.......
Iglesia smiled, and the kid at the Mcdonald's table across from ours let go a mighty screech: "MOOOmmmy! That girl's a VAMPIRE!"
I rolled my eyes as Gemini stalked off to the condiment bar: his take on conflict was avoid, avoid, avoid.
Mine was more like avoid if possible, then resolve, ASAP.
I replied to the terrified boy with a quick comeback that I'd rehearsed for this kind of episode, which happened frequently...
"She's not a vampire-she's just obsessed with that series of vampire books-Nighthunt-so she wears fake fangs all the time."
The kid wasn't all that satisfied, I saw, as he peered at us over his shoulder, a secretive expression twisting his face.
I felt an elbow slam my side, genetically enhanced bones contacting another mutant's flesh. Iglesia was never thrilled when I did my little speech. Her elbow never got any softer, either...
She hated the Nighthunt series, abhorring the stereotypes it flung upon the world's only winged mammals. On top of that, she was strictly vegan-save for the occasional tasty gnat or other insect/arachnid-a habit owed to her .0052 percent Andean Fruit Bat genetics.
What else am I supposed to tell people, I wondered, giving Iglesia a pleading look. From over the ketchup dispenser, Gemini grinned ear to ear, his midnight blue eyes twinkling naughtily. He was a lackadaisical bird, truth be told. Except when Erasers and Flyboys were concerned. Then it was another story... Iglesia muttered something to him which I suspected wasn't quite g-rated. Tough Tomatoes, bat girl, I wanted to yell. But I didn't, due to the crowd of restaurant goers whom would question my actions, leading to yet more conflict-something I could well enough live without.
The memories of the Wanting Time were still fresh, what with our jaunt with the flock at Itex HQ in Germany....my face still bore the scars of a Max clone's fists....But we had lived, and escaped back to the states, many thanks to the Flock. I read Fang's blog whenever possible, attempting to catch up with them. Still, whenever I managed to do so, the Flock had always flown the coop before we arrived.
Such is the life of a wandering teenage mutant. We aren't as swift as the Flock. Reason: Iglesia is bat, Gemini and me raptor. She's a creature of the night, whereas we birdies have an easier time in the daylight. Also, she gets this batty kind of satisfaction from sleeping off the day in guano filled barns. Gemini and me aren't so keen on that kind of thing, if you get my drift...
I had to go to the bathroom-really badly. Thus I gave Iglesia my customary warning glance and hand motion that was Triwing for 'your mouth had better stay closed while I'm gone; don't need any more meddling inquiries about long, pointy canines or the tendency to suck down ketchup instead of soda.'
Normally, she adhered to my policy, which made life easier. If we ever could dredge up the money, we'd make her a t-shirt that said 'Nighthunt Rocks! Wear Fangs!" That would save us a lot of breath...
I entered the single-stall restroom, doing a quick look-see for any security-or stupidity-cameras. With none to be found, I shucked off two layers of long-sleeved t-shirts, stretching out my wings. Oh, the joy... Today we'd been hitch-hiking: Iglesia's sleep patterns as of late had left her too drowsy for daytime flying, which meant the wings were retracted as tightly as possible. This, for us, is the same thing as wearing handcuffs for several hours at a time: uncomfortable, to say the least.
I shook out the tired joints, and sighing, slowly pulled them back in, savoring the cool air against my feathers. I paused for a moment, picturing what a land-bound nonmutant would think of seeing me now: an angel with raggedly cut auburn waves that skimmed the shoulders; dappled bay wings a good thirteen feet wide. I wasn't as lean as the Flock members; more compact, closer to five foot two than Max's five eight. But I packed a punch-quite literally, as several unlucky Erasers had learned over the last months. My raptor eyes found every blemish on the mirror's glass: a spotting exercise I enjoyed, along with the philosophy of the quicker you see it, the sooner you get away. The hazel irises were less olive drab and more the strange green and brown flecked tones of horse manure. A beaked nose completed my face of average humaness, masking the feral mutant that dwelled within.
I utilized the presence of the toilet, and then opened the door, ready to face whatever fate threw at me next.
Havoc met my eyes.
.....
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