Snippet #2402831

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.