A motorcycle rumbled through the thrown-open gates to the grounds, driven by a man in a brown duster with dark eyes: like, black sclera dark eyes, with burning red irises and no pupils. His hands covered by gloves that had the thumbs, pointers, and pinkies cut off of them, he steered the bike to a slow roll and a stop before the steps up to the mansion.
The passenger, an older teen girl wearing jeans and a brown leather jacket, swung herself off the back of the bike and pulled the dirt-dimmed helmet off, shaking her long black hair out with a sigh as she offered the head protection to the man.
"Well, cherie...We here. You gon' have good luck now, y'hear?" he said in a pronounced Cajun accent, taking the helmet and opening one of his saddlebags, pulling free a small duffel which he handed to the girl before he stowed the helmet in its place.
She pursed her lips, looking at him with an unsure expression in her striking green eyes before she glanced at the ritzy building, then turned back to him again. "And you're sure they're not going to mind...you know...that stuff?"
"Mais, cherie...Mme. Frost, she sent me to find ya. If there was gonna be a problem, she'd'a told me. Now get gone, chere. You got a new home ta axplore, ya?"
"Heh. Yeah, sure. Thanks again, LeBeau..." she said turning and hooking her hand with the duffel straps over her shoulder, holding the bag behind her as she regarded the mansion with a soft frown.
* * *
Behind the mansion, on the basketball court, a pick-up game of B-ball was in-session. A blonde young man in athletic shorts and a mesh tank top panted softly as he marked a slightly taller young man with red hair. Sweat glistened on the redhead's bare chest, his muscles carved out quite artistically under his pale skin, as he dribbled the ball, the large red wings on his back tucked in close, but twitching as he planned his next move.
Between him and the goal stood not only the blond young man, but a black-haired guy wearing headphones, who stood crouched over, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath, eyes trained on the winged boy.
Not far away, another redhead stood leaning against the building, frowning softly. His hair looked less natural than the boy-with-wings--a bleached and dyed fire-engine-red that didn't match his black brows. He looked older, too...early twenties as opposed to mid-to-late teens. Smoke curled upward from the cigarette he held in his heavily-tattooed hand, black tribal lines tracing up from his knuckles, curling about his forearms and biceps, to be barely hidden under the white undershirt he wore. A silver piercing gleamed at his eyebrow, and his ears were studded with jewelry from lobe all the way up the cartilage.
* * *
The tattooed smoking man was not the only one watching the basketball game. Up on the roof, a girl with shocking hot pink hair sat on the ledge as though it were a swing, looking down at the boys on the court with eyes that were completely black, and just a little too large for her face. Delicate-looking veined wings, like those of a dragonfly, stretched out behind her, occasionally flitting in the bits of breeze that she caught...She was smart enough to go up higher where there was the possibility of wind, because on the ground the air was almost stagnant.
* * *
[Staircase, Ground Floor]
The handsome black-haired star pupil of the school ambled down the stairs from the top floor with an easy grin on his face. Fresh blood was in the water, and like a shark, he was drawn to it...and for more than one reason. Mostly, he was interested in the new crop and what their abilities were. Maybe someone would have something useful enough to be pulled onto his team.
He paused on the stairs, arching a brow as he spotted the tall athletic young man talking to the fox with the red hair. His grin broadened--just a bit--as he took in the girl's appearance, from head to toe and all the curves of shapely girl-ness between. Oh, yeah, and the guy looked strong. Not that strength meant anything in the face of mutant powers, but...
* * *
In the cafeteria, a young Japanese woman with dyed-blue hair sat for a snack with a young Latino woman and a blonde about the same age.
"So..." the blue-haired girl started, gesturing with a french fry toward the door. "How much chaos do you think we're going to have to wade through before things calm down?"
"How should I know?" snapped the Latino, which got a worried look from the blonde.
The blue-haired girl frowned and dropped her french fry, giving her friend a dry look. "Look, Sofia...just because you and Julian are kaput doesn't mean you have to be a bitch to your friends, okay?"
Sofia blinked, and then looked down at her food with a sigh. "You're right. Sorry. Things have just been...Kind of hard, lately," she said, her Spanish accent giving her soft words a bit of South American flavor.
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