Give me novacaine and vodka. {attn. Tempero}

[Jolt]

The acrid scent of smoke and the punget, heavy odor of alcohol keeps following him, having wormed into the microscopic fibers of the leather and the fabric interior of his jacket after a steady period of making it his mission to visit every bar and down whatever form of drink the bartender or the rest of those bastards would give him. Legal limits mean nothing to him in the slums of New York, because he'd take what he could get when the fuzz weren't keeping a watchful eye. Fuck them; he'd fry them if they even got close.

A corner of Will's mouth twitches in the darkness as he heads down an empty sidewalk, but it does little to break the perpetual scowl etched into his features. The only sounds are the scraping of his thinning sneakers over his sidewalk and the distant scream of a car alarm in the night. Good. He'd rather have it quiet as opposed to the roaring assholes of the bar, all crowded around a television screen to watch a goddamn football game.

Scuffing the toe of his shoe on the sidewalk, he glances up, his pupils dialated enough to reduce the shivering blue irises to slivers. The fixated scowl still across his expression, Will glances up and down the street, then turning on his heel and crossing the stretch of cold asphalt to cut through the park, or what you could call a park. It was more or less just a bunch of trees with a concrete path winding around it with a few benches--not exactly what Will would call "fucking grand."

As soon as he ducks within the safety of the over-spread trees, Will fingers the metal flask that keeps sliding around in his inner pocket. The back of his throat is dry. Muttering, he fumbles with the metal cap as he pulls it free, the metal glinting dully beneath the yellow light of a sidewalk lamp before he downs the rest of the alcohol swishing around inside. Will almost chokes at how sharp and burning it feels, but he sucks it up and takes it before he shoves it back into his jacket. Flipping the collar of his leather jacket up over his neck, he shoves his hands into his pockets and walks quickly on. He'd started cutting through the park and walking around to avoid going back to Kevin's place right away, so that when he got back to his apartment he'd hopefully have crashed on the couch or be locked up in his room with 'company.'..

[Tempero]

"OK, so I'll see you tomorrow." the black-haired, brown-eyed boy says as he waves to Danny. Danny nods, waving back, and walks on, his pace fast as he hurries to get to his uncle's house as fast as possible. Despite everything that had happened today, he still has a smile on his face, happy to have made yet another friend. That is what he needs now.

I need friends. I need them not to listen to me, but to just be there, in silence...why do they always insist that I talk to them? Why do I have to always say my whole life story? his thoughts wander idly through many questions, some merely entertaining him, keeping him distracted.

Ever since that...incident...a few years ago, Danial has changed drastically. The death of his parents was the first time his whole personality got almost completely reversed, but he was getting over it. He is even talking to his uncle on a regular basis now, and has lots of friends.

But then he helped that empathic girl in school, and was shoved into a locker, cursed to spend a number of hours there before a janitor found him. His whole body shivers violently at the very thought of it. He knows that he should have simply went over it by now, but there are two effects which keep on haunting him.

He is absolutely incapable of staying in closed spaces, even in normal-sized living rooms, which is a reason for him to be out this late. He is always outside, walking, finding new friends, hanging out with old ones.

The second aftereffect, however, is the one which makes him feel so uncomfortable right now. He is starting to feel that well-known tightening in his stomach, as his mind drifts back to the treacherous thoughts which keep him awake at night. I am alone. There is no one there for me...I might as well roll over and die, and no one would care...why must I be so lonely?! Why do I not have any real friends?! are the first thoughts, and they seem extremely valid, even though in truth they are completely irrational.

And then comes the illusion of being followed by a killer of some sort. By demons, ones that come out of the deepest shadows to torture him. This all is a result of the simple, yet horrid, fear of being alone. His green eyes dart this way and that as he enters the would-be park, and his pace quickens.

And then, to all of the joy he can muster, he spots another walking in the area. Daniel hurries to the boy, careful not to scare him in case he is of the type. His tall 6-foot-something figure towers over the other's minuscule appearance, but it does not bother Danny as his face widens into a friendly smile and he comes into step with the other. "Hey." he says lightly, friendlily, and absolutely harmlessly.

[Jolt]

Muttering about something or other, Will glances up, only seeing a figure quickly closing in, and that alone is enough to alarm Will; you can't be too careful in New York now can you? The redhead's body snaps back in reflex, his hand jerking back to his pocket and fumbling for his blade when--Hey. The opening line is simple enough, and juding by the way the teenager leaves his chest squared, he's a friendly person with no intention of harming him. But still.

"Jesus Christ!" Will barks, scowling and clenching his fists at the teenager's sudden approach. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Apparently not one for friendly beginnings of conversation, Will narrows his eyes and eyes Daniel warily. He had learned from a very young age that nothing was what it looked like. Old Dave could be pretending to just sit and watch the game and pap! he'd fucking slap you on the back of the head. Dumbass! Git yer head outta th' way!

A look that resembles a mix of annoyance and disgust creeps into the scowl on Will's face, and he glares, moving to side-step around Daniel and to just walk on, careful to keep at least three quarters of his body facing him, even though the boy would be an easy shot with the way he is leaving his body open.

[Tempero]

Daniel is about to say that no, he is not Jesus Christ, but decides against doing so, as the other's words continue.

> "What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

His eyebrow arches a bit at the words, his thoughts accumulating a large mass of answers, all creatively colorful, but he decides not to use any one of them. "That depends. Do you mean in general, or right at this moment?" he retorts with a question, his eyes curiously observing the other's moves.

And then he gets the slight feeling of pressure on his mind he always seems to get when around mutants. His posture relaxes even more, and it is quite obvious that he lets his guard down even more. He is still smiling, and he decides to add some more words to this conversation.

"My name's Daniel, what's yours?" again he asks rather intrusively, but his voice is soothing, and his face is the absolute incarnation of innocent friendliness, the kind you get only from those who wish you well. His words, even though without a single touch of any restraint it would seem, also are very welcoming.

His green eyes gaze into the other's, warmth radiating from them. As usual, Daniel's best charms show up immediately, at least the physical ones, and it is almost as if he illuminates the area around him with an odd, and possibly very unexpected, air of sympathy and camaraderie. It is not that he plays a role very well, so much as it just comes naturally to him whenever he is trying to talk to someone. The other's hostile actions clearly do not phase him in the least bit.