[hr]
[center][h1][b][u][color=fff79a]Zeke Salazar[/color][/u][/b][/h1][/center]
[hr]

[quote]With both fists, he forcefully rubbed his eyes before squinting back at the man analytically.  "Heeeey!  I know you, man!" he exclaimed with a much more welcoming tone.  "You're Z..zzz.. Zed? Z-word.  Probably not Zebra.  Bro, is your name Zebra?! Man! I didn't know you were a cop!  We coulda been barterin' this whole time!  I give you a sack, you make my speeding tickets disappear... you know, tit for tit!  You scratch my back, I get a back scratch sorta thing."  WIth a sloppy grin on his face, he turned back to the bar and shouted at the barkeep.  "Ay!  Get my boy Zebra a cold one!"[/quote]

Zeke winced internally as he just heard Rafael call him by two completely different names. Zed, that was a little more forgivable, 
as that was just one syllable off from correctly pronouncing his name. Zebra, though? That was a whole other beast that he couldn't fathom to be a possible variation of his name. It didn't even sound like it rhymed with the real one. [color=fff79a][i]Oh, great, he's drunk to all hell. Guess I'll have to roll with it.[/i][/color]

Chuckling nervously, he took another sweeping look at the insides of the bar, making sure that none of his other friends and acquaintances were, lest he be outed as someone that hangs out with what society would deem as an undesirable segment of itself. And his family, oh no, they shouldn't even be here. If his brother or mother were here he'd panic, not for himself, but for them. Those are some really grand citizens.

[color=fff79a]"Well, buddy, it's actually Zeke. It is positively, absolutely, and completely not Zebra."[/color] Zeke gently corrected, though the tone of his voice betrayed a sense of being a little rattled. Why wouldn't he? He lost his job, which in turn saved his life as the giant lady from earlier smashed right through his former workplace. And here he was, with his [i]occasional[/i] weed dealer. [color=fff79a]"Say, Raffie."[/color] He asked the drunken man, taken a sip off his cold shot of beer. [color=fff79a]"You notice anything strange happening to you, lately? Because I did. And uh... I got fired for it. From my job."[/color]

Zeke couldn't care less if Rafael was one of those that thought the Altered were strange monsters. It is not like he'd go on a social media spate with a continual stream of posts screaming 'Zeke is Altered!' He was never going to be one of those people that one places in their resume as 'references'. So what if he thinks badly about it?

Oh, yes. Why did he ask, anyway? He wasn't thinking straight. Not anymore. Not when his alcohol tolerance was as low as it is.

[color=fff79a]"Who would have imagined that me being fired would be the thing that keeps me from being squashed by a giant women..."[/color] Zeke went on. He sighed deeply, letting his point sink in. By that point, he better not be called a zebra anymore.

[hr]
[center][h1][b][u][color=6ecff6]Sanzhar Kravchenko[/color][/u][/b][/h1][/center]
[hr]

[quote]He fetched a piece of paper and a pen. He decided to leave a message for Sanzhar in more traditional means since he’d terminated his phone the day prior out of fear of being traced by authorities. He paused for a minute to think about what he was going to etch on the paper before settling on a message.[/quote]

Around an hour or so passed after Jace left the safehouse before any more signs of life stirred within it. In the wee hours of the morning, out came Sanzhar from his allotted bedroom, still a bit groggy from having a deep sleep. He was, after all, always a deep sleeper, and it would take hell and more to wake him up out of time. He stepped into the dining room, smirking at the food that his host had so graciously left for him. 

[color=6ecff6]"Ah, you're so sweet. You even have a note here..."[/color]

It wasn't nearly enough for the kind of eating Sanzhar usually partook in, having a big appetite while being such a compact man. Plus, he'd often cook his own food. Sanzhar was well taught by the parents in the culinary arts, and could be counted on to make some good stuff... if only there were ingredients. Right now, he'd like some [i]manti[/i]; fried dumplings with lamb and pumpkin in them, or [i]baursaki[/i]; fried dough that literally drenched in oil, that a joke at the expense of the oil companies could be made there.

Or... maybe porridge and tea. Preferably iced tea with milk and pearls. He had taken a liking of those kinds of tea after a Korean friend of his treated him to boba. Ah, yes. Pearls.

Anyway, there wasn't much to do now, except to eat breakfast, and then wait for the confirmation that his identity was safe and sound. Sanzhar sat down, taking a knife and a fork from their places from their places. When one had the power to control metal, eating with silverware was so much easier. And easy did he eat. The fork and knife moved in their own volitions, cutting through bacon and eggs while Sanzhar pulled out his notebook from his bag. He always kept writing related things in his bag, as one could never know if today had a good story to write, or if an idea pops up. Either way, as the fork floated around and fed him, Sanzhar furiously wrote down what happened yesterday; the walk from home, the attack of the mutant, saving both himself and Jace from death, and being chased for the stupidest reasons anyone could ever think about.

Either way, there isn't much for him to do. He can only wait.

And wait he did.