trust the words that were written inside the letter she had neatly folded in one hand and her blood red colored jacket in the other. But, she really didn't have much of a choice, her wallet had money she had to earned and sometimes steal. She wasn't going to let all that hard earned money be stolen.

Now, growing tired of walking she waved her hand gentle up and called for a cab. Whenever she got the drivers attention she opened the door and got in,"Thanks for stopping honey." Smiling, she told him the location she was supposed to be and sat back in her seat. She has never been this nervous since she first discovered this little 'gift' she had. Looking out the window it wasn't the best transportation she had but, it was the quickest and easiest way to get to where she was supposed to go.

Running a hand into her hair, she looked over at the rear view mirror and fixed the hair that was misplace. After a couple minutes of that the cab had stopped and she looked up at the street sign. Now, the problem at the moment was how she was going to pay for the cab ride. "Seems like I misplaced my wallet. Do you think you could let me slip?" She said pleading him, hearing a sigh she smiled,"Thank you very, very much." Getting out the car she fix her clothes and closed the door behind her before walking onto the sidewalk. She had money but, not as much as she usually had, and she wasn't giving her money to a cab driver.

Walking up to the café on 24th street, she looked up at the sign and then opened the letter to see if it was the same place that was described inside the letter. Whenever she spotted it she would walk inside the building and looked around for an empty seat. After spotting one she sat down, and folded the letter back up neatly. She sat the paper on the table waiting for someone to walk into the café and give her back her wallet.

Ordering a cup of hot tea, and a honey buttered croissant. She looked around to see if anyone looked out of place, someone that looked as if they were to send her a letter to this address no one really stood out, so she watched the door. She really didn't have anywhere to go so, she had time.

Ezra was huddled in the shadows of an abandoned building, his eyes wide and his long limbs trembling with adrenaline. That was close. He hadn't had such an encounter in a few years. The invitation sat in the back pocket of his worn black jeans. It's light papery form felt heavy with his anxiety. People had shot at him. He wasn't sure if they were real bullets or tranquilizers. It would have been a wasted effort to want him dead after all of these years of wanting him alive.

He combed a long finger through his unnatural white blond hair, thinking. Then again, who were the others that ran? Were they like him? Despite the voice of reasoning in his head, Ezra couldn't help but hope. Santiago's Fusion Café... The piece of paper was crumpled in his left fist. He's been there a few times. It's always open at night, and it wasn't so busy like a lot of the other late night cafes. Would there be another attempt to hurt him, there? Ezra thought about it for a few moments. Well, it isn't like I've got any other option. His wallet was stolen, and all of his ID was in there. It would be such a hassle to replace them all... going in to get his picture taken anyway. That always sucked.

Despite the anxiety and common sense. The tall winged man was starting to get curious. What if there were others like him? Ezra felt a smile tug at the corner of his pale pink lips. That would be day he'd always remember. How many days have he hoped and dreamed of meeting other winged people?

Ezra started walking. Fast. He'd always had that agility and the stamina to match. It wasn't inhumanly fast, but fast enough to make some people wonder. Then he winced. Ow. He saw a dribble of blood on the right wing. It wasn't anything serious, the bullet had just nicked it. Realizing it wasn't critical, the young man ignored it and started running to the cafe. That place had the best white hot chocolate. His blue black wings stayed close to his body as he traveled in the safety of the shadows. Going outside at this time of day... wasn't wise, he'd admit. But the excitement was almost worth it. He hadn't had that much fun in ages.

The man of Asian descent smiled wryly. He wasn't created, or born, whichever, to be cooped up inside a building. The wind felt great on his face as he sped his way through the streets like an expert. He wore a thin black t shirt under a dark charcoal vest with a hood, and the chain that was ever present around his neck.

On the way, Ezra passed some of the beggars and street orphans that inhabited the alleys of San Francisco. Their faces were covered in dirt, and their clothes were ripped and filthy. His heart went out to them, but he kept moving. He'd stop by later with some donuts or something. If he survived this little... meeting, anyway. Then he stood there, still in the shadows of a nearby building. His dark almond-shaped eyes narrowed at Santiago's Fusion Café. Well. He hoped it would be interesting, at the least.

He slipped into the back, quietly and let himself in through the rear entrance of the cafe. It was the best way to avoid unnecessary commotion. The scent of coffee and pastries made his mouth water, and his stomach rumbled loudly in response. It was dimly lit, at least where he stood. Silently, without meeting anyone's gaze, he walked up to the counter and asked for his usual order of a large white hot chocolate, bagels, cake, and a bowl of fruit salad. He paid for it, using the emergency money he kept in his sock.

Taking the tray loaded with enough food to feed at least three or four other people, Ezra pulled his feathered limbs even closer to his body and took long strides to the darkest corner of the cafe. At least, if he died, he'd have a full stomach.

Donovan watched from the decorative mirror at the back of the room as the customers drifted in and out. There was a man, first, who ordered bagels and left, and then a woman and her child who screamed to no end. She and her spawn had taken a seat by the window, and they, too, were gone soon enough. Donovan huffed to himself and leaned on his arm as he waited. Another few people milled in and out, paying their dues and then toting away their food.

The woman in the red cardigan was the first to catch his eye. It wasn't anything about her mannerisms, per se, that drew his attention, nor was it her appearance. It was his voices, in fact, that drew his eyes to her. In terms of appearance, she was beautiful— perhaps she was not terribly attractive in that moment, but she was definitively beautiful in a more objective sense. It was her cardigan, however, that set off the near-literal alarm bells in his head. Like a woman in a red scarf, the cardigan grabbed his attention and called him to it. It was the type of garment that was made to grab the attention of the unsuspecting passerby. In that way, he'd learned, it was simple to tell that a woman was waiting for her blind date. First-time couples looking to break the ice always seemed to welcome a magic trick in the street, and the men usually tipped well, too.

He suspected, though, that this wasn't why she wanted to get noticed. Too much had already happened today for something as innocent as a blind date to be going on here. He wasn't sure if his mind was playing tricks on him again, but the day's happenings all felt like a sort of cruel joke with no room for the sincere normality of such mundane occurrences.

Yeah, his mind was probably playing tricks on him. Donovan didn't get weird feelings like that, and even when he did, they weren't usually right. Another pretty woman, once again clad in a red jacket, had taken a seat inside the café. His eyes followed her— or, rather, her plate, filled with that golden croissant. That delicious, golden croissant.

God damn, was he hungry. So hungry, in fact, that he was checking out innocent girls' croissants. That just wasn't right. He tore his eyes away, forcing himself to concentrate at the matter at hand: the jackets. Two girls in matching jackets— matching and notably conspicuous jackets— had taken to the café just minutes after the shooting and the suspicious notes. There was something about them, and it wasn't at all their looks. Aside from those jackets, of course.

But, in all honesty, what could he do about it aside from sit, watch, and wait? He was powerless in this situation, with perhaps only a slight physical advantage over the other patrons of the café, who consisted mostly of small, affluent women and their equally delicate male counterparts. This was the type of place that made Donovan too many kinds of uncomfortable. He knew he didn't fit in here, and doing anything to draw even the slightest sliver of attention would draw loads more in in currents, waves, until he was drowning in stares. That didn't exactly sound pleasant, so Donovan kept to himself.

His fears about being stared at, however, subsided the moment he himself turned to the one doing the staring. A man with wings had just entered the café. Being the ratty man not buying anything, suddenly, wasn't the most striking thing going on in the place. He wasn't sure whether he should be glad or unnerved that things strange enough to cover up his less-than-righteous presence were taking place right before his eyes. He waited for murmurs to pass through the restaurant the way they always did when the inexplicable happened, but the room had gone dead-silent.

Perhaps that was because it was empty.

Donovan blinked, clearing his head. It wasn't empty, per se, but it was devoid of anyone and everyone he had seen before aside from the two red-coated girls and the winged man with the bleach-blond hair. Anyone... normal. He was beginning to feel very, very uncomfortable. Had the café seemed this empty before?

Donovan's worries were interrupted with the presence of a small hand clutching a plate drifting into his line of sight. The plate, filled with a fluffy, golden croissant, drifted ever nearer, approaching him and finally settling on the table in front of him. With shock, Donovan's eyes followed the arm up to to find a girl of no more than twelve at its end. She smiled at him and strode to the center of the room.

He wasn't sure where he came from or when he'd appeared, but when Donovan looked up, in the dead center of the space occupied by the café's four patrons stood a man in his forties and the daughter that had run up to greet him. Too many weird things were happening today— Donovan witheld his disbelief and only watched the strange man who'd seemingly appeared out of nowhere, waiting for him to do something. He hadn't addressed anyone in the room, not even the two women sporting red jackets, yet his very presence seemed to command attention. He watched, rapt, as the mystery man stepped forward, a smile edging its way forward at the corners of the man's mouth as he was noticed.

After a few heavy moments of silence, the man in the middle of the room finally spoke. "As I'm sure you are all aware, you have all been brought here for a reason." He paused, long enough for those listening to formulate something to say back to him but not long enough to let them speak it. "And whatever that reason may be— whatever your motives are for coming here— I pray you'll at least listen to what I have to say. You wallets," he added a flourish to his speech, producing four assorted wallets in his left hand, "Will be returned shortly."

"As you are all aware, there's something different about you— about us. And, to get right to the point, we're being hunted. Be it by the government, private organizations, or your neighbor, someone's out to get you. You might not have been alerted to this. You may not have experience any of this. But if you received that letter, if you've come to our attention, you can be assured that we know someone wants your life."

"But why, of all things, would we contact you about this? Why, of all things, would we invite you to a park only to put your lives on the line and have you shot at? Well, we don't know either. We don't know why you're wanted or how you're connected. But you four are different, like us, and for that we only wish to deliver you this message: we can offer you refuge. We can offer you an escape from this living Hell. But, of course, it all comes for a price."

"Should you accept our offer— should you seek out this refuge— our terms will be explained to you promptly. Should you refuse, you can expect either capture or death to find you within the week. Though we may not know what makes you such a viable target, we know that those hunting you are both capable and willing to do anything they need to get what they want. They're good at what they do. You're perfectly welcome to refuse and leave yourself, your family, and those you love in danger. If you aren't, however, I'll be awaiting your answer."

With that, the café was bathed in darkness, silenced, with only the sound of the lights shutting off to fill the void. By the time they flickered on again, the man had disappeared, leaving only the girl and a white handkerchief together on the floor.

Donovan huffed to himself. This was getting to be a very, very strange day. First death threats, then strange invitations, and then more death threats. When was this going to end? He had another midnight show tonight, and he was at least hoping for for a nap before he got started. There went that dream, down the drain where all the rest of his dreams seemed to go. Here he was, in this strange and now potentially dangerous place he'd been invited to, and he still didn't have his wallet back. Why was it that he was always the one without money?

And was it just him, or had all the windows disappeared, too?

OOC: Am I just pulling these turns of events out of a hat? Psh, naw, why would I do that?? ...I don't think there's any totally reasonable way to start this off.

Ezra was busy stuffing his face with the food he had bought. Now that all the adrenaline had gone, the winged man found himself fatigued with hunger. He'd been there before. This cafe was nowhere new... Yet, the air of the place was different. It made him oddly wary and intrigued at the same time. The hot chocolate burned his throat as he gulped it down, but he ignored the sharp pain as his dark eyes finally glanced around the room. There were two young women, each sitting alone, attractive, but still... kind of strange. Then there was a young man, around the same age as himself... looking slightly worn. Ezra squinted. The poor guy didn't even have any food in front of him. Ezra felt kind of sheepish and looked away. He seriously felt like a glutton, eating like he was. Except... the hunger pangs never stopped until he was full. He glanced back and was mildly surprised to see a little girl near the guy without food. Ezra pushed the empty tray away. He could have sworn she wasn't there a minute ago. Ezra pushed the blond hair away from his eyes and sneaked another peek, and what he saw made his eye brows raise in slight confusion.

Now there was a guy standing in the middle of the room, standing perfectly straight, confidence was almost oozing out of his pores as he swept his gaze around the cafe. Ezra felt himself stiffen warily as piercing eyes locked with his for a fraction of a second. When he began speaking, the young, lithe freak, pulled his wings in closer, listening intently, his attention not wavering even for a second. His voice was smooth and business- like, an ordinary human would never doubt his words. However, ever since he was young, people in all shapes and sizes and colors had shown Ezra that he could never take anyone at face value. So he listened carefully, but impassively, calculating each word as if it had nothing to do with him. At least, if this was a sham, he'd get his wallet back. Even while taking a sip of his now-cooled hot chocolate, he started thinking up all the motives on why they'd steal his wallet in the first place. Sure, he had some cash, but...

The next few sentences had Ezra shifting in rapt interest.

"As you are all aware, there's something different about you— about us. And, to get right to the point, we're being hunted. Be it by the government, private organizations, or your neighbor, someone's out to get you. You might not have been alerted to this. You may not have experience any of this. But if you received that letter, if you've come to our attention, you can be assured that we know someone wants your life."

Everyone was out to get him... Were the others here, the same as him? They didn't have wings though, Ezra thought, a bit petulantly. He almost missed the man's next words. Refuge? Death? He's been alone almost all his life, people have chased him ever since he could start remembering. But he was still alive now. He wasn't going down that easily. No way. There was no refuge for people like him. In fact, he should start looking for a new apartment soon.

And it wasn't like he was putting anyone in danger. He didn't have loved ones. Ezra had a small group of contacts that he had become fond of... but no one knew of them. At least he hoped not. Though... he scratched the back of his neck, he had gotten shot at today. His wing still stung a bit. Then the lights turned off and when they came back on, the man was gone, leaving the girl and a white handkerchief behind. He chuckled quietly. A bit dramatic, was he?

This will be interesting. He should seriously stop doing things out on a whim... but... Yawning, Ezra stretched and unfolded his legs, he put the tray away. Then smiling softly, he walked to the girl, forgetting about the others in the cafe with him.

"Hey there, aren't you cute." Ezra grinned amicably as he squatted down to be face to face with the little girl. "Tell the big man, I accept."

Naomi was sitting at her small table with coffee and her food, and she felt it begin. The headache, the same one she always got. It happened every time she gave luck to a person, which proved to be problematic in most situations in which she wanted to help or get help. She had regained the losses when she gave to the guy in the Cadillac when she kissed him, but it didn't matter, the headache would always come. She took a small sip of her coffee and began to rub her temples. It wasn't too bad, sense it was only a small amount of luck, but she knew she would have to wait it out. She had figured out that Advil, Ibuprofen, and even Xanax had been ineffective in making her feel better. Only time would cure this ache.

Looking up, she noticed a few other people in the café. The man who looked like he hadn't showered in a week, a woman who seemed to be looking at the others, and finally a man with wings. That caught her eye. At first she thought they were some type of costume, but they seemed to move with him and react, so they must be like.... attached or something. She then wondered if she could grab any luck off of them, and then she wanted to get as much as possible, which lead her to think about having sex with the winged man. She shook it off, just another side effect of her luck. It was really like an addiction, complete with withdrawal and jonesing. Wasn't she lucky.

When the man appeared in the middle of the café, she looked at him. He seemed ruggedly handsome, and the sex fantasy came about him as well. She listened to him, despite the panging in her head, and one thing caught her attention above all else. "Should you accept our offer— should you seek out this refuge— our terms will be explained to you promptly. Should you refuse, you can expect either capture or death to find you within the week. Though we may not know what makes you such a viable target, we know that those hunting you are both capable and willing to do anything they need to get what they want. They're good at what they do. You're perfectly welcome to refuse and leave yourself, your family, and those you love in danger. If you aren't, however, I'll be awaiting your answer."

Her family was under a threat. She had left them to make sure they wouldn't get hurt by her ability, but they were under threat just for being related? This made her extremely angry, and wanted whoever shot at her to be hit by a bus. The man suddenly disappeared, leaving only a small girl, an odd choice considering they all had a... power, or something, and she could be at risk. The winged man walked up to the girl and accepted. That seemed odd to her, she had a ton of questions, least of which who the hell were they.

She got up from her seat, leaving her coffee, and began to click clack her way over, due to her heels on the hardwood floors, another feature of an expensive café. She stood beside the winged man, and fought to not touch his wing, to get some luck off of him, better him than the girl.

"I'll accept this refuge you speak of, but I have questions that need answers." She said, and then leaned down like the man, "First off, who the hell are you?"

Claudette sighed as softly as she could, not wanting to disturb anyone that would get easily annoyed by someone who sighed when it was finally quiet. Grabbing the now warm tea cup she gently drank from it, putting it down when she was satisfied with how much she had wanted to drink. She didn't want eat the croissant at the moment so she let it sit there on the classy expensive looking plate. It was quiet and boring in such a rich and classy café. The places she had went to or, rather sneaked into, were mostly full of laughter and good conversations about useless things. But, at least it was entertaining.

Looking up as the door to the café opened, she didn't suspect a man with wings to come walking through the door. Yeah, she was a bit surprised, she was different too. Though no one could see she her as different, she was. There was no denying that, and being different had gotten her here. She wondered how it would feel to morph into a winged man? Probably feels the same just with an irregular addition to it. Well that thought was suddenly ignored as she looked up at the man in the middle of the café.

Hearing the first group of sentences; she did have those type of thoughts here and there but, she thought nothing of it and she just brushed it off. She didn't even come to realize that someone was out to get her. Hating that she had something else that she had to worry about she continued to listen to what he was saying.

Now listening to the second group of sentences; she didn't understand why they didn't know why they shot her at the park. Actually she didn't want to know, she would rather keep wondering about it since they didn't know themselves. She had no clue who they were and she couldn't help but start wondering if they were like her. Different. Refuge? Escape? Hell? The refuge and the escape part; she had never needed them. The only thing she escaped from was her old life so, that no one she knew could get hurt. Well, the only thing that was hell was trying to learn how to control this little 'gift' she has.

Before the man left the last group of sentences had gotten to her. She didn't want anything to happen to her family or friends, that she had left behind. The reason she had left was to protect them from her to protect them from anything that had to do with this little 'gift' she had gotten. Now she knew she couldn't refuse, she really had no choice but, to accept. Looking over at the little girl and the male and female who walked up to the girl to say whatever they wanted to say. She didn't want to walk over there and accidentally touch someone.

Well, she couldn't just sit there and wonder where she would be going if she didn't refuse. Getting up out of her seat, she walked up to the girl and kept her distance. "I accept, and I want to know where this refuge is."

Donovan sat for a moment, savoring the taste of the croissant. He was still reeling from the sudden influx of information. First, he was being hunted. Second, people were offering him refuge. Granted, these were the same people who had stolen his wallet and then lured him here with it, so what was to say they weren't the ones behind all of this? Donovan huffed to himself, then stood up and approached the young girl, as well. He'd heard the acceptances of the other three, and with such social pressure, who was he to refuse? This was going a bit far just to get his wallet back, but he'd take what he could get if people were trying to kill him. He didn't exactly want to take chances if he would have to, 'expect death within the week,' otherwise.

Coming to a stop in front of the girl, he didn't bother kneeling to talk to her as he said, "I'll take you up on your offer, as well." He expected that more questions were to come, so he didn't say a word. Neither did the girl. She let the three stand there for a minute in silence before extending her hand so quickly Donovan hardly caught it before her small hand was around his wrist. Out of reflex, he pulled it gently away from her, but her grip was firm, so he let it alone at his side, looking down with curiosity at the young girl who stood before the four of them and staving off the urge to apologize to her for trying to hit her hand away. The urge, however, was quelled suddenly when something else called out for his attention.

There was a voice in his head. A young girl's voice. In all his years of hallucinating, years he spent questioning reality itself, he had never once heard the disembodied voice of a girl in his head before. Its voice was sweet yet unnerving, not unlike a music box in a silent room with terrible dampening or a lullaby on a stormy night. Out of place. What it said to him, however, was what caught his attention.

Would you ask the others to please take my hand?

Donovan, though shocked, obliged, seeing no reason to refuse. How, exactly, to word the statement escaped him, so he simply murmured, "She'd like you to take her hand." As if on cue, the girl pushed up the sleeve of her dress and extended her arm to the other three, still not speaking a word.

After waiting a few moments, the girl's face twisted in concentration. Donovan wondered, wary, what she was doing. A telepath? Was that how she was putting words in his head? He certainly wasn't hallucinating her, as the others were all reacting to her presence, as well. Or were they, too, hallucinations, and he was just acting like a crazed man in the middle of a café? But the girl cut off his more paranoid thoughts with her own, high and bell-like. Interrupting him. Either she was very rude or she couldn't read minds. If it was a case of the latter, he was very relieved. He did value his privacy, living alone after spending his childhood an only child.

My name is Elsie. First, I apologize for my father's dramatics. Second, I apologize for my inability to speak— I'll have a whiteboard in a minute, if you'd like to have a more coherent conversation. Third, and most importantly, I'll be answering any questions you might have now that you've all accepted our offer. The girl glanced at the group with a small, polite smile. As for 'who the Hell I am,' all you'll need to know, moving forward, is that I'm to monitor and document your progress to ensure your safety over the course of the next few weeks... or months, depending on how long this takes. As you well know, nothing comes for free, and in exchange for your own safety, we request that you perform a number of tasks for us to cover various... fees. She paused, glancing up at the ceiling, trying to find the next few words. And, as it happens, the very first is right here in San Francisco. How do you all feel about heading to a party tonight?

Donovan took a double-take at the girl. She was grinning like— well, like a girl who'd just announced she was going to a party. Was he really losing it? Resisting again the impulse to shake off her hand, he watched the others for a reaction just to verify his own sanity.

That said, he was verifying his sanity via a winged man and two women in red jackets, so he wasn't sure how definitively it would work.

"She'd like you to take her hand."The other male in the room said, seeming a bit incredulous. Ezra just smiled and took the hand that was offered him. In a second, his eyebrows were going up and disappeared under his bangs in awestruck wonder.

My name is Elsie. First, I apologize for my father's dramatics. Second, I apologize for my inability to speak— I'll have a whiteboard in a minute, if you'd like to have a more coherent conversation. Third, and most importantly, I'll be answering any questions you might have now that you've all accepted our offer. The girl glanced at the group with a small, polite smile. As for 'who the Hell I am,' all you'll need to know, moving forward, is that I'm to monitor and document your progress to ensure your safety over the course of the next few weeks... or months, depending on how long this takes. As you well know, nothing comes for free, and in exchange for your own safety, we request that you perform a number of tasks for us to cover various... fees. She paused, glancing up at the ceiling, trying to find the next few words. And, as it happens, the very first is right here in San Francisco. How do you all feel about heading to a party tonight?

Ezra grinned carelessly as he continued to hold the girl's hand. He hadn't touched another person in... what was it? Had it really been that long? Months... He relished the softness of her skin and his hand tightened on her smaller one for a fraction of a second before relaxing his hold. Gosh, he felt like a fricken pedo. The lonely winged man forced himself to think about other things, like the party. A party meant people. Lot's of people. Despite his craving for human conversation and contact, it sent his heart a flutter of rapid anxiety. Closing his eyes, he tried to remember the last time he had spent time with more than a single person at a time. He couldn't. His dark eyes warmed as he stood, tilting his head in a relaxed, friendly manner.

"Well, a party huh." Ezra reached up to his face with his free hand almost hesitantly and gently tugged on a thin lock of his shiny hair, an old unbreakable habit. "One night out can't kill me. Where is it? But won't it look weird if I go as well, I don't exactly..." His eyes darted quickly to the others with a twinge of self consciousness, before looking back at the girl. "I don't really blend in." Not like you, Ezra added in his head. She could project her thoughts, yet she was so so lucky, cause in everyone else's eyes, she was just a perfectly normal little girl. With a bit of amusement, Ezra ruffled his feathers and thought to himself why he wasn't more weirded out by all this.

"She'd like you to take her hand." Said the other man in the café, the on without any wings. Naomi felt a little angry at this guy telling her what to do. She was jonesing for luck, and had it been for a big rush, she would have punched that guy out, and then make out with him. However, this seemed to go somewhere, and after wings grabbed the girl's hand, she hesitantly put her little finger on the girl's arm. She kept repeating, 'Don't take luck form a little girl.' In her head. However, soon somewhere very odd happened.

My name is Elsie. First, I apologize for my father's dramatics. Second, I apologize for my inability to speak— I'll have a whiteboard in a minute, if you'd like to have a more coherent conversation. Third, and most importantly, I'll be answering any questions you might have now that you've all accepted our offer. The girl glanced at the group with a small, polite smile. As for 'who the Hell I am,' all you'll need to know, moving forward, is that I'm to monitor and document your progress to ensure your safety over the course of the next few weeks... or months, depending on how long this takes. As you well know, nothing comes for free, and in exchange for your own safety, we request that you perform a number of tasks for us to cover various... fees. She paused, glancing up at the ceiling, trying to find the next few words. And, as it happens, the very first is right here in San Francisco. How do you all feel about heading to a party tonight?

The girl had talked to her, and apparently wings as well, but she recoiled from shock. She never thought that was possible. She looked at the girl in awe. She was amazed, and thankfully, not focused on her need of luck. She showed some improvement in not taking a little from the kid, a feat she would have been unable to do five years ago. She breathed heavily as the lust for luck came back. She had tracked ho long each craving lasts, and by her estimates, she had another 7 minutes and 32 seconds left before she'd be stable again.

At the mention of the party, she had to stop herself from scream, 'YES!' as parties where were she had lived for a while. So many people, just random dancing and sex, it was like a mountain of cocaine for her. Wings showed some slight trepidation about going to a party. She could understand, it wasn't like a winged man could just hang out like a sexy luck thief. She still wanted to touch his wings and was eyeing them.

When he ruffled his feathers, her hand caught on them for a fraction of a second, and she felt a surge of luck. She didn't even realize it, but it felt amazing, each body part gave off a different flavor of luck, and this was new. She about tackled him, but held herself and said, "I'm down for a party any time, any where. Do we have time to go shopping, I think he needs some less.... used clothing." She said referring to the second man, and then she aimed at Wings, "I'm Naomi, by the way. I guess we'll be working together." She said sweetly, her mind working on how she could get more luck from the guy.

"She'd like you to take her hand." How could he possibly know that? She didn't say, mumble, or whisper anything to the man. Plus, she didn't want to touch the girls hand, she was too afraid to but, she knew she had to. Closing her eyes for a moment, she took a deep breath -not too loud but, enough for her to know that she did. Hesitantly touching the girls arm, she told herself to calm down, and don't think of anything else but, the situation she was in at the moment.

My name is Elsie. First, I apologize for my father's dramatics. Second, I apologize for my inability to speak— I'll have a whiteboard in a minute, if you'd like to have a more coherent conversation. Third, and most importantly, I'll be answering any questions you might have now that you've all accepted our offer. The girl glanced at the group with a small, polite smile. As for 'who the Hell I am,' all you'll need to know, moving forward, is that I'm to monitor and document your progress to ensure your safety over the course of the next few weeks... or months, depending on how long this takes. As you well know, nothing comes for free, and in exchange for your own safety, we request that you perform a number of tasks for us to cover various... fees. She paused, glancing up at the ceiling, trying to find the next few words. And, as it happens, the very first is right here in San Francisco. How do you all feel about heading to a party tonight?

She was a little surprised at how the girl could communicate but, she assumed that the girl did have some type of gift as well. She thought this whole situation was just going by so fast but, she really wasn't bothered by it. She was bothered by a lot of things but, those things were scrambling around in her head she couldn't really think of them one by one.

Remembering about the party,"I thinks that's cool." Whatever she had to do tonight she'll do it, just to keep her family and friends safe. Plus, she hadn't really been in a party mood lately and she wanted to change that. Looking over at everyone, she thought this was a very weird little group and she didn't mind getting to know them either. But, right now she wanted to see what she had gotten herself into.

A performance magician, Donovan knew all too well when he was being watched, pried apart for answers to impossible questions— and the girl unnerved him, with her seeming telepathy. The way she could speak right into his head like his voices worried him that she, too, was reading his mind. But Donovan was quick to chastise himself; there he was, again, acting like he was of the more paranoid flavor of schizophrenic. Like he was schizophrenic at all. Even if he wasn't childhood-onset... he was still young enough.

No. He'd looked it up on the Internet, checked for symptoms. He wasn't the most social of people, but he still felt the desire to interact. His speaking was fine. As far as he knew, he could still experience pleasure. Try as he might, however, he couldn't shake the feeling that his mind was going. He couldn't shake the fear that, if not surely, slowly, he was losing his ability to stop himself from hurting someone. Out of all his fears, a worry that he would snap and lash out plagued him the most.

Words from the bleach-blond angel suckled him away from his paranoia. "Well, a party huh. One night out can't kill me. Where is it? But won't it look weird if I go as well, I don't exactly... I don't really blend in." He was answering the girl's question. So he'd heard her words, too. Donovan's eyes drifted to the angel. Almost ironically, he had such a comfortable air about him that the wings felt like something of an afterthought. Donovan, on the other hand, was doing his best to keep his neurotic side in check. There was a chance he wasn't hallucinating all this. That, or his hallucinations were whacked in the head, too, in which case he really needed help. Except he didn't have money, so what, then?

Years living in and out of various things he couldn't quite reasonably call 'homes' had left the instinct to check his pockets when he was nervous burned into his muscles. His wallet was still gone. Usually, his hands weren't lying to him. He let them sit there, straightening his posture and relaxing his shoulders to take the tense edge off his stance. Winged men? Well, there was only one. And a telepathic little girl?

"I'm down for a party any time, anywhere. Do we have time to go shopping? I think he needs some less.... used clothing." The woman in the red cardigan spoke, and a surge of guilt hit Donovan. Used. Yeah, she was putting it nicely. He didn't want to waste their time, though, hunting down clothing he couldn't afford, anyway. His stomach knotted into a self-conscious ball as she continued, her voice as sweet as honey laced with lead, "I'm Naomi, by the way. I guess we'll be working together." Whoever this Naomi was, Donovan wasn't sure how much he trusted her. Certainly only a little bit more than himself.

Donovan almost missed it when the tall, pretty woman in the leather jacket spoke. All she gave was an almost offhanded acknowledgement. Of the people in the room, she'd said the least but needed to say the most— Donovan had a nagging feeling of curiosity prying at the edges of his conscience. He wasn't sure what to think about her just yet.

Thankfully, his brain had quieted down with the premature judgements and the fragmented sentences. He was calming down again, his brain falling back in synch with his lax posture. He didn't mind going to a party, and he didn't want to be the odd one out. "Sounds alright," he said, unsure what else to say even though his words hardly gave away his inner shyness, "Although Naomi's probably right. How formal's the party? Ah, and I'm Donovan, by the way."

He glanced around, his eyes trying to find something to look at. There was the door. The counter. The girl, who had sunken into one hip as she stood, watching them with eyes that seemed to slink from one man's innards to another. He didn't trust her, either, but he looked to her to break the silence with more answers.

Elsie straightened herself, flicking flyaway hairs back behind her ears with her free hand. A sort of deep-in-thought expression passed over her face, creasing her face in places he'd never have expected on a girl her age. Her nails were painted a bright, summery orange, but they were chipped and bitten down to raw stubs at the thumb and forefinger. He suspected her middle finger would be next to go.

"I suppose I have more to explain to you, then," something of an 'ugh' crossing her face as she said it even though she couldn't speak it, "The party isn't until six o'clock. And unless all of you want to risk getting shot by rooftop snipers returning home, we're all going shopping. We aren't guests, anyway," she paused to glance at Ezra. "Assuming we're not dead by sundown, we're booked as entertainment. This is an expensive venue. Seats sell for thousands, if not more. If all goes well, we'll be paid well; even the down could cover a nice dress or two. So consider it a gift. A reason to trust us."

All Donovan could think was, I'm held at ransom by strange people saying other strange people want to kill me, and I still have a show tonight? The girl smiled up at him, and for a moment he feared she'd heard his thoughts. She turned away to smile at the others, as well, however, and Donovan saw it was just the smile of a young girl excited for a shopping trip. In better times, he might have refused just to be polite, but he was desperate before. Nevermind that fact that he'd never be able to return home again for fear of being shot at his doorstep.

"So," Elsie tilted her head a bit, the grin almost as wide as her face, "Store-hopping it is? I say we get out of this place. It's dark in here. Besides, we can use the opportunity to get to know each other better. Fate knows, we'll have to." She twirled off, not even waiting for their responses, not in the least fazed by the fact that she was spending money that wasn't technically hers to take people she didn't know out shopping.

To keep his worried thoughts from turning on him again, Donovan turned to the tall woman in the red leather jacket, blathering. Blathering like a well-seasoned fraud, but blathering all the same. "Tell me," he mused, "If we're going to get shot dead trying to get home, what keeps us from being targeted right here in the streets?" Still yet, he started toward the door, picking up the handkerchief still lying on the floor and stashing it in his pocket for good measure. It was rude to leave things just sitting there when customers would be coming back in any second, now.

"I'm Naomi, by the way. I guess we'll be working together." The Asian woman said in a sugary voice. She had sounded so scornful as she remarked on the other guy's old clothes, making the winged man feel a wave of empathy. He knew what that felt like. For a moment, Ezra lost his voice as he pondered on how to reply. She sounded so sweet now. And it wasn't like attractive women talked to him every day. So he settled for a cheerful smile and nodded. Her jacket was really red. Ezra didn't think he'd ever worn that color before. Way too eye catching. He preferred neutral, dark colors.

"Assuming we're not dead by sundown, we're booked as entertainment. This is an expensive venue. Seats sell for thousands, if not more. If all goes well, we'll be paid well; even the down could cover a nice dress or two. So consider it a gift. A reason to trust us."

She certainly didn't speak like a little girl, Ezra mused, straightening out his slightly stiff shoulders. Yet, he couldn't help feeling a twinge of wariness at the thought of being someones "entertainment." It wasn't even as if the idea was foreign to him. He recorded songs online, sold his little paintings. That was all entertainment. But here, he was going to be in front of apparently super rich people. Who knew what they'd try to do with him... or how much they'd offer to 'buy' him. He shrugged the thought away mentally. Ezra disliked worrying, it just filled his head with negative thoughts. He already agreed to this, so he might as well see it out to the end.

"So," Elsie tilted her head a bit, the grin almost as wide as her face, "Store-hopping it is? I say we get out of this place. It's dark in here. Besides, we can use the opportunity to get to know each other better. Fate knows, we'll have to."

Ezra really adored children. She looked so excited as she happily made her way out. It made him smile. And turning to the three people near him he relaxed his shoulders and grinned. "Guess we're getting new clothes! I'm Ezra by the way. And yes, I can actually fly." He added the last part before anyone posed the question. It was the most highest asked question he had ever received. He followed the little girl out with a pep in his step.

Naomi was smiling still at the winged man smiled back at her. He was probably a good guy at heart with good intentions, he seemed thankful for letting Elise hold her hand. She felt slightly guilty about wanting to ride his luck away, but that was the way her mind worked.

"Assuming we're not dead by sundown, we're booked as entertainment. This is an expensive venue. Seats sell for thousands, if not more. If all goes well, we'll be paid well; even the down could cover a nice dress or two. So consider it a gift. A reason to trust us."

Naomi listened to the girl, not entirely sure how to respond. She liked the idea of mingling with the rich, it was all the better. She liked rich people's luck more so than hobo's, so this got her excited. Although, the powerful didn't really mingle with the entertainment. and she wondered what type of entertainment she would provide. She could make origami, and that was around it. She hoped it wouldn't involve touching people, she didn't need to deal with causing a billionaire crashing his car. The winged man could probably cause some fun, but she wondered still.

"So," Elsie tilted her head a bit, the grin almost as wide as her face, "Store-hopping it is? I say we get out of this place. It's dark in here. Besides, we can use the opportunity to get to know each other better. Fate knows, we'll have to."

Naomi smiled big as she spoke. SHOPPING!!!! This was something she loved to do, and from the sounds of it, she wouldn't have to spend her own money. That was pretty awesome, and got her spirits up a bit.

When the winged man, aka Ezra, spoke. It almost shocked her a little bit, he had been quiet up until now, but he did sound nice. Although she wasn't really thinking if he could fly, so much as ask if she could grope them.

"Well, that sounds like fun. I umm.... Steal luck, I guess is the best way to sum up my 'power'. And, you have some very... potent luck, if I may say so." She spoke and got a little closer to him, her bust sticking out further, to assert herself, it was a base thing she did when she was around good luck.