Despite her allegiance with The Strays, Noa managed to wrangle herself a few cash-in-hand jobs in the week to at least have some cover for her criminal escapades in the form of a semi-legitimate income, especially if anything happened to the gang. On this occasion, she had managed to convince Errol to accompany her to the laborious job of painting some rooms for an elderly lady after Noa managed to convince her of their non-existent expertise in decorating.

At least these were the kinds of jobs where there was certainty that she wouldn’t feel guilty, even if it was under the pretence of a certain amount of deceit.

After finishing the job and accepting the cash, though not without the end of her sleeve becoming casualty to the paint, she exchanged goodbyes with the lady and headed back out into the street. It was one of the wealthier areas of town, near the university, so the lady was more than generous in her offerings, hence the reason Noa had chosen her particular advertisement.

Putting the cash in her pocket, she patted Errol on the back. “I’ll buy you a hot dog as thanks.” She told him with a sly smile, as though she wasn’t going to split the cash. Of course, she would, but teasing Errol was priceless. She was thankful for his company though, no matter how much he may or may not have been gently pressured. No one else was exactly keen on spending time with her but it suited her well because she enjoyed his company and not just for the sake of having someone around.

The side street joined back up with the main road which was as lively with traffic and blaring car horns as ever. Only, the traffic hadn’t moved for several minutes and soon angry voices began to enter the fray, seemingly that of both drivers and indistinct voices over megaphones in the direction they were headed. People in New York were certifiably insane. Even when she moved to the US seven years ago she lived in a sleepy Minnesotan town, a world away from New York.

Before the voices were discernible to the average person, Noa fell silent as she focused on the sound, barely able to make out the content of the voices but once she did her expression shifted to one of discomfort. “It’s an anti-mutant protest.” She informed Errol. Her jovial attitude disappeared. She had never fully accepted herself as a mutant and it was even harder to do so when other people denied your right to exist, but she couldn't avoid it forever.

Clearly uneasy, she slowed her pace. "Let's go another way." She suggested, though it would require a major detour and the chance of them catching public transport now was non-existent. Still, it seemed better than the alternative of listening to the vitriol of ignorant people.

Noa Loxley and Clementine Fraser; the only people on this Earth who could coerce Errol into doing something he didn't want to do. Laboring? Painting? It was beneath him, and a completely unsatisfying method of making money. But, he knew this was something Noa enjoyed - a semblence of normalcy, a brief break from the Strays and what working with them entailed. He understood completely that if Noa had the option, she wouldn't be with the Strays but thanks to her status as a mutant - she had to make do with the cards life had dealt her.

In her heart, this life wasn't for her... but it was adapt or die. For Errol though, this was all he knew really. Almost as if he was bred for... the unsavoury lifestyle. Sired by a crime lord, then groomed to take over said crime lord's empire, it felt like this was some sort of destiny he couldn't escape. As if it was in his blood. Why not embrace it.

Regardless, as much as he hated this. Errol was more than happy to support his best friend. The shade wearing mutant stood in the doorway of the front door, watching as Noa received the cash for a job well done. He smirked to himself seeing the small amount of paint she'd accumulated on her clothes, always hands on she was. Errol had managed to avoid getting any paint on him luckily, simply due to putting in lackluster effort painting.

Errol backed out of the front door, turning to walk alongside Noa as she passed him, patting his back. He playfully nudged her with his elbow in return. Resting his hands in his pockets, he tilted his head in Noa's direction "A woman after my own heart." he retorted following a snort at Noa's offer.

Errol's electrified yellow eyes peaked through his shades "How much did you make anyway?" he pondered. He knew Noa was planning on splitting the cash with him but a hot dog would suffice, money... in this instance... wasn't an issue for him. The gesture of spending time with Noa was more important than the money in his eyes.

The sound of angered voices overlapping each other, with some amplified by megaphones caught the attention of the duo. Errol watched as Noa listend in to what was being said, assuming she was using one of her gifts to focus in on the words being used. Her demeanous shifted and the reason why was soon shared.

An anti-mutant protest was ahead of them. It was mutantphobia that tore him away from his mother - mutantphobia spread by his own family. Once his grandparents had found out he was a mutant, they demanded that his mom get rid of him unless she'd be disowned too. He never blamed her, she did what she had to do and if she had chosen to keep Errol - she had no way of supporting both of them. Not in this economy, not in New York. She did the best she could in a shitty situation.

Regardless, anything mutantphobic was sure to trigger Errol. Forcing bad memories to bubble up to the surface, as well as strong feelings against racist humans.

Noa attempted to get Errol to go another way, but her words fell on deaf ears. Not responding to her words, Errol followed the disgruntled and passionate voices spouting anti-mutant rhetoric.

"¿Quieres odiarme? Te daré una razón para odiarme." Errol muttered angrily under his breath, small yellow electric sparks began to pulsate from his hands as he drew closer to the crowd.

It wasn’t only that her current lifestyle was far from a life she had envisioned, but it was also that it didn’t come naturally to her. She relied heavily on Errol in the earlier days until she was able to achieve some degree of independence. It wasn’t that her parents had sheltered her either; there had just been nothing for them to shelter her from. The life she found herself in was one of her own making, even if by circumstances beyond her control. It was her mother’s death which spurred the family’s immigration and it was Noa that caused the fatal illness.

Her friendship with Errol was very much borne out of circumstances. Of course, they would have never met had it not been for their status as mutants, but it had become more meaningful than that. In spite of everything that had transpired over the past few years, he had been a constant in her life due to the kindness and understanding that he offered when they first met. No one would have expected it. Both had been expected to continue their family business, only Errol’s family ‘business’ was a criminal empire and Noa’s had been a small restaurant in rural France.

They weren’t exactly the most likely of friends but she could let her guard down around him without the fear of accidentally hurting him, as evident by her relaxed demeanour around him and lack of reaction to the nudge of his elbow aside from an amused smile. Even then, it had taken a while to reach this level of familiarity so it was no surprise that she considered him her only real friend.

“150.” She replied, flicking through the money in confirmation. “Some people have more money than sense.” She mused, though in this instance it worked in their favour. It was certainly an abnormally high amount of money to pay for such a job but apparently some people could just throw their money at their problems to make them go away. It must’ve been nice.

No amount of money could solve their problems with the rise in anti-mutant sentiment across the country and the vitriol they faced daily.

“Errol…” She began, knowing what he was likely to do, but once he was in that mindset she knew there was little she could do to deter him. After a moment of hesitation, she resigned to her fate and quickened her pace to catch up after falling behind. “Don’t do anything, please.” She tried to reason with him upon seeing the sparks at his hands.

However, it was a short-lived attempt as they neared the crowd and it soon became apparent who the instigators were and who were the followers. It seemed as though a group of college students had managed to rile up enough of the locals into supporting their cause, densely populating the usually barren area on the edge of the campus.

Among them, a man was standing on a table to remain visible above the crowd. “They are making our streets dangerous. Statistics show that a disproportionately high number of mutants are committing crimes. They abuse their abilities and all we can do is sit by and watch?” He addressed the supportive crowd.

Despite her desire to avoid such gatherings, preferring to stay uninvolved and unnoticed to minimise any hate and attention that mutants already received, this was no ordinary rally, at least not for her.

The continuation of the speech fell on deaf ears as she carefully traversed a more sparsely populated area of the crowd to reach the speaker but was stopped by another student seemingly acting as security. “Let me past. I’m his-” She was interrupted as the student attempted to grab her arm to escort her away but she quickly manoeuvred herself out of the way. “Martin!” She called out in an attempt to get his attention. “Qu'est-ce que tu fais?!” She shouted above the noise of the crowd, this time their native language drawing his attention.

Handing the megaphone to the student beside him to continue on his behalf, the dark-haired man stepped down from the table and approached her with an expression of almost disbelief which quickly turned into a smile as he pushed between a couple of people which separated them and pulled her into a hug. Noa immediately froze, wary of whether she might accidentally hurt him, but once a moment had passed and she realised she was in the clear, she slowly wrapped her arms around him, feeling an intense mixture of emotions.

"What happened to you? I thought you were dead." He asked with concern. "Why would you think that?" She asked, returning the same concern. "You disappeared seven years ago. What else were we supposed to think?" He asked. "Yes, but... I sent a letter telling you that I was safe." She replied, her concern turning to confusion. Martin shook his head. "I've never seen such a letter."

Upon realising what had happened, there was little else she could utter other than a bewildered apology. "Martin, I- I'm so sorry." She stuttered, but he was quick to interject, still beyond confused about the entire situation. "What happened? Why did you leave?" He asked. "It's... complicated." She replied hesitantly. "I'm sure I'll understand." He tried to reassure her but his efforts wouldn't get him very far. "No, I don't think you will." She responded, prompting a look of confusion from her sibling before he drew his own conclusion and his expression shifted to one of discomfort.

"You're a mutant."