The rain was almost soothing, the tea just right and the soft piano playing in the background was enough to ease Kevin into comfort. It had been a while since he relaxed, and it showed when it was revealed which café he had chosen. Not far from where the mutant was enjoying a moment of serenity, through the storm and the gathering crowds, a man was holding a speech. His red hair marked him quite easily, as if a sniper sight planted on his forehead. The thought was almost ironic, but Kevin forced it out before a smile stretched across his lips at the thought of a fellow mutant falling prey to the aggressive nature of mankind. Every word was muffled behind rain, wind and a large glass window offering the view. “Sir?” A female voice had attempted to reach him quite a few times, now snapping him out of his train of thoughts. Kevin turned towards the waitress with a soft smile on his lips.

“Forgive me, Miss.” He began. “Would you repeat yourself one more time?” 

“Would you like something else, sir? Maybe some pie?” The apple pie was apparently ‘Today’s special’ and was considered wonderful, but Kevin could barely remember the last time he ate. He felt no hunger, it wasn’t necessary to even drink but he enjoyed the soothing sensation of tea running down his throat, not to mention the taste. Come to think of it, Kevin only ate candy and drank tea followed by the occasional cup of hot chocolate. Well, if you’re immortal, might as well use it. 

“I am fine, thank you.” Kevin reached into his wallet and slid a twenty towards the waitress. “For your patronage.” He nodded. She gladly accepted the tip but soon realised that more costumers needed her for taking orders. Kevin returned back to his thoughts as his eyes trailed towards the gathering mass outside. How far was this going to get? As if a bunch of children banging at a brick wall, asking for rights. Though, the alternative wasn’t very charming either. War was never a pretty sight, though he feared it was inevitable. The French Revolution taught mankind that no one was safe on a throne, and if the suppressed peasants are a bunch of super charged, pissed off mutants, more than heads will eventually roll. A shame, most mutants are simply scared and want to live their lives. 

Kevin slipped into his white leather jacket which covered the black tank top tightly hugging his frame. Fingerless leather gloves clad his hands and boots reached up his shins over a pair of jeans with more than a single belt hanging down the side of his waist. Had this been his usual scene, a sword would find home on his back but it was high time he returned to the land of the civilised. He had to admit however, he wasn’t very impressed so far. There was more acceptance in the various arenas he had called home. For a warrior which he would consider himself, Kevin wasn’t very visibly fit. He was thin, almost raging onto scrawny with little to no visible muscles stretching out across his body. Of course, his mutation was the reason for the never changing appearance but one was not to consider him weak as a high amount of strength was hidden beneath that small frame. Standing at as little as 5’5” wouldn’t intimidate many until they’d meet him in a fight. 

He opened the door with a ringing sound coming from the bell. Was the sky going to cry? With this city’s history of mutant and human violence, he could only guess with the black clouds gathering in tune to the crowd.