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The Compound - Main Square
Mentioned - @Lurking Shadow
With somewhat creaking movements, Willow climbed down from the old crate which had acted as comfort for the young mutant. If one put consideration into the boy's minuscule weight, and the creaking wood, a conclusion of decrepit material would soon rise to the forefront. None had wondered what there was in those boxes, because it didn't matter. Because in the Compound, one would simply assume that whatever used be harbored by these old, splintered crates had been robbed clean, already. Willow had noted their only remaining purpose, to act as chairs. "So, what now?" The boy's shade asked, a word Willow himself had adopted for the creature. Shade, it was what he called this imaginary friend, which was rather fitting.
"I'm hungry," the mutant offered, patting his flat, scrawny belly through the fabric of his hoodie, a muffled voice trickling through the mask. There were times, indeed, where he cursed himself for not being able to feel the sun's rays against his skin without the added layer of pain accompanying the process. Seeing others bathing in its light warranted a somewhat jealous disposition. Alas, for this young mutant, or freak as it were, the sun was an enemy. His pale, ghostly skin was unable to handle the blanket of UV lights falling over its shape, causing pain similar to holding one's hand too close to an open flame. It did not immediately hurt the boy to the point of excruciating agony, but feeling that heating burn at a consistent level would grow worse with every passing second. He was not a vampire, after all, he wasn't going to melt beneath those rays, but the same could not be said for Bob.
Willow's powers were a virus, incredibly dangerous to be sure, but a virus weak to sunlight. If the boy was some form of a fantastical entity from the old stories, he would likely have been found in a dark, remote cave, beneath ancient ruins. The thought brought a small snicker to his lips, though, he was quite fortunate to be so small, and spindly. The lack of body fat prevented the boy from sweating or absorbing too much heat beneath his clothes. Where another would have thought it intolerable, being entirely covered during a sunny, summer day, Willow deemed it a norm. In fact, due to the draining nature of his powers, he felt fairly cold more often than not, warranting his choice of attire. Such was the life of a sickly boy, scrawny and tiny.
"It's that guy," Willow commented, motioning towards a large, winged creature who had made its way into the square.
"Oh yeah," Shade grinned beneath his mask, placing an arm around Willow's shoulder, "want to go bother him?"
"Why?" The boy returned, crossing his arms.
"Because it's the one guy who's more of a freak than us." Shade finished, slipping away from Willow before pointing towards the creature a distance from themselves. "Look at him.., er.., it. No face!"
"I wonder how he breathes," Willow considered the thought for a moment, leaning against Bob like the pillar of a man he was. A fitting end, for a bad memory.
"I wonder how he fuc-..," the imaginary creature began before Willow cut him off.
"Let's get out of the crowd. Bob," Willow slapped his hand, albeit lightly, against the large male under his command, before the boy was brought to its shoulders, away from the mass of people making their stride through the square. Casually resting his elbow against Bob's head, Willow placed his chin on the flat of his hand, a leg on each side of the undead creature's neck as Bob walked through the crowd.